The Gift

Part 1: The Gift

I woke up the same way I always had. I ate breakfast the same, gotten dressed the same, and lamented the same as I had done every day prior. You see every day after college was the same for me. I would wake up and immediately check for jobs and apply to the available ones all day long. At the same time avoiding all of my emails because they were always one of two things. The first being a very polite thank you for your application but we don't want you, and my other personal favorite, the, "Hey you are drowning in debt" email.

That day, however, was different. I went on a walk to clear my head after failing to land yet another job. I suppose I wasn't experienced enough to flip burgers all day. My walk had led me to a park where I sat at a table to rest my legs and mind. I sat down and placed my head facedown on the table and took in a deep breath. After a moment of sitting in silence, I picked up my head and saw a man sitting on the other side of the table.

That day, however, was different. I went on a walk to clear my head after failing to land yet another job. I suppose I wasn't experienced enough to flip burgers all day. My walk had led me to a park where I sat at a table to rest my legs and mind. I sat down and placed my head facedown on the table and took in a deep breath. After a moment of sitting in silence, I picked up my head to a man sitting across from me.

"AYE!" I exclaimed at the surprise of the man's presence. "I didn't mean to startle you," he said. The man gave no introduction. He spoke with poise and yet looked as if he had been in a war. Not in his physical appearance, but there was something off in his eyes. He had a stare that suggested he had seen things that no man should see. "Again, I apologize for scaring you, but I had to come to talk to you." puzzled and confused I decided to humor the man. "It's alright you only gave me a minor heart attack, how can I help you?" I asked him. "I'm the one who can help you." As he said this he turned to a bag he had sitting next to him. After digging for a short while he pulled out a small black notebook, and set it on the table in front of me.

The notebook was small with a hardcover with a broken lock on the front of it. After pausing to evaluate the notebook I looked back up at the man. The next sentence that came from the man's mouth to this day had been the single most absurd thing I had ever heard. "This book told me to come to you." I couldn't believe the words that he was saying but he said this with conviction. Even though what he was saying made no sense he meant every word he said. "Since when did books start talking?" I could feel the sarcasm thick on my breath as I asked this question hoping for a break in whatever character this man was playing. Without hesitation and with complete sincerity the man answered my question with a question, " You are struggling, aren't you?" There's no way he could know that I'm going through anything right? I didn't know this man at all. "You are in debt, it's clawing at you, you don't know where your life is going and that terrifies you." He said before I could speak again. My heart rate started to rise and my forehead started to sweat. There was no way this man could know this. "Who are you, and what do you want?!" I felt the panic in my voice when I asked this. I didn't believe in anything supernatural, however, this exchange didn't feel normal.

Overwhelmed with a new sense of fear the man began to calm me down. "It is alright, allow me to explain," He said with a cool calm tone. Then all at once, the man began to weave a tale of the book. Every word flowing from his mouth with intent and conviction. This man believed every word he said and watching him speak calmed my nerves about what was transpiring. His tale was the most outrageous outpouring of storytelling I had ever witnessed, however, my fears and skepticism were slowly being laid to rest as I sat in awe, hanging on to every word he said. When his story has concluded he left me with this. "This book can give you the desires of your heart." I looked at the man and then at the book. I didn't want to believe what he was saying, but then the thought crossed my mind. What if? If what he was saying is true, then this is my ticket to freedom from my debt. If what he was saying was true this was my answer. Finally, I reached out over the table to grab the book. The man suddenly slammed his hand on top of mine. His face had shifted from relaxed and empathetic to serious and intense as he said, "This book is a blessing. As much as it is a curse."

The moment after he said this, it felt as if I was completely alone. It was as if there was a spotlight shining on me and the book. I pondered in this place for what seemed like forever how this small insignificant book could possibly be so great. I was suddenly thrust back into reality and had to make my decision. "I don't think I can. . .:" Looking up after being prepared to turn down the man, I saw something in him I hadn't seen to this point. Desperation. The same desperation I felt when dwelling on the woes of my life, was the same desperation I saw in this man's face when I looked at him. Nothing else to this point mattered when I saw this. The fear, the unbelief, and the hesitation all went away. I had no way of knowing what this book could do. All I knew is that this man was desperate to get rid of it. "I'll take the book," I said with an empathetic tone. "Are you sure?" The man asked hurriedly. I paused for a moment to examine that question but gave him the same answer again. "I'll take the book." After I repeated this the man's face shifted again, and for the last time. Grabbing my hand and standing to his feet the man shook me wildly and thanked me more times than I could care to count. He then, with a skip and a jump, ran away from the table and into the park. After watching him for a while he disappeared into the distance.

Part 2: The Curse

The next morning I woke up the same way I always had. Checked for jobs, looked at emails, and got breakfast ready. My daily lamenting was going to be done over eggs that day. This time however there was the book. As I sat down to eat there it was, staring me in the face. I couldn't keep my gaze off of it, and oddly enough it felt as if it were calling out to me. I put down my utensils and picked up the book and removed the broken lock. Picking up a pen I thought to myself, I hope that man was right. I wrote in the book that I wanted to be free from my debt, a request as simple as it was vital for me to start my life. When I put the pen down the book jumped in the air and shut, the broken lock clasping it closed. Then a knock at the door.

I slowly moved toward the door checking out the peephole to see who was there. No one, there was no one outside my door. As I opened the door, again, there was no one. I was just about to walk back inside when I looked down to find a note. I picked up the note and walked back to the table. Sitting down I read the note. You have been given a gift but at a cost. Soon all of your problems will be solved. At a cost, what could that mean? I racked my brain about that sentence all morning. When the clock hit noon my phone lit up, I looked to see a notification from the collection agency I had been avoiding. "We are writing this email to thank you for getting your payment in, this email is to let you know that your debt of twenty thousand dollars has been satisfied."

Just like that? Were my problems really solved? Was I really free?

For the rest of the week, I had experienced a sense of joy that had all been but lost on me. My life was beginning to come together, and I felt good for the first time in forever. This joy wouldn't last, however. My phone began to ring as I was on a walk through the park. It was the hospital. My mother was dying. Without hesitation, I said, "The book," and sprinted to my house. I flung open the door and tore apart the house looking for the book. When I found it, I tried to pull it open but it wouldn't budge. The broken lock was now as solid as stone and opening it seemed like a fruitless venture. Deep in my soul, however, I knew that if I could open it I could use it to save my mom. After hours of struggling the thought crossed my mind, Is this the cost?

I sped to the hospital, black book in the passenger seat. I denied the thought that my mother's life could be the cost of my freedom and raced to the hospital. I ran into the room she was staying and placed the book on the end table trying to get it open. My mother weakly said, "Come here, baby." Her voice was weak. I stopped trying to open the book to comfort my mother. "It's okay mom, I'm here," I said with tears streaming down my face. The next words she said would be her last, "I love you." The world once again turned dark and I was standing under a spotlight, the flatline sound rang through my soul. In my hands was the black book. The book which was once locked now had that same broken lock as it did when I first wrote in it. I opened the book to the page I had written my desire in, it was no longer my desire. The book had only one sentence stained on its pages.

Was it worth it?