Relatively real

I stepped into the glassy front lobby of the Boston high rise, looked down at my frumpy street worn shoes, and back up at the gleaming elevator doors. The late afternoon sun effused the vaulted lobby with a warm and scintillating glow. Catching my reflection, I regretted my worn-out cargo pants, but classier options simply were unaffordable.

Just as I approached the middle bank of elevator doors, a human hand soundlessly pierced through the metal of that door holding a little black book. The hand began to rise through the door and then wall, as if the body attached to it was rising with the elevator. As the hand hit the ceiling of the lobby, the book dropped and the hand faded.

The book fell back down to the black marble floor and landed just to my side. I was stupefied. I stood there staring at it for a moment, and then I picked it up. The little black book was leather bound and felt slightly damp. Immediately, the elevator doors in front of me opened up to a car full of people. We stood for a moment staring at each other before they all rushed past me.

An impeccably dressed blue-eyed man standing at the back of the elevator car laughingly said to me “are you getting in or just window shopping?” I stepped into the car and pressed 12 on the panel.

Meeting on the 12th floor

When I arrived on the 12th floor I was greeted by Kim, the receptionist for the law firm: Trudeaux, Martineau, and Adams. She led me through the wood paneled hallway to the small conference room. I glanced through the windows to the mid-section of the high-rise building across the street like a toddler looking at the knees of his dad.

I had just begun to open the black book clutched in my hand when Carlisle Robinson, our estate attorney, stepped into the room. He dropped right into the chair opposite me and began to spout profanities about another estate debacle he was facing.

Carlisle was a middle-aged man with large eyes, a long nose, and a disproportionately small chin. The buttons on his tightly fitted sports coat held onto their matching button holes with all the tenacity of a dog pulling at a tether toy.

I quickly stored the book in my bag.

Retelling of the Sad Chapter

When I first met Carlisle a year ago, I had related the heartbreaking story of my parents’ sudden deaths. My Mom and Dad, Marje and Chuck Sidlowsky, had been in their old Toyota Camry approaching the only intersection with a stop light in their small town of Palmer when my dad--as we later found out-- suffered a heart attack and failed to stop for the light. The tow truck crossing the intersection hit them broadside. The force of the collision crushed them up against what was then the Hotel on Main and crumpled the passenger side of the car. My mother was immediately killed by the impact. My father didn’t make the ambulance ride to the hospital.

My younger sister, Anna, and I were swallowed up in the tide pool of shock, anger and grief when her boyfriend recommended Carlisle to us. Even in the absence of any formal will we thought that everything would be easily settled with the sale of their small 1960’s cottage on its beautiful 2 acre plot. We then discovered the deep well of debt they had placed themselves in, however. And to further complicate the situation the state entered in with their “eminent domain” claims on the property with the plans for new power lines. That’s when we contacted Carlisle.

Now almost a year later, we were hoping to conclude this chapter of our lives and pay off our parent’s $200,000 debt with whatever we could obtain from the state for their property.

Carlisle assured me that the negotiations with the state were looking good and should shortly be wrapped up. We parted with his typically vigorous handshake and I headed back to the elevators. As I approached them, Kim called out to me “you just dropped your book.” I looked around behind me and saw the same black book I had picked up in the lobby sitting on the floor. Perplexed I stooped down and retrieved it, once again placing it into my bag, this time into the zippered pouch attached to the interior.

Vowing to create a record

The book turned out to be blank except for a small scribble mark on the first page. So later that night, as I sat at my desk, I decided to write my personal history. I had never written a journal in my life and neither had my parents. After removing all of their belongings from their home and finding no meaningful record of their lives, I vowed that I would write my own history for the sake of my 3 children.

I started: “I was born in 1971 to Marjorie and Charles Sidlowski at the Mercy Medical Center in Springfield, Mass.”

Deciphering notes

The next morning as I was preparing to leave for work I went to my desk to grab my newly acquired black book, but couldn’t see it anywhere. As I was running late, I left for the day without it. When I arrived home later that evening, I found it on the floor under my desk. “That’s odd,” I thought, but attributed the new location to my tabby cat, Miles.

I pulled up my chair and sat down to continue my story. When I turned to the page I had written on, none of my words were there. I closed the book and examined the outside. It looked identical to the book I had mysteriously acquired the day before, same stitching around the cover, same attached ribbon marker, and same smell even. I opened it back up and there was the new writing instead of mine.

In a leggy cursive script it read: “Great Grandpa Calvin, I’m so glad you kept this book! This is Adeline. I don’t know how to say this so that you’ll understand, but we desperately need help. We need money to bribe the officers so we won’t be deported with the rest of the Posterity of Hope. We had heard that those taken will not be treated to a fair trial but instead sent to the mines on…“

The narrative abruptly stopped. When Miles jumped off my lap I realized I had just been staring into space long enough for him to get irritated at the lack of attention. Thoughts were racing around my mind. I didn’t know any Adelines, except…”was that my great aunt’s name?” And I haven’t been called Calvin my entire life. It was the name on my birth certificate, but I had always been called Al after my dad’s childhood friend.

I took my pen and wrote on the next page: “Who is this, exactly?” I sat there with the book open, expecting words to appear on the page. After 10 minutes, I laughed. This was absurd! I slid the book beside my boat anchor bookend and left the room.

Looking for relativity

“It’s your great granddaughter, Adeline Wasit! My dad is Caleb, your grandson. Now please act quickly and put $20,000 in the back pocket of this diary so at the next slip through time we can get it and save ourselves from deportation! We are running out of options and hiding places. Please hurry, as you are running out of time!”

It had been two weeks since I had looked in the diary. I found the book on the shelf beneath the one I had stored it on. I thumbed through the pages of the diary as I sat wondering what to do. As I watched the pages flicker by I saw an image on one page. It was a photograph of a 20-something year old woman holding a little boy in her arms, both with the unmistakable Sidlowski facial features. As I sat there looking at the book it shimmered and then lost the hard edges of physicality and slid right through my hand falling to the floor returning to its original state as it hit.

I turned to the new writing in the book.

“Sorry. $20,000 in cash won’t fit in the pocket. Here are the coordinates near Palmer, MA: 42.18233074073259, -72.29688754998502

Bury the container with the money there so I can get it in our time. Know that we love and need you, Great Grandpa! Love, Adeline”

My phone began to ring, interrupting my thoughts. It was Carlisle.

“I thought you might want to know that I’ve had the state electronically deposit their payment to your parent’s account. You should have access to the money within the next day or two. It’s about $200,000. Not as much as you and Anna were hoping for, but still a nice sum.”

“That’s great! We really appreciate all you’ve done to help us. “

“I’m really glad it’s worked out so well! I’ve already called Anna and let her know. Call me if you need anything!”

“Thanks, again! Oh… is there any possibility of getting $20,000 of that sooner?”

“I don’t know. There may be. Why?”

“I promised a relative I’d help with an emergency loan,” I blurted out.

There was silence on the end of the line for a moment.

“Okay. I’ll check into it.” Carlisle said and hung up.

Finding the Drop Off

I exited the Country Bank on Main with my backpack; inside laid the waterproof camera lens case packed with the $20,000 in cash. Amazingly, Carlisle had pulled through and finagled the quick release of this portion of the states deposit with a relatively small fee. I made a mental note to send him a thank you gift.

As I drove along the Massachusetts turnpike on my way to Palmer, memories of watching the landscape fly by as a young boy from the backseat of our family station wagon filled my mind.

I pulled off the reservoir road onto a little unpaved road heading up to the old Standish property, now abandoned. Upon checking my GPS coordinates I realized it would take me over a half hour hiking through the forest to get to the coordinates Adeline sent me. I opened the little black book I had brought with me to check for any new messages. It still had my reply: “I will help you.” The sun was just beginning its decline in the sky. I had plenty of time before dark.

As I drove back home, a feeling of relief and gratitude filled me. I hadn’t encountered anyone on my hike in the forest and burying the cash. I had helped my great-granddaughter. Now if I could just understand why she thought I would run out of time.

Determining a Different Destination

The next morning I headed into Boston to catch a train to Philadelphia for a photo shoot. I parked my car in the garage on Kingston and grabbed my backpack and suitcase. As I headed toward the pedestrian exit a white sedan leaped backwards and slammed into me. Time slowed as I felt myself slide across the trunk of the car and hit the back window. Then, as the car stopped, I rolled off the car and fell helplessly onto the cement. Pain shattered my skull as my head hit and then I felt nothing. I became aware that my breathing had stopped, but this didn’t cause me any alarm. I was floating. I felt calm. I took a minute to gather my thoughts, stood up, and looked around. That’s when I saw my body on the ground and the little black book laying open next to it. Now I understand.