Worth

Call it a hobby if you will, on weekends I drift up to the beach for a long walk to clear my head. On one mild day in late February, I came upon a little black book while on my trek. While flipping through the book, on the first page in big, black letters tomorrow’s date: February 28th, with the time of two p.m. at a local restaurant.

The book could fit in my back pocket, and as odd as it sounds, I was drawn to it. I can’t really explain it, what it is that makes you keep some things and discard others.

My sleep was dreamless, yet I had a ball of energy stuck in my throat. At sunup, I sleepily stumbled into the kitchen. The black book was sitting on my coffee table and kept catching my eye.

Life was pretty mundane anymore, friends mostly moved away, and family was really only for special occasions. I didn’t have any urge to be around people anymore. Seclusion was my comfort zone. I started contemplating bringing the book to the restaurant to return it to its proper owner. It looked like it could have some sentimental value, and to be honest it was just stuck in my head.

At about noon I walked over to the small diner. I sat at the first table facing the door, the book laid out on the corner so whomever it belonged to would possibly notice it. I ordered the French toast with extra syrup on the side, reminded of breakfasts my mom would make me as a kid.

One-fifty, and I was beginning to talk myself out of it, to make swift exit. Who cares about a stupid book?

One fifty-eight, one fifty-nine. The second my clock struck two I heard the jingling bells on the door erupt with noise, as a woman with red curls entered the restaurant. She walked up to my table and sat down across from me as if we had known each other for years.

“You’re the one?”, piercing me with her ocean grey eyes. She grabbed the book and started flipping pages, taking out a pen with black ink and scribbling something into it. I was quite confused by the question, and even more so at how bold she was.

“I’m sorry, I found this book on the beach and saw the time and place, I hoped to return it to the owner,” I stuttered along, not used to an audacious approach.

She finished up whatever she was marking and slid the book back to me. “Today is your lucky day, the book is now yours.”

I looked at her perplexed. “Oh, I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s obviously yours. I just was in the mood for some French toast and figured I could see if the owner was stopping in while I fulfilled my craving.”

“Listen, you’ve come along something really wonderful here. This book is magic: it makes you see your reality in a whole new way, if you’re open to it.”

I laughed a little and waved for my check. “I’m not really sure what you’re talking about, but here’s your book. Have a good day.” I pressed my fingers hard on the book pushing it in her direction as I stood and went to put my jacket on.

“Have it your way, but it’s not everyday someone finds a book worth twenty thousand dollars. It’s yours if you change your mind, follow the instructions I’ve written.”

She swung out of the door before I could even wrap my head around her statement. I picked up the book and flipped through the pages again. On page three was an envelope and a train ticket. I quickly opened the envelope to find one thousand dollars, and a note saying this needs to be delivered to an address in Newark, at seven-thirty p.m. today. “The universe is working for you, just get it to the destination.”

Bay head train station - Four-eighteen pm train to Secaucus.

Pure confusion wiped over me again. I gathered the book and stepped out into the brisk afternoon air. Twenty thousand dollars, that would be life changing. I was a bartender at a local spot, and making ends meet in the New Jersey economic climate was a struggle on a regular basis. I felt like I was clawing my way day- by-day, trying to survive. I was not far off from becoming my car’s primary tenant.

If I hopped in my car, I could just make it to the train station. This was obviously crazy, but at that point what did I have to lose, except maybe a few hours of staring at the same old shows. I jumped into the front seat and turned the key, listening to those loud clicks of the engine struggling to turn over. My poor car had seen its fair share of salty air and age.

I parked my car across the street and walked over to the bench rubbing my hands together for warmth. The train screeched to a halt in front of me. I walked from car to car trying to find an empty area, my social anxiety getting the best of me. I found four rows with no one near and plopped down on the seat.

Anxiously lingering, I was only two stops away from my destination and decided to get off and hop on the next train back home. Arriving at the station I stood and slowly wandered off the train.

After paying my last funds for my train ticket back I sat down on a bench. I began to spiral back into the inevitable questions I tirelessly contemplated. Is life even worth it? Maybe I’m better off just giving up? However, something new popped into my head today. What if this is real? A glimmer of hope, for the first time in so long.

I sprinted across the terminal and down the escalator. The train was pulling up just as I arrived. I jumped onto it and collapsed into a seat. It was a short journey over to Newark, and I needed to know my directions before arrival. I turned to my right and realized there was an elderly woman sitting next to me giving me a curious look.

“Are you alright?” She mumbled.

“Oh yea, sorry. Would you happen to be familiar with this address?”

“Ah yes! That is actually right down the street from my home. It’s a bit of a quest from the station,” she quietly replied.

It was rapidly approaching seven-thirty. I looked back at her delicate face and could tell that she had been crying.

“Are you ok miss?”

“Yes, I apologize, today was me and my husband’s sixty-seventh wedding anniversary, and he passed three years ago. It is just a tough day for me. If you need a ride to that address, I can drop you off on my way home. Would be nice to have the company.”

The question repeating in my head, “What if?” Gratefully, I accepted the offer, she introduced herself as Silvia.

We arrived at Silvia’s old red Toyota. It reminded me of my car, you could tell with the intricate details it had sentimental value. Silvia told me about her husband Harry, who had been a pilot, and their love story that traveled around the world.

It was seven twenty-four when we pulled up to Silvia’s home. Tick-tock, I thanked her for the ride, and she appreciated the sentiment. I had about two blocks to go but was confident I could make it on time. I hesitated and turned back to see Silvia struggling to take bags out of her trunk.

I had to make a decision. If I helped with the bags, I would not make the appointment. I put my head down and accepted that I had to do what was right. I turned and grabbed the bags for Silvia. She slowly unlocked the door and directed me where to put the bags down.

“I’m sure a young man like you has plenty of places to be, but if you’d like I was about to prepare some dinner. I would love some company.” Silvia offered.

I checked my watch and saw the time, seven thirty-nine. I looked to my left and saw a photo of Silvia and Harry embracing on a beach with beautiful blue water behind them. I was too late to make the appointment, at this point I had the thousand dollars to maybe get me through another month in the apartment. I gratefully accepted the offer, kind of happy to be able to have dinner with someone for once.

Silvia made a delicious plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, while I set the table. We discussed in depth about their travels across the globe. She explained that she was unable to have kids so she would donate her time at schools when Harry was away for work.

She asked about my life. I was unsure what to tell her. She seems to have had such a beautiful life, and what did I have going for me? Nobody wants to hear about the poor bartender that can’t afford to pay for their apartment, or the foolish guy that thought going on a scavenger hunt to find money to save himself. It all seemed so silly and pointless in comparison to the epic adventures Silvia shared.

At this point though, it was so nice to have someone that I could really talk to. I explained to Silvia all of my problems and the epic adventure that could’ve been. She took my hand and genuinely listened, and I hadn’t realized until then how much I needed it. I then took the book out of my pocket and placed it on the table.

Sylvia gasped as she glanced at the book. I looked at her questioningly as she took it into her small, frail fingers. She flipped through the pages, misty-eyed, and came to the back cover. She reached for a penny that was sitting on the dining table and scratched at the back cover.

“How could this ever be?” she questioned. Slowly each letter started to appear under the scratched off paint spelling out Harold Green. Silvia appeared speechless and her hands started shaking as she grasped the book. “On our Anniversary three years ago, I gave this book to Harry. His memory was getting so bad, I got him this book to take notes.”

I was flabbergasted. Silvia burst into tears, and I comforted her. I told her it is hers to keep and knowing in my heart that she was the rightful owner.

At ten o’clock, she drove me to the train station and gave me a tearful hug. She invited me back for dinner the following week and we continued the tradition each week following.

Unfortunately, that fall Sylvia began not feeling well, so our dinners at her place turned into dinners in a pale hospital room. Sylvia passed away shortly after.

That spring, I went for my routine walk to clean up trash on the beach and checked the mail on my way inside. To my astonishment there was an envelope addressed to me, and I looked inside and there was that little black book.

When I opened it there was a note in Sylvia’s handwriting. She thanked me for being her friend and told me how much our talks meant to her. She felt that I was the rightful owner of the book because it had found me. She also added, “You never know when magic will show up at your feet, you just need to follow your heart and trust that doing the right thing will always lead you where you’re supposed to go. Even if it is in a little black book.”

In the envelope was a check for twenty thousand dollars and three cents. Sylvia said it was the last of her savings for her final friend.