Autumn Leaves

Alone in the world, Jada never realized how much of an anchor her grandfather had been. Now that he was gone… She wrapped her arms around her bent legs and lowered her forehead. Her dark corkscrew hair flattened against her knees. She sobbed, slowly soaking her jeans with mucus and tears. She convulsed as she cried. Her stomach tightened breathless. Her brown caramel eyes swelled maraschino red. Her head throbbed. What was she supposed to do now?

The funeral director took pity on Jada. He let her take her grandfather home in a display urn that was discontinued. She didn’t ask about his teeth, if they were mixed with the ashes. She had heard that three of them were filled with gold; maybe that was a rumor.

Should she sift through his ashes? That was a morbid thought, even for her. She put the urn on the mantle and wondered what to do next. She wasn’t enrolled in school. She didn’t have a job. She spent the summer waiting tables at a seasonal lobster shack, but hadn’t really saved enough to pay for college.

She read the mail. Her parents were denied bail, again. It had been years since she had seen them. There was advertisements, pizza coupons, electric bill, gas bill, water bill… The bills were pilling up.

Now that her grandfather’s Social Security Checks would stop, she wondered how she would survive. Did he have a will?

Her grandfather’s desk was unused for years. It was his grandfather’s and had been in the family for generations, donkey’s years. The roll top covering was down, and the drawers locked.

There was no time in Jada’s memory before her grandparent’s room. They practically raised her. She remembered the bedtime stories, the warm milk and tea. She remembered the television sitcoms while she drifted off to sleep between them. She hadn’t been in their room since her grandmother died; neither had her grandfather. She knew to go to his nightstand. There she found the key.

Unlocking the roll-top desk Jada discovered a mess. There were papers and books piled everywhere. She immediately began to organize. There were envelopes older than her mother, stamps worth a penny, fountain ink, rim-wire reading glasses, a silver cigarette case, reel-to-reel audio tapes, a plethora of papers, and a sixty-second hour glass.

One notebook sat ominous in the corner of the desk. She picked it up and smelled the pages. This book had traveled. It had collected the stench of sweat, and blood; of coffee, wine, and the mud of a seasoned life. The small Moleskine book was twenty years old. The pages were firm and the binding tight, but the many years of sentimental wear were beginning to show in the finger-flipped page ends. It was clear that this was an important book to her grandfather. The other notebooks were oversized and held no currency.

Opening the small black notebook Jada gasped as a five hundred dollar bill fell out onto the desk.

There was an oath on the first page:

In an effort to make right my devious past, I, Hiram Walker, do solemnly swear to pay the following debts:

Jada turned the page, totally in awe.

Miriam Ivy – 2,000.00 for The 1957 Chevy I stole from your father. I drunkenly wrecked it. Sorry.

As Jada turned the page, dark green bills slipped from the little book, folded perfectly in half. She counted four five-hundred dollar bills.

She turned the page.

Aaron Graubart – 1200 for the drinks I drank without paying.

Herbert Sanchez – 500 for the Donkey I drunkenly shot on a bet. Who knew I could be that good with a crossbow?

A single five-hundred dollar bill slipped from the book.

Katherine Swamback – 1,500 for the meals and drinks you provided me over the decades of our friendship. I wouldn’t have been the same without your generosity.

The stories kept coming: Sorry for running over your prized poodle… Sorry for plowing through your corn fields… Sorry for destroying your gradmother’s fur coat…so many apologies… Jada wasn’t sure who her grandfather was anymore.

In total there were forty five-hundred dollar bills to pay twenty-thousand dollars in debt. Jada was overwhelmed with the stories, and the money. She decided at once to locate these individuals, and pay them their owed debt.

Out on Washington Avenue, Miriam Ivy lived the closest.

Jada knocked on her door.

“Yes?” Julie answered.

“Hi my name is Jada Walker. Is there a Miriam Ivy here?”

“Grandma!”

An elderly woman shuffled to the door. She was wrinkled and thin, just past ninety, wearing an eternal smile.

Jada explained who she was and what she was doing there. Miriam invited her to sit at the kitchen table inside the modest house.

“Oh I remember Hiram very well. I took his virginity. My father almost killed him when he found out.”

Listening to the story, Jada was overwhelmed with questions. She found out they were in love, that her grandfather defended her honor in a bar fight and eventually lost her to his best friend David Mooneyham.

“The way I see it darling, your grandfather doesn’t owe me a dime. He only stole that old car because my daddy was shooting at him.”

Jada decided to take the two thousand dollars and save it. Maybe one day she would be able to afford a semester of college. She longed to go, just for one semester, just to see what her old high school friends were up to, just to see what she was missing.

Next was a local speakeasy. Outside The Tiger’s Eye, the music was unbearably loud. How did they expect to remain anonymous? Clayton Graubart answered the door. The enormous bruiser with beard and tattoos and blackened baby blues was the proprietor of the establishment. “YES?”

Jada answered quickly and sharply, “I believe my grandfather owed your father money?”

Clayton looked above her head and all around her perimeter. Nervous, and suspicious, he focused very briefly on Jada’s eyes, then again, on the threatening environment. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“My grandfather owed your father money?” Jada said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah well... I don’t know nothing about no debts – and as far as I’m concerned – anything in the past is null and void, especially concerning my old man. Got it?” The beefy bouncer snarled at Jada and slammed the font door.

Wondering if she should pursue the matter more, Jada contemplated the man’s attitude. What’s the right thing to do? Be tough, like him. She decided to keep the money. It was the man’s prerogative to nullify past debts. If he decided not to take the offer, she would keep the money.

Feeling better about having more money saved, Jada kept going.

The small black book felt warm and comfortable in her hands. It was an archeological wonder of her family’s history and secrets.

“Let me get this straight,” Jillian Parr leaned on her open front door, wiry alligator arms and Marlboro scarred face. She studied Jada, “You have cash to give me – some old debt I know nothing about, and you don’t want me to sign papers or nothing?”

“I found my grandfather’s notebook, full of debts, and the cash to repay them. It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Alright then, hand over the money.” The older woman extended her thin weathered fingers, adorned with cheap rings, and wrists jangling even cheaper bracelets.

Jada handed Jillian an envelope with nine five-hundred dollar bills inside.

Removing the paper bills from the envelope Jillian suddenly froze. “You sure these are real?”

“I assume so, they feel real.”

“You ever seen a five-hundred dollar bill?”

“No.”

“Listen, I think this is a gas, and I’m pretty sure these bills are worth more than forty-five hundred dollars, but then so was the ‘vette.” Jillian shifted her stance and smirked. “I appreciate you repaying your grandfather’s debt. He was one smooth-talking greaser.” She smiled yellow shark teeth, “He always treated my mother with respect, so I suspect you’re on the up and up.”

“Thanks.”

“This is so wild.” Jillian smiled and shifted again, “Why don’t you go down to Blanton’s, see if them bills are worth more before you go around handing them out.”

Inside Blanton’s Mint the items for sale rested on silk pillows beneath bulletproof glass. Here were the largest jewels, and rarest watches Jada had ever seen.

Security cameras focused on multiple angles.

“Young lady, do you have a letter of authentication for these bills?” The dealer asked in awe. He had yet to remove the jewelry loupe from his right eye, so that it was enormous behind plastic lens.

“No. They were in my grandfather’s little notebook. I don’t know for how long.”

“Well, the worst thing is this center-crease in each of your bills. It will degrade the value tremendously.”

“What do you mean?” Jada asked.

“I mean these bills will probably receive a PMG grade of forty three instead of fifty.” The dealer removed the loupe.

“So what will you give me for them?” Jada asked.

“Well because of the condition of the bills, and the time it would take me to sell them. I can only offer, thirty-four thousand dollars.”

“Ok.” Jada played cool.

It was a restless night. She considered taking the money for herself. What did she owe anyone? Her grandfather was dead. These were not her debts.

After restless sleep, she decided to keep her grandfather’s wishes. After all, it wasn’t her treasure. She had an obligation to fulfill.

Vanessa Murray took five hundred. The fur coat was meant for her, until Hiram passed out in the snow, drunk as a skunk. The coat saved his life, but it ruined the coat. Vanessa snatched the money from Jada’s hand and shut the door in her face. The affluent west side mansion could easily house four of Jada’s homes.

John Fournier took a thousand dollars for a poodle he never knew.

Dale Brown took five hundred dollars for his grandfather’s corn fields. Being a third generation farmer, he just couldn’t afford to say no to free money.

Many of the people Jada tried to contact refused to listen to her story. People seemed indifferent to her plight, callous to her cause, anxious to return to a place without her presence. Doors slammed in her face. Threats were made to her person, before she even had a chance to offer the money.

After she had contacted, or attempted to contact everyone on her grandfather’s list, she gathered her wits and finances. She had twenty-thousand dollars remaining; enough for a new beginning.

Jada couldn’t bring herself to sell the house. It was the only home she had ever known. Through the years of moving back and forth from home to home that her parents provided temporarily, her grandparents’ home was the only home which remained constant in her world: Warm tea and milk; Sitcoms; Falling asleep to canned laughter between two warm familiar bodies.

Hiram Walker’s Last Will and Testament declared everything go to Jada Walker, his beloved granddaughter.

Now she had property taxes, upkeep, bills, etc… Now Jada was an adult with serious responsibilities. She did not shy from the tasks, nor did she weaken her position on school. It was time to work hard and better her self.

The bursar’s office was a window in a lobby, much like a bank teller, capitalistic cubicles of cold-hard-cash transfer. Jada handed the student bursar two cashier checks for 4800 each. This was her entire semester paid for.

Skeptical, Jada signed up for her classes based on her interests, with no concern for major, minor, or requirements. This was her adventure, and no one was going to direct her.

On her first day, Jada drank black coffee, ate cinnamon toast, and headed to campus. Her first class was the one she was most interested in: Ethics.