Like Mother, Like Daughter

You’d never know what hit you until the time comes. At least, that’s what Elaine told herself nearly every day. Things were tough, an immeasurable amount of trying, and trying again, was in Elaine’s past, and in her distant future as well. You’d think she could handle it well after all these years, but she doesn’t, and she won’t.

Three years. It’s been three long, grueling years, since the tragic death of her mother, a single parent, in a world full of chastising and marriage induced sisterhood. At twenty-one years old, Elaine had already learned the struggle of adulthood too early. With a mother who always supported her decisions and the more delicate side to her than any other person would. She was her mother, why wouldn’t she? Of course, that was until that fateful day.

Three years... It’s been three years.

Elaine closed the bathroom mirror after snatching up the medication that was recently switched. Her anxiety had been through the roof lately, which led to the lucky little oval shaped pill she popped in her mouth. So small, but it was supposed to do so much. Her days alternated between work and school. The college lifestyle strayed away from Elaine that agonizing year but she made her way back before it was too late. Today was one of those days where she had work and school on the same day. She’d see this mirror later that night.

After the finishing touches of her make up, and placing the toothpaste back where it should be, she gave herself one last glimpse in the mirror.

“Happy birthday, Elaine.”

She grabbed her purse off of the kitchen counter, and went to leave her small apartment like she did every day, and probably would until years later when she finally graduated with her Master’s Degree.

Elaine knew the day’s schedule like the back of her hand. What she wasn’t expecting was the little box sitting on her doormat right outside her apartment door. It was rainbow-color wrapped, with a red bow right on top. She’d watched too many crime shows in her years, to believe that picking up a random box would be a great idea. It’d be just her luck, she’d somehow infuriated a bomber.

She looked down the hall to the left and right. No one was around.

She shrugged, and then picked up the box. It was one of those packages that she always found so neat, when the top would just slide right off of the bottom, like a shoe box. She closed her front door and walked back into her apartment, setting the box on her counter where she practically threw everything else. Sliding the top off, inside was crinkled paper, and on top of that paper was a small black journal. Blinking in confusion, she grabbed the journal and opened it.

The book looked like any journal would, except for there being one slight problem. There was only one sheet of paper inside. Most journals had a hundred sheets or more, designed to hold someone’s everyday thoughts. That was kind of the point of having multiple upon multiple pieces of paper attached.

“So stupid,” she whispers to herself. Who thought oh-let’s-send-Elaine-a-journal-for-her-birthday-but-no-paper-Hahahahahaha-let’s-have-a-laugh.

But whatever.

On the first, and only page in the little black journal, there was a note written in a perfect cursive scrawl.

“Follow These Rules:

Write one person’s name.

That person must be someone you know personally.

That person you must know well.

That person must be horrible.

That person must mean.

That person must be wealthy.”

And then underneath the scrawl was a “__________” line, placed there for those very rules. Elaine started grumbling to herself, things like stupid rules, why mean, why wealthy. Some gift.

It’s things like this that frustrate the girl. Why give a gift at all if it’s only going to be some joke.

Only one person comes to mind, a man her mother worked for years ago. Even his name was stupid. Michael Michaelson. She blamed him for her mother’s death. Just to make ends meet her mother worked two full-time jobs, and Elaine worked part-time after school. With the growing economy, and their landlord raising the rent by a hundred dollars every year, they couldn’t manage to make enough to move somewhere else.

Michael Michaelson really was a horrible, mean, man, who used his wealth to open diners across the state of Louisiana. One diner in particular, her mother worked late evenings. It was one night, when Michaelson called her mother in on her day off from the diner, to work the late shift, that her mother was hit by a driver who had been drinking. During the trial, that man was found innocent in the eyes of the court, because his blood alcohol level was at a high .07. She couldn’t blame him, even if she wanted to. She couldn’t write his name, it didn’t follow these rules.

She hated her mother’s boss the most. He knew the struggle of her working single mother, and yet, he still waved every dime in front of her that he could. That was why she blamed him. In Saint Francisville, everyone knew everyone. How could you not with a population that barely broke 2,000 people? Her mother became pregnant at 18, and people chastised women like her. Young, single, pregnant women. It led to their struggle. People didn’t tip people like Elaine’s mother. Their town was grueling, angry, simply put, a Christian unity.

So… Elaine wrote his name. She didn’t know why the person who sent her this book had these rules, but who was she, not to abide? She set the book right there on her counter, and left her apartment much like she meant to a few minutes before.

Elaine arrived at work with a minute to spare, clocked in and tied her apron around her waist. Her hair up in a flimsy ponytail, she put on her best smile, and walked out into the dining room of the diner, where she saw the breakfast stragglers starting to come in. She too, worked where her mother did three years ago. A lot of the time, Elaine could remember the steps her mother took through this very diner before that night. It played in her mind every day, especially on her birthday every year. Even in her mind, with her angry lease on life, she knew it didn’t help to have such hate in her heart.

Elaine walked into Diner’s main area, pulling out the small notepad and pen from her apron like it was more rountine than job. and like every other day, like routine, she took customer's orders, got their drinks and food, took her lunch, then finally clocked out for the day.

The day wasn't even over yet, and yet she felt completely defeated. Happy birthday to her.

Money mattered more than taking the day off. Unlike her mother, three years prior, Elaine had managed to save up enough money to buy herself a cheap car on the side of the road. She got in the driver's side, and started driving to the only class she had for the day. Ah, yes, routine.

By the time she walked up the stairs that led to her apartment door, she had completely forgotten about the little black journal that was gifted to her earlier that day. It was even more of a shock to her that left her more frightened than she has been in years, to then realize the black journal, along with the rainbow wrapped box was now missing from her kitchen counter.

She replayed entering her apartment in her head, and knew that she hadn't missed her door being unlocked, or any sign of a break-in. Nothing really added up, and as much as she wanted to shrug it off, it just didn't sit right with her.

She searched everywhere in her apartment, imagining that maybe she had set it down somewhere else instead of the kitchen counter. What really worried her was the fact that the book was missing, nowhere in sight, and she had no clue how it was possible.

Still, she was far too exhausted to even think further on the subject. And like earlier that day, she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, getting ready for bed. By the time her head hit the pillow she was already asleep.

***

Fuzzy dreams, and three alarms later, she was ready to face the day. Just like the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that, and so on, and so forth. She glimpsed at her phone after the third alarm had buzzed continuously for three minutes, she saw a weird notification that made no sense. Considering she wasn't supposed to get paid until the next week, and she hadn't stopped at the bank to deposit any loose cash, she was completely taken aback by the notification on her phone from her banking app. You know those apps for specific banks that allow notifications to be sent to the phone for every transaction, deposit, and change to the account? She had her account set up that way.

At first, she was scared that somehow someone had stolen money from her bank account. Which wouldn't have been pleasant considering she needed to pay rent in eight days. After logging on to the banking app, her heart dropped to her stomach and the wind was knocked out of her. Her blood ran cold.

Her bank account now stood at a whopping $6,498,374.97.

She blinked a few times, wondering if this was even possible. Was it? Was it really there? She logged off, then logged back on again. Yes, it was still there.

It was like everything had changed course in her life for about 2 seconds before she realized something must be wrong. She knew every dime in that account wasn’t hers, since she has spent her last 2 days prior on cold cut sandwich items.

Hurrying through her morning routine, brushed her teeth, brushed her hair, did the necessities, leaving her face bare of makeup, threw on some clothes, and rushed out the door.

She arrived at the bank, and waited as patiently as she could in line, which meant that she twitched, and tapped her foot, with her arms crossed. The normal Karen pose. When it was finally her turn, the teller smiled at Elaine in recognition.

"Oh, nice to see you again. Did you end up making it to class on time yesterday? You mentioned you were running late. " The bank teller blinked a few times, sincerity in her voice.

This threw Elaine off, "What do you mean? I wasn't here yesterday.”

The bank teller smiled understandingly, then took a peek at her computer. Her eyebrows furrowed in the middle, confusion clear and evident on her face. "Uhm, Elaine Tasse?” She started typing a bit on her keyboard, then looked back up to Elaine.

Elaine nodded dumbly. At least that's what it said on her birth certificate.

"Yes, you were here. If it wasn't for the fact that I was your teller, maybe we'd have to look into fraud. Is there a problem?” Even though the teller could quite clearly see the amount sitting in the girl’s bank account.

Elaine opened her mouth getting ready to say something, meanwhile, the teller made a few more clicks with her mouse this time on her computer screen, about to print out an IRS report sheet. That was before she noticed the approval stamp on the transaction itself, known as the IRS tag logo. Nevermind, then.

"Are you sure?"Elaine asked, going over yesterday in her head minute-by-minute at this point.

"Yes. Would you like to make a withdrawal?”

"No thanks." And then Elaine ripped her debit card out of the card reader, and then rushed out the bank door.