The Little (once) Black Book

When you’re starving you don’t have the luxury of ethics, I told myself as I clutched the battered, weathered, little book that used to be black but was now more of a watery grey. I had the strong impression this book had been dragged behind a horse across a desert for some unknown reasons as I’d picked it up from the damp ground in the park where I found it ownerless.

During the day the park was filled with families picnicking, mothers with squealing children frolicking on the playground, older kids kicking balls, couples sitting on blankets, holding hands or lounging on one another, dogs barking and retrieving whatever was thrown for them in the never ending game of fetch, but the moment the sun went down any self-respecting, law abiding citizen fled to the safety of their homes or indoor recreation like bowling or laser tag at the nearby strip mall. At night gangs, drug dealers and petty criminals ran rampant in the former picture of ideal.

What was a nice girl like me doing here you might well ask? For one, I wasn’t that nice and two, I was picking up a few items at the corner store and I was too lazy to walk around. I was staying in a boarded-up apartment that used to belong to my family. And I wasn’t beautiful enough to attract that kind of attention and most of the young men knew me from school or my older brother, so I was relatively safe, but I did know better than to take unnecessary risks.

Yet, here I was just the same holding a well-used (once) black book in my hand that definitely didn’t belong to me. I considered my options.

I cracked the little Moleskine book open tenderly as I felt any rough handling would be detrimental to its fragile existence. It felt like a trespass despite my self talk, but the that didn’t stop me.

Each page had a name with an address underneath written with a large sum next to the name and smaller amounts with dates that appeared exactly one month apart below the initial amount.

Illegal loans I mused but what could I do with it? I immediately imagined collecting all the money represented in the pages and I flipped through rather enthusiastically, losing a corner of one page that fluttered to the ground.

I pondered what to do next. I pocketed the small book and headed back to the apartment where I could plot my next move without constantly looking over my shoulder.

Once I slipped back through my secret entrance and was seated on a mattress I had dragged in, I pulled out the book again and flipped through every page but slower this time. Just the amount of money collected monthly was more than I had ever imagined having at one time. I tried to picture what that amount of money would feel like. I thought it would feel like choices, like freedom. When you’re scrounging day to day you go down the imaginary list in your head. There’s nothing left over to say, ‘I could buy that book I’ve been wanting or the scarf in the shop downtown’. Nothing left to imagine. That’s how dirt poor I was. Nothing left over to dream on.

I imagined myself knocking at the first address, just showing up and seeing if I could collect the monthly installment. The date was tomorrow. I could stop and get fish and chips or steak kebobs afterwards and rent a hotel room out for the night. I was in desperate need of a shower and the solution seemed to be before me.

That night I truly daydreamed for maybe the first time. I got an old calculator from my brother’s room. I needed the batteries from the clock in order to make it work and carefully added up the pages up one by one. When I was finished it added up to $20,000.00. What could I do with $20,000? That was the stuff dreams are made of.

I could get on an airplane and fly to Mexico, or Hawaii. I could take a bus to New York City or find a small town somewhere and begin a life. Have a real chance to find a job, a hobby I liked and make some friends. I could leave my past behind. I could find a place I didn’t hate and work there. I could find a small clean apartment to call my own. Maybe buy a used car. I could have potential.

My mind raced like that for several hours, but I must have finally fallen asleep because I awoke with a start. This was the day. I could feel a buzz in my whole body and my vision was more intense. It must be adrenaline I realized. I fixed myself up as best I could without water. I even pulled some of my mom’s old clothes down and tried them on until I found the one that made me look serious, a black blouse, slacks and some black flats I had to shuffle in order to keep on my feet. My mom’s feet were always bigger than mine. I still had hope that they might yet grow but with each passing year I became less optimistic.

I grabbed my backpack, the little black book and left. I remember walking out of the building, across from the park and then before I knew it, I was across the street from the first address on the list. My knees got shaky and I almost lost my nerve.

I rang the bell and stood still in my too big shoes. A teenager answered the door. We stood there staring at one another for a long time. I finally raised my hand with the (once) black book in it. The young man’s eyes got bigger. He turned his head and hollered.

“Mom!’

She quickly appeared, took one look at the book in my hand and blanched. “Who are you and where’s Beno?”

“Sick.”

She closed the door slightly and walked away. I could hear a commotion and then she returned. She looked around to make sure the coast was clear, handed me a plain white envelope and then slammed the door in my face.

I was giddy. I floated. I walked several blocks and my senses started to return. I was second guessing my choice of footwear. I stopped into the corner Indian Restaurant and ordered some Tikka Masala. I sat alone in a booth with my backpack for company. What if I just kept going down the list. I knew the opportunity was short lived and I would be found out. It was now or never.

I walked a few more blocks and stepped into a shoe store. I wandered around until I saw a pair of black boots I couldn’t live without. The kind of boots I never even imagined myself in before but something in me was now changed. I had dreamed myself bigger and there was no going back. I paid for the boots and a pair of socks in cash and dropped the slip-ons into the trash bin outside the front door.

New boot and a full stomach. This was a new me.

I stepped up to the second door with more confidence. “I’m here on behalf of Beno. He’s sick.”

“Is it his gallbladder, finally.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Is it those kidney stones?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a girl.”

“I realize that”

“Unless you’re that tramp Meena’s daughter.”

I smiled.

“But you have light hair.”

“My mother was a blond.”

"His wife is a brunette.”

“I didn’t say they were married.”

Another door slammed in my face.

And just like that I was at the last address. I took the envelope and turned away from the door.

I walked for hours almost too tired to think. In the end I never went back to the apartment. I decided nothing was coming with me to my new life. I checked into a hotel downtown.

The first thing I did was order room service and then dump all the cash on the bed. I stacked and counted it all. In total I had $21,130.52 even though I had purchased a few items and paid for the hotel. I must have added wrong. There was a knock on the door as I placed the last bit of money in the backpack. I paid for the meal and handed the attendant a twenty dollar bill. I ate quickly and took a hot shower. I’m not sure if I dreamed but it seemed to me, I didn’t dream or even turn over the rest of the night.

I woke early. Picked up a few items at the corner drug store. I even bought a new backpack. I hopped into a cab and rode in silence to the airport. I bought a ticket and entered the boarding area. It was like a mall in there. I walked into a shop that sold books, newspapers, magazines and all kinds of souvenirs. I was looking for something specific. There in a clear, plexisglass shelf, was a row of Moleskine journals in different colors and sizes. I picked one out the same size as the one in my backpack only new and crisp and flat black.

I grabbed a pen near the register and paid for my two items. The little (once) black book had brought me here and I felt almost superstitious about the new one in the clutch of my hand. I went into the bathroom and counted out $20,000 and set the rest of the money on the top of the silver bin in the stall in an envelope for the next occupant to find. Like I said I felt superstitious.

I walked to my boarding area. I waited until they called my row number. I took the weathered old book out of my new backpack and dropped it into the trash as I approached check in. I wanted to give all the people I saw last night a little bit of freedom too. Freedom from their debt. A lady checked my ticket and smiled wide.

“Enjoy your flight.”

I’ve never been on an airplane in my life. After it took off, I detached my tight grip on the armrests and cracked open my new journal. The blank pages felt like my future - wide open. I looked out the plane window into the yonder, took a deep breath and wrote the first word.