The Unknown

As the morning began, my body spilled out of the bed like the morning cup of joe that would splash the bottom of my favorite mug. The dim sunlight from the slits in the blinds peeked into my dark room, slightly illuminating the sleeping faces of my daughter in bed. She turned onto her side as I headed for the bathroom. I hated to leave her in the morning. My job as a Teacher's Assistant hardly paid the bills, but made sure to take up most of the day that I could be spending with her. My wife moaned softly as she opened her eyes and murmured, "good morning." I groggily uttered a loving reply. My days were robotically repetitive, ranging from getting up in the morning at 5:30 am, making my usual cup of joe in my thermal mug that I've had for five years, to bagging my lunch in a plastic bag before hustling to work. Getting home at late hours was normal for me. Midway attempting to lock my front door, a bird, -maybe a hawk,- skimmed the clouds. A rare appearance indeed.

Later on, as the clouds transformed into its dark alter-ego, I slammed the car door after entering my vehicle as if putting the exclamation on the day's toil. I inhaled the day's stress, and blew out the remaining anxiety as if I was blowing candles. "Lord, give me strength." I started the vehicle and pulled off. The ride home was one of my favorite things. It was the time of solace after a long day. I usually started my Spotify playlist and put on smooth jazz, followed by my oil diffuser to ease any leftover tension. Turning onto a one-way street to beat the rush-hour traffic, I viewed the lavish houses on either side of the street. The well-manicured lawns complimented the neighborhood, emitting a amiable feeling. The vehicle abruptly hit something. My heart skipped its normal rhythm as I slowed the car to a complete stop. I sat for a while, arms outstretched on the steering wheel, breathing unsteadily. I peered cautiously in the rearview mirror. No one was behind me. Rolling the window down, the cold bitter air slapped my face vehemently. I stepped out of the car, still trying to catch my breath. Looking back, I saw an open black briefcase. Actually, from the hit, it was crushed open, enough for someone to stick a hand inside. Who the hell would leave a briefcase in the middle of the road? Looking around anxiously, I felt like I was suddenly thrust onto a remote island, not a soul in close proximity. The wind seemed to pick up, blowing me in the direction of the briefcase. The cold wind stung my eyes as I walked over toward the seemingly ominous object. Get back in the car and go home, a voice said. I turned with stupid apprehension realizing it was only my conscious voice speaking. I was standing directly in front of the briefcase now. No car still turned onto this street. It seemed the traffic strangely disappeared into thin air. Slowly, I reached my hand down into unknown darkness and pulled out an object. What was this? The wind sliced my vision. Squinting, my gaze came onto a luminous book. A luminous black book. Opening the book, something fell out of it. It smacked the asphalt with authority. Ben Franklin stared up at me blankly. Oh my God, my conscious voiced. It was not only Ben, but a host of other deceased Presidents followed as I shuffled the currency like Uno cards. It was an obese stack of cash tied neatly with a rubber band. I looked around with guilt, my heart beginning to hammer. No one appeared to be playing a prank or elusively gazing from slits in the blinds from the homes nearby. Opening the black book shed some light on this situation. "I've been watching you. Trust me, it's legal money. Enjoy this." I read the message over at least five times. I looked behind my vehicle. No car made the turn. The wind picked up, slightly shifting the briefcase. I got into the car with this mysterious black book and dropped the mangled suitcase onto the passenger seat floor. The slam from my car door seemed to mute the rest of the world. Thoughts of this mysterious black book and this unknown amount of money, which I grasped in my hand, didn't make that message any clearer. Who did this come from? Was it a mistake? Was I the rightful recipient of this money? Why the hell was I alone on this random one-way street for so long? How had this person known that I would turn on this street? Nothing made sense. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone, the Rod Serling edition. My head felt light. I didn't feel the vehicle pull into drive mode as if someone vicariously had taken over. The sun's gleam had taken a break behind dark ominous clouds. I continued home, feeling a ping of excitement rise from the pits of my belly. Could be gas, but who knows. Heading home, I wanted to talk to my wife. As the traffic seemed to build up once more, I turned widely onto my street, wild thoughts continued to circulate in my head as I looked at the black book with apprehension mixed with a deep unknown bliss.

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