My Future

I sat across from Mr. Cheaves in a worn-out leather chair that he pulled up to his desk. I think you are going to like this he said. I respond with a short smile. I do not like surprises of any type. I do not like phone calls that disrupt the flow of my day and I especially do not like Mr. Cheaves.

He had been our family’s attorney for centuries and as far as I could tell he was not worth the shingle that hung outside of his stinky little office. But Nana insisted that we keep paying him the monthly stipend to handle our affairs, should the need arise.

“Mr. Cheaves, can we move it along, please”. I ask. “Yeah, yeah, yeah”, he says as he shifts papers around his desk looking for. “You did know I was coming here today right”, I say, rather tersely. “Yeah, yeah, yeah”, he says again and never looking at me, keeps on shuffling papers.

“Got it!” He shouts, like He had just hit BINGO! He lights a cigar, leans back in his chair, and asks, “Do you know what I got here?” “I bet you I hold in my hand an answer to at least one of your prayers.” “Mr. Cheaves, you do not know what I pray for, can we please get on with it?” “Yeah, yeah, yeah”, he says again. He takes a long draw on the cigar, and without looking for an ashtray, balances it on the ledge of his desk. He takes the slender red case he has found, gets up, walks around the desk, and plops it, yes, plops it in my lap. “You do not own the place you live in do ya”, he asks, perching his pudgy butt on his desk in front of me. “And”, I say, wondering why he knows anything about my living situation. “Ohhh, he says, I know a lot about you. You do not own your home; you are behind on the rent and just got an eviction notice. That hunk of rivets you call a car costs more to fix than you have and the rental you drive now needs to be turned back in tomorrow. Did you even eat today?” He asks? I open my mouth to say something, but he cuts me off. “No bother, he says, you will eat later for sure. When you get back to your temp job, tell them you quit.” “I will not!”, I shout. “And since you know so much about my life, you know I need that job. Another week and they must take me on permanent, full time! And as far as my home and car are concerned, I have made arrangements so”…”Open the case” he says. “Open it.” I was so annoyed by this intrusive little ogre that I forgot about the case in my lap, even though my hands were resting on it. I look at Mr. Cheaves as my fingers flip the clasp on the front of this red leather case. “Here we go”, he says. I look down as I lift the lid.

Money. Cash money! There is a folded piece a paper laying on top of stacks of 20’s. A small key rest on top of the paper. “Oh My God!”, I stammer! “What is this?” “Did you ever go to visit Nana after she had the stroke?” “Did you ever even think of her?” “Well, she thought of you. All the time. This, Miss Coty is Nana’s rainy day fund she called it. Cash she put away for the day your back was against the wall. Left instructions that I was to check up on you from time to time and when the day came that you really needed it, after she died of course, I was to give it to you. That day is today, so step away from the wall Sister.”

“What? How much is here”, I ask. “$20,000”, he says. “That will pay for the rental, your car, and your apartment. Put you better than back on your feet. If you are as smart as Nana believed, this will be a new beginning for ya. I pray you will not waste your blessing.” With that, he gets up off his desktop and walks back around to sit in his chair. “What’s the letter say?”, I ask him. “Don’t know”, he says. “My job was to check on you over the years and deliver that case to you at the appropriate time. I have done what I was asked, now I am done with you. You can go.” I rise to leave and as I reach the door to walk out, I hear him say under his breath, “good riddance”.

I turn then, and walk a few paces back toward his desk to give him a piece of my mind. “For your information, I did visit my Nana, in fact I stayed with her for a week before she was put in the home.” “Sure, ya did” he says. “I called and sent letters too from time to time”. “Yep, I know, two phone calls and 1 letter in two years.” He speaks. “Hey, I got a life, you know. I loved Nana; my life just got in the way. I had school you know. And I am an artist. Nana understood that. That is why she paid for school and set me up with that gallery. I loved Nana…”, my voice is a whisper. “Uh-huh, bye”, he says. He never looked at me during this last exchange. I loved Nana; I repeat to no one as I close his door behind me.

I slide into my car seat. I drive to “Barnards Soul Shack” and take a booth in the back. I open the red case a crack and pull out the note and key. I carefully latch the case and lay it on the seat beside me.

Hey Baybay,

I hope the hard time you may be experiencing is not too hard. I saw a small article in the paper about an up-and-coming artist. Saw that news piece too. Oh, the paintings look so nice. So sorry I did not make it there on time. By the time I arrived, the gallery was closing. the door was locked. I tapped on the window, I could see you and some others in the back, but the boy out front just waved me away. I tried calling too, but I guess I had the wrong number. You did not have your phone turned off, did you? Well, no bother. I was sorry to hear of the gallery’s closing. And then the school would not hire you. They do not know what they are missing. Mr. Cheaves told me; I hope you do not mind. That is when I decided to put a little something away for you, and here it is. Please do not lose that key. It is to a safe deposit box at our bank in your name. I’ll be checking on you from time to time. I miss you. I love you.

Always, Nana

Hot tears.

My alarm startles me out of sleep. I call the temp job and lie to them about needing a sick day. Off to the bank I go. ID. Two keys, a slender grey metal box. A private room.

In the box a letter on top of some documents, a small black notebook, and another set of keys. I lay the letter aside and pick up that black book. Running my hand over its surface, I swear I can feel their handprints. I close my eyes and raise it to my nose. I smell them. Immediately, I am transported back to the table in the kitchen, the place of all important work. Nana and Papa raised me. Over the years I often saw them writing in that little book. Their faces would be so stern and serious. When ever I asked them what they were doing, they both would say they were “writing my future” and to mind my business.

Hot tears again.

Hey Baybay,

This box contains your future. You remember the work Papa did? He labored at that plant for 46 years, never missing a day. He taught me how to save and invest. Since we had everything we needed or wanted, we decided to leave all we had left to you. Surprise! The house was not sold, but furniture was. I did not think you would want our old stuff. A caretaker keeps the grounds and makes sure the house is still sound. Do you know about stocks and bonds? This box contains a few bonds I think you should cash. In the black book are the names of all the people that you need to see about your properties.

Wait…what? Properties?

Also included in the book are the bank accounts that Papa and I set up in your name, with the instructions on how to access them. Papa insisted on recording the numbers on all the bonds and the stocks too. You know Papa was all about security.

Stocks and Bonds…Bank accounts, like more than one?

The names and numbers of our brokers along with their business cards are also in the book. Finally, we recorded the insurance policies numbers and everything we could think of that you might need to know. You will find it all in the safe. I wish I could see your face when you examine the things in this box. Baybay, please do not be angry at the memory of Papa and me. We wanted to tell you several times, but the time never seemed right, and when we asked about how you were doing, you would say for us to mind our business. We wanted to make you strong, but we did not want you to struggle. Artists need a lot of care and so we did the best we knew how. Keep up with that black book. Put your important information in it. I miss you and love you.

Always, Nana

Today is the grand opening of the Black Book Gallery. The very building where I held my first show all those years ago, is now a building owned by me! Last year I opened the Coty School of Art and put my degree to work teaching kids.

Because of my visit to the bank that fateful day over a year ago, I have not had my back against a wall. I moved into Papa’s and Nana’s house. I discovered per instructions in that black book that there was a safe in the basement. This safe contained stacks and stacks of bonds, stock certificates, and insurance papers. The deeds to the house, a four-family apartment building and a garage containing 2 antique cars with the certificates of ownership tucked away in the glove compartments, were all in the safe.

I have all my important information stored in my brain and in a secured document on my computer…copied everything on a thumb drive I keep stored in that same safe…. but I still keep that small black book. And from time to time I write in it. Mostly reminders of things I must do and notes of gratitude to Nana and Papa. You know, the important stuff that reminds me of my future.

By: Renita Shadwick