What a Wonderful World

The little black girl returned the little black book and was promptly rewarded with $20,000. Milano Lombardy was still in shock even after seeing the money deposited into her bank account. It was by pure chance she even noticed the little black book lying in a patch of snow on her way home from a night shift at Modo&Modo, the local bar. Milano wasn’t even so sure how she noticed the little black book under the cover of night. The snow probably had something to do with that, you’d be a fool not to notice something that black against the cover of an all-encompassing whiteness she thought. Milano thought about the parallels of her own life, with being the only black person in her small town.

It was not as bad as people thought, she never experienced any racism, at least not directly. She’s never been called the N-word nor has she ever been denied a job simply because she was black, and she has held quite a number of them. No, she would that at an early age the idea that because she was black life would be much harder for her has never been cemented unto her consciousness. Of course, she’s seen all the protests. Race is everywhere these days; it was hard to even turn on a news program without some talk about race being shoved down her throat. No, life has not been hard on her because she was black, life has been hard for her because life is just well… hard. Considering all of the struggles she’s been through; she cannot say for certain that all of that has happened because she was black. Her parents died when she was nine years old. That could happen to anybody though, that is not something that has happened simply because of her skin color.

No, of course not. Her inner voice said, everybody goes through things. Life is hard for everybody; the difference is that for those other people it is not their skin color that is making their life hard.

But is my skin color making my life hard? Milano was not sure that was something she could totally believe. I mean, she’s never been arrested, never been to jail, and she could count on one hand how many encounters she has had with the police. Racism, at least it seems to her, must have missed her when passing by with its divine hand. Nevertheless, there was a reason why she bent over and picked up that little black book. What was it though, I mean, there was nothing terribly special about it? It was pretty old and worn out, the pages were actually coming out of it. It was basically falling. It was by pure chance it flipped open to the last page when she opened it up, or else she would have never seen the message that was sprawled across it:

If found, please return to Maria Sebregondi

737 SW 109th Ave

Miami, FL 33174.

She wondered why someone would go out of their way to scribble a message like this, unless the book was that important of course. She lived in Maine, she could have easily mailed this back to the person but for someone she was tempted to fly out to Florida and deliver this book personally to its owner. Milano could not explain why but that is exactly what she did. The next week the little black girl (though she was twenty-eight years old, Milano came in at a compelling 4’11, 105 lbs.) and the little black book were on a plane to Florida to meet the mysterious woman named Maria. Upon her arrival to Miami International Airport, Milano called an Uber and was picked up by a man named Arrigo Berni who drove a sporty Alfa Romeo Giulia. She arrived at the front desk and asked if she could speak with Maria. The building seemed to be headquarters of some sort for a business, though Milano was unsure of exactly what the people were selling. Imagine Milano’s surprise when a tall, long legged beautiful black woman greeted her and promptly burst into tears when Milano returned the little black book to her.

Maria Sebregondi calmed herself enough to explain to Milano that the book was a very important prototype for a new product that her company was going to be selling that was going to change the world.

“What is the product?”, Milano asked.

“Notebooks honey. We’re making notebooks”, Maria replied.

“And notebooks are going to change the world?”

“Of course,”, her smile got wider. “We are going to transform the power of storytelling across the country, across the world even. Facilitating the oldest form of artistic expression, writing, into a new age if you will. A new evolution.” Milano doubted that a notebook would have the power to do that but did not have the heart to crush anyone’s dreams.

“Why was the notebook all the way in Maine?”

“Is that where it was? It was actually stolen out of our vault by one of our ex-employees. We had no idea where it was.”

“Yes, well, good for you I just happened to look down while I was walking. Or else I would have missed it. Well, anyway. It seems that you are very busy. So, I’ll just take my leave now.”

“One second honey.” Maria left and came back a few minutes later with her cellphone. “What’s your phone number?” Milano gave it to her and assumed Maria just wanted to keep in touch in the future. Next Milano’s phone buzzed, and she saw a notification for a $20,000 deposit into her bank account via cash app.

“Wait, what is this for?”, Milano look stunned.

“For securing my companies future. That amount of money is nothing compared to the number of dreams you have saved honey with that little black book you returned to me.”

“But… but I can’t accept this. I was just doing a favor.”

“Oh honey.” Maria laughed and grabbed both of Milano’s cheeks and gave them a a firm friendly slap. Not terribly hard but the shock of the sudden motion did jolt her a bit. “Non trasformare una mosca in un elefante.”

“Uhm I’m sorry?”, Milano said.

“It’s Italian for ‘Don’t make an elephant out of a fly’ You’re making something out of nothing my dear.”

“Your Italian?”

“Born and raised in Milan.” Maria smiled wide again and flashed brilliant white teeth and bubble pink gums. The effect actually made her appear darker than she really was, with her sleek dark colored hair. Milano thought she was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

“What are you doing for the rest of the day?”

“I was actually going to catch my flight back home.”

“Nonsense. You’re in Miami. I’ll show you a good time.” Maria promptly booked a hotel room for Milano for a week and for the first time in twenty-eight years, Milano started living instead of existing. They went golfing at Top Golf, enjoyed half off drinks during Happy Hour at the Wharf, visited the Viscaya museum, went to a strip club called The Office where Milano received her first lap dance, enjoyed bottomless mimosas on the nude beaches of South Beach, visited the arts district, went clubbing at Wynwood. The week zoomed by and both promised to keep in touch and gave many tearful hugs and goodbyes and kisses when it was time for Milano to catch her flight back home.

The little black girl thought about how saving a little black book netted her $20,000 and the experience of a lifetime. You couldn’t write a better script for this she thought. Milano enjoyed a dish of Ossobuco with a side of Risotto and a glass of Brovia Garblet Sue to wash it all down (Maria paid for a first-class ticket, though Milano did try to talk her out of it). Soon she would be back home to her monotonous, monotone existence where she did the same thing over and over and over again. Though now that she had $20,000 in her pocket, Milano thought her life would become at least a little bit more exciting. Maybe I’ll take a trip to Milan, she thought to herself. Or remove that noose that’s been hanging over my doorframe. Milano reclined her seat, looked out the window, and began to fall asleep to the jazzy raspy voice of Louis Armstrong:

I see trees of green

I see them bloom

For me and you

And I think to myself

What a wonderful

world.

Indeed, it was, she thought.