Dial

Running is a freeing experience. Feeling your heart pumping so hard, you start to admire its strength as a vital organ; the sweat on your skin making your hair cling to you as if afraid to be lost in your speed; the knowledge that your body is growing stronger, even as your muscles burn, tighten, and weaken with the exertion.

I wish I were running for a freeing sensation, but I'm not.

It's difficult to navigate the darkness in the forest, but I just keep pushing forward, my lungs screaming for a break, my hair plastered to the sides of my face, wondering how this could actually be my life right now.

I backtrack in my mind, wondering how things could change so quickly.

Today was extraordinarily common. I laid on my couch and perused my smartphone after dinner, as usual, and I chose to check on my bank account to ensure my budgeting was going well.

Imagine my surprise when I signed into the app and discovered $20,000. I blinked hard, several times, certain I was mistaken. I checked my recent transactions and there was no indication of a large deposit of money. It was just simply there.

As my heart started racing with possibilities, my brain created a sensational list of opportunities that just opened up with this kind of money, and I found myself falling into the fantasies so heavily that I did not notice a knock at my door.

The knocking turned into furious fist slams against the wood, and I stood abruptly, my body preparing for fight or flight.

The shouting came next. "We know what you have!"

I ran. Right out the back door.

Now, here I am, lost in the forest behind my home. I have no idea if my potential intruders know I left my house, but I still want to run as hard and as fast as I could. My life more than likely depends on it.

I burst through heavy shrubbery and retrieve my phone from my back jean pocket to flip on the flashlight, turning with the mediocre power of the small beam unable to show me the entirety of my surroundings behind me. I decide to press forward, not hearing a single noise in the forest I just finished disrupting. I turn with my phone light to look at what is ahead of me...

and I'm met with beauty. A magical scene I know I've never encountered before, no matter how many walks I've taken since I moved here in 1997. In the woods is a perfectly shaped circular patch of land, large enough to fit a small cottage. The trees are parted to allow moonbeams to light up the silken grass. Nothing but crickets. It's perfect. I feel so secure, as if my entire life were waiting to lead me here.

I look around again, wondering where my intruders are. No sounds but the singing insects.

There's a tree stump nearby, I notice. My phone is still aimed in front of me as I approach the stump and realize something is lying atop the old, cracked wood.

A book? Here?

It looks so new. It couldn't have been here long; its condition is too perfect. It's solid black with rounded corners, and I'm noting a solid structure as I retrieve the book from its resting place. I turn it over, looking for a name or a sign of where it came from or who it belongs to. My flashlight on my phone shuts off, but I can see fairly well under the moonlight in this sacred circle. The book feels indestructible in my hands and I feel myself wanting the book. I feel like it's mine. It should be mine. I just discovered I'm twenty-thousand dollars richer, and I might be a target of a hunt because of it, so why not just keep the book?

I open the book and I'm greeted with a simple ten digit phone number. It's not a number I recognize, with an area code I'm not sure actually exists. I flip to the next page, and another phone number is written; this time, the hand-writing is different. The number is written in a different type of ink; perhaps an old-fashioned gel pen, like I used to use in middle school, as it seems to be shimmering silver under the glow of the clear night sky. I flip to the next page and find yet another unusual phone number. I flip from page to page, finding phone numbers in various handwriting styles, until I reach a portion of the book that has not been written in. Out of curiosity, I flip to the last page, where another type of handwriting has left a message:

"Where there's trouble, guarantee,

all you do is call on me.

When you choose so carefully,

you will find where you should be."

I'm not sure what this is, but...

"We haven't checked this way!" I hear a voice shout faintly. My head spins, and I feel like I'm going to pass out; I thought this was over.

I pull my cell phone out and go back to the first page of the book, deciding the advice of some random riddle is safer than staying here. I dial the number and raise the phone to my ear...

Blackness.

Suddenly, I'm surrounded by flashing paparazzi lights. Reporters are screaming questions. I blink hard several times, trying to compensate for the light blinding my vision in frequent bursts.

"IS IT TRUE YOU AND FAMOUS SINGER VINCENT TRIPP HAVE BEEN SPOTTED ON DATES?"

"WHEN IS YOUR NEXT ALBUM BEING RELEASED?”

Oh no. This is not my life. Where am I? I look around frantically past the intrusive cameras and notice that I'm in Times Square.

Panic rises in my throat as I frantically access the book and my phone, flipping rapidly through the pages for any other number. At this point, choosing carefully isn't happening, I just need to get out of here.

I call a number written in a beautiful script, what seemed to be akin to calligraphy...

Blackness.

I blink and the scene forms around me: a vibrant white bedroom, with draping lace curtains around an enormous, elegant bed. There are two French doors opened, with sheer curtains flowing in my direction with the breeze that was coming from...the ocean?

I have no idea where I am and I jump what feels like six feet in the air as I hear a door open behind me and turn quickly.

In front of me is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. She's draped in a long, white silk robe, almost too large for her frame. She has large, hazel eyes, long brown hair, and a smile that glows radiantly. It's brighter even than the sunrise over the ocean. I find myself lost in the vision before me when her angelic voice speaks, "Is something wrong, my love? You seemed to be sleeping so peacefully, I didn't want to wake you. The kids are ready for our morning trip to the beach."

As much as this is giving me everything I could possibly ask for, this is not my life. I cannot accept this; besides, the book mentioned I would end up where I should be. I shouldn't be here.

I open the book and call another number.

Blackness.

"Madam President, we need a decision immediately. The country is counting on you to make the right choice here. Of course, no pressure, you'll obviously do what's right but I need you to give us an answer so we can prepare the troops for deployment. There has been talk of...the nuclear codes?"

Nope. I definitely shouldn't be here, either.

I flip through the book, and I realize that each number having different handwriting means that several people have had this book. These numbers make no logical sense. I cannot call my own phone number, and I know calling any number just changes my reality. What if I make my own number for my reality?

First, I need a safer reality to enter. I call the last number in the book, enter the shadows, and emerge to find a library. It's the most enormous library I've ever seen, filled with volumes of all ages and endless authors, for as far as the eye can see. Brilliant, large windows allow the cheerful sun to send warmth and comfort to her readers. I'm in the British Library, I realize. I don't know whose reality this is, but it's peaceful enough for me to sort this mysterious black book out so I can find my home again.

I open the book and reach for a pencil lying nearby on a table, turn to the first available page, take a seat, and think to myself.

What are numbers that are significant to me? I feel like I should create a series of numbers that are fond in some fashion; since many of the numbers did not make sense to me, I assume the phone numbers are all fake. Maybe the "choosing wisely" was regarding how to get myself out the right way.

My parents live in Milan, so the number 20159 comes to mind. They are two of the most important people to me, so I want these numbers for sure.

201-59

I remember further back into my childhood, I used to joke with my mom a lot that I was going to get 66 tattoos. I had no intentions of doing so, but her reaction always amused me, so 66 feels appropriate to add next.

201-596-6

I need three more numbers.

Before I unexpectedly gained 20,000 dollars, I remember my high school graduation when my European grandparents gifted me with $500. It was the most cash I had ever been handed in my life at that point, especially from family I have never even met. It was a pretty exciting moment in life, so this seems like a good number to add to the end.

201-596-6500

I look up and see a group of officials in uniforms pointing at me, speaking in low voices, and I immediately leap up with my book and phone to bolt for the nearest exit. I can hear them trying to catch up with me but I am on a mission, and I feel like I'm just moments away from finally being where I belong.

I reach the outdoors, find a hiding place behind nearby shrubbery, and crouch down. This is it.

I dial the number.

The shadows swallow me like a nightmarish monster, but I'm not afraid. With a soft "thud", I'm lying on my couch.

I sit up, shocked, and freeze as I await the intruders who were here earlier, but nothing happens. I'm alone. I'm free. I'm back to my life, and I figured it out on my own.

I sit the black book on my coffee table and sigh heavily, staring at it in awe. How could something so simple be so incredibly useful, and yet so unexpectedly so? It's like I just experienced my own twist on Charles Dickens' ghosts for Ebenezer. I'm thankful it's over, though I feel like I actually learned a lot along the way. Everything is peaceful now.

Until my front door bursts open and I see a man, looking terrified, blood dripping down his face and breathing hard. I jump up from my sofa, choosing fight instead of flight this time, while my heart pounds harder than it did on my run through the woods.

I hear him sigh in relief.

"Oh god, oh thank you, I needed this." He swoops the book off the table and proceeds to open the book. He asks me, "Do you have the money?"

"What?"

He smiles and nods at me, flips to a specific page, dials the number, and vanishes.

Blackness.