Recycled

Jacob looked down at the bottle he found in his hand, not remembering when he last drank from it. He tilted it back hoping for anything but only found the smell of cheap liquor. Panhandling had been hard of late... there's a sweet spot between hard luck and desperation where the change really flowed. He had been on the wrong side of desperation for too long.

Across the street was a lonely church with a parking lot that always sported more weeds than vehicles. The cross on top of the steeple drew his eye, silhouetted in the pre-dawn light. He had seen it before but never really looked at it. Memories stirred but he shied away from all the wrong decisions that had led him to sitting in the dust with only an empty bottle for a friend. Finally, something moved inside him and he spoke with a whiny, raspy voice. "I ain't asked for anything before but, just once, could you send me twenty bucks? No, ten is fine and I'll go straight from then on. Just ten, okay?"

After what he deemed a suitable amount of time, he stood up heavily and, as his habit, was about to throw the bottle into the street. He stopped his arm in mid-swing and then carefully put it down on a concrete construction barrier, perhaps as a testament to his vow. As he did, his eye caught the glint of metal behind the stony wall. Leaning over unsteadily, his eyes were drawn to a satchel with shiny brass buckles, like a messenger bag.

He grabbed it and felt the weight of something inside. It was worn enough to have seen use but not enough to have been discarded purposely. With fumbling fingers, he opened it, straining his eyes in the dim light to identify the contents.

Money.

Lots of money.

Even without getting a good look, he could tell there were thousands of dollars. Not in neat stacks but shoved in. There were more fives then twenties and way more singles than either of the two. The bills were worn and crumpled as if each had its own story. On top of them all was a leather notebook... waiting.

Sudden headlights startled Jacob and he quickly closed the satchel. He needed someplace to think before the liquor stores opened.

* * *

The journal was soft, almost buttery under his fingers. The black surface caught the light as if it could reflect your image if held just right. It radiated potential and purpose. In a parking lot, under the harsh fluorescent lights, he finally opened it. On the first page, in unnaturally neat script was a line of text, "Cleanse yourself." Nothing more. Jacob almost turned to the next page but some instinct stopped him. He looked through the plate glass of the convenience store at the cases of malt liquor and the scowling clerk behind the counter keeping an eye on him. After long thought, he closed the book.

* * *

Ten minutes later he was at the back door of a 24/7 gymnasium that an acquaintance worked at. Anyone else would call him Jacob's friend but pity does not make for a good friendship. A young man came out the door, his nametag said 'Mark' and his branded t-shirt fit snugly over his muscled torso. He winced when he saw what was waiting for him. "Cripes, Jake. No begging around here, alright? You remember our deal?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I just want to use the jakes and the showers. Ummm, you aren't tossing any lost and founds are you?"

"As it turns out, I got some here." He held up a trashbag and then frowned as he got a better look at what the panhandler was holding. "Aww, man, you didn't steal that, did you?"

"No!" Jacob lowered his voice to a normal register. "I swear, I just found it alongside the road."

The man sighed. "You've never lied to me before so a point for you. Go ahead and use the showers before any members show, okay? And make sure to toss what you don't want!"

"Thanks... I mean it."

"Whatever, man."

After a quick search of the trashbag, he took a thorough shower, scrubbing away dirt bonded to his skin and hair with ten times the amount of soap anyone else would need. Using a found razor, he scraped away at his facial hair revealing a weakish chin but a strong jawline. He rubbed his newly shaved face and was startled at his appearance in the mirror. Other than eyes too old for his body, he looked as if he had washed a decade away with the grime. The ownerless items also granted him a clean change of clothes and a pair of leather shoes that fit surprisingly well. He carefully shoved his old clothes in the trashbag, suddenly disgusted with them, and tied it tightly.

As he walked into the lobby, Mark's eyes widened. "Jeezus, Jake. They say the clothes make the man, but still!"

"Thanks again. I'll toss this." He moved toward the back entrance.

"No way, man. That's my job. You use the front, k?"

"A-alright." Feeling out of place with his newish clothes and satchel, he walked out the entrance.

None of the early-morning gym-goers gave him a second glance.

* * *

Feed the hungry

* * *

Jacob read the line and a wrinkled formed on his head as frowned. Feed the hungry? He looked up from the book as he wondered how to go about it. The homeless shelter was where he got most of his meals. Simple food but good enough. "Hrm, maybe donate there? Those guys are already fed, though." It was then he spotted a weary woman walking with three kids near the bus terminal. Their shabby luggage spoke volumes and the children were hanging off of her as they tried to keep pace.

He closed the book and approached the women who looked frightened for a second before his neat appearance allayed her fears. "Ma'am it's not safe to be walking here right now. Why not let me treat your family to a meal?" He nodded toward a popular fast food restaurant.

"Y-you don't have to...", she stammered but the shining appeal in her kid's eyes stopped her. Only hesitating for another moment, she consented. "Thank you, then."

They piled into the largest booth inside after he told them to order 'whatever they wanted'. Under the slightly over-bright indoor lights, he spotted bruises on the woman he hadn't seen outside. The kids inhaled their food and went clambering on the playground. Their mother was also eating a meal that Jacob had forced her to order as she looked even thinner than her kids.

He tore out the first page in the book and wrote an address on the back before giving it to her. "That's a battered women's shelter near here. Open all day, any day. They'll give you and yours a place to rest and rebuild."

Tears formed in the woman's eyes and she tried stopping them with the cheap paper napkins but failed until they piled in front of her like a tiny mountain. "How can I repay you? How can I ever?"

"No need... it's not my money anyway."

* * *

Over the next six hours, he went through the black book, page by page. He purchased an art book for kid who looked like he was about to steal it. He paid the latest car payment for a Pakistani taxi driver. He bought an old woman's heart medication. He gave shoes to seven seperate people of all ages. He paid the past-due rent on a house. He tossed a new basketball at some surprised teens that had worn theirs to death.

Cravings to drink followed him all day. Every time those crumpled dollars left his hands, he felt them, harder and stronger like something grabbing his heart from inside his chest. Jacob clenched his teeth and turned to the next page, and the next page, and the next page. They were a guide and a shield and a distraction.

As he was buying groceries for an elderly couple, he found his hand twitching toward the grocery shelf full of wine. On sale, $9 a bottle down from $15. He mumbled to himself. "That's for me, right? I'm doing my part?" But he stopped his shaking hand and tightened it into a fist and turned as if his feet were chained to half ton weights. He only let loose a shuddering breath after he left the store.

Toward the end, he was using the change that piled up in his pockets as the bag became emptier. He handed a drugstore bag to a man who thanked him profusely. Then he turned a page that said "Buy reading glasses" to find... nothing.

Jacob stared at the empty page for a long minute before flipping through the rest of the book. On the left side were well-worn pages, some with stains, others torn. On the right, pristine leaves, all blank.

He hurriedly dug through his pockets. He had long since stuffed the remaining bills in there as the satchel emptied out. He counted out nine singles and a scattering of change. "Is, is that it? Is it over?"

Having lost his purpose, even if had only been for half a day, left him empty. The grocery store with the sale was nearby and he could remember their wine display as clearly as if it was in front of his face. He imagined how easy it would be.

Perhaps out of habit, he flipped through the book and everything he had done that day came back to him. He looked up from it and saw a cat scrounging unsuccessfully through the garbage of a restaurant. It was thin, ragged eared, and had a bent tail.

An hour of coaxing and some expensive canned food later, he had a mangy, but purring cat on his lap as he sat on a park bench. "Say little fella, I have this book. And I mean to fill it up, but it could take a long time. Want to help?"

The cat meowed and settled in for a nap which Jacob took as an assent.