The Price

What in the world were you thinking???

Doubts weight me down as I pulled out the cold key I had just been given. Twenty years! Twenty years of saving money, wise decisions, and my marriage…. Twenty years down the drain.

I thought back to my husband’s beet- red face when he had walked in on me with my lover. He hadn’t even said a word, just pointed to the door.

“Wes,” I pleaded, struggling to hook my bra as my lover with the forgotten name threw his shirt over his head, “I’m sorry, this was a mistake!”

I saw the murder in his expression and hurriedly shoved my feet into the shoes.

My husband, soon to be ex, had packed up my things into neat boxes, and left them outside the home within 24 hours of the incident, and I had called my sister. She didn’t have space for me, but she had a landlord friend with an opening. $800 in deposits later, I now had this apartment, sight unseen, for the next 6 months.

Opening the door for the first time on the small, dingy white house, I first saw dusty hardwood floors. Good. Hardwood floors are a plus. But then my eyes landed on the walls. The bright pink walls. I sighed and strode further in. It was an open-floor plan with the living room, kitchen, and dining all in one big rectangular space. I strode down a hallway to the left and saw the bathroom. Peaking in I saw, oh thank goodness, a tub. Many a bath would be had there. And the one bedroom, unremarkably white, modest, with a decent sized closet.

This was home now.

I was staying with my sister for the next couple of days on couch while waiting for the movers to bring the rest of my stuff, but thankfully, I had enough forethought to pack cleaning supplies. I set off to work. The rest of my afternoon was cleaning out cabinets, sweeping rooms, and dusting stuff. The space was so small I actually finished it almost all of it by dinner time. All I had left was the closet.

As I looked into the closet, I reached up to the top built-in shelf to try to dust it, and I felt something. Taking it out, I found a small black notebook. It was leather bound and looked like it had been hand-made. Curiosity getting the better of me, I flipped through it until I found words.

“Dear reader, write what you desire, for now we are you wants supplier. But be warned every gift comes with a price, so take care to remember this advice” I read aloud.

The book was dusty and overall, fairly unremarkable. Something you could find in any book shop, but the words had been penned in beautiful calligraphy.

I felt a deep impulsiveness come over me, the same impulsiveness that had driven me into the arms of another man, and the same impulsiveness that had driven me to put a deposit down on an apartment I had never before seen. I decided to test this book.

Running out to my car, I ran through my backseat for a pen, until I found an old pen from my insurance agency.

Sitting on the freshly cleaned bedroom floor, I opened the book and wrote “I desire a chair to sit on.”

I waited for a moment not daring to breath. But nothing happened. And then I realized I was sitting on the floor of a dingy apartment, writing in an old journal a child had probably written in and left as a prank. Well, I suppose their prank had worked. I stood up and walked into the living room.

The book fell from my hands. Right there, right in the exact middle of the room was my chair. Not just any chair. My chair. The chair I had sat in for years, my beloved antique chair my husband hadn’t let me have back.

I immediately picked up the book from the ground, clicked my pen, and sat in my chair. Savoring the feeling, I stared at my book, amazed.

Opening the book, I wasted no more time and wrote “I desire $20,000.” I would have written a million dollars, but it did give me a warning, so I figured I would start off small.

My phone in my pocket made small dinging noise. I unlocked the screen and saw an email notification. Someone, someone I had never met before, had venom-ed me $20,000. What in the world???

Excited now, practically panting with joy, I brought the book back and wrote “I want my husband to love me again.”

I waited. And waited. What felt like an eternity later, but was in all reality likely no more than 60 seconds, I received a phone call with my husband’s name on my phone. I quickly pushed the receive button.

“Honey,” I heard his voice say, ”I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kicked you out. We should work this out, I love you. Please, please come home!”

One month later

I had used some of the $20,000 to get out of my rent and go back home. I had written in my book “I desire for all of my things to be where they were before I left my husband’s home.” And they were!

I had learned my lesson. I would never cheat again. And I still remembered the warning in the book. I tried to only use it once a day. I would ask for dinner to be cooked or small amounts of money, or other small trivial things. Honestly, I didn’t see a single sign of the “price” the book had lauded on about, but I did see changes in my husband. He acted like he had the first few years of our marriage, loving me, showing deep concern for me, taking me out on dates. But he also seemed… sad, somehow.

“Wes,” I asked him one day, “Are you ok? Since I’ve come home, you’ve seemed different.”

Immediately, Wes absolutely dissolved into tears. And not just tears leaking from his eyes, blubbering, heart-wrenching sobs that broke your heart.

“I… I…” he gasped in-between sobs, “I just can’t… can’t stay away from you, honey… I hate it. I need to be around you all the time. Every day. I don’t even want to miss any time with you and sleep. I love you so much!”

His words came out tinged with a slight feel of obsession, and I took a step back, utterly aghast.

“Honey, “ I said slowly, “I love you too, but we have to sleep, we have to work, and sometimes we can’t see each other.”

And that made him cry harder. For the next two hours, my husband cried himself until he ran to the bathroom and I heard retching noises. I left him alone in there, knowing if I see vomit, I will join in the process. But then, 30 minutes later, I didn’t hear anything and he still hadn’t come out.

Knocking on the door, I said “Honey?”

No answer.

I opened the door. And screamed.

My husband lay on the ground, hand on heart, eyes open staring off into the distance. Obviously dead.

I screamed and screamed and then called 911. The ambulance came and declared him dead on the spot.

Then the police came. The police officer asked questions, but I just couldn’t hear him. I loved my husband. I know I had cheated on him, but that was stupidity. Then the police officer asked for my driver’s license. I thought this was standard procedure.

“Ma’am,” He said, after taking my license to his car and coming back, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

He slapped handcuffs onto my wrists as I hysterically yelled, “What’s happening? What’s happening?”

“You had a warrant out for you for money laundering, ma’am. You’re under arrest.”

And then, it all came crashing back to me. The little nursery rhyme in my wonderfully book.

But be warned every gift comes with a price, so take care to remember this advice.

My book, my benefactor had paid in full for every little thing. And now, it was time to pay the price.

Devastated, I hysterically yelled as the officer wrestled me into the car, “I didn’t know the price!!! I didn’t know the price!!!!”