An Embossed Eternity

What’s that phrase? “Nothing worth having, comes easy”?

Okay, sure.

Maybe.

Or, maybe, sometimes the best things happen when you are least expecting them.

Work hard. Be kind. Always do your best. “You’ll land on your feet Grace, you always do.”, my mom would say after coming to her with any minor inconvenience. “Okay, cool. Thanks for the reassurance mom!”, I would think to myself as my eyes roll into the back of my head. Everyone has a perception of me that everything falls in my lap. I could fall in a puddle of mud, and come up smelling of roses.

Not in this case.

I am trapped – stuck with no way out – but more than that, I am scared.

* * *

Last week, I was in the library on campus, working on my resume for an upcoming job interview. It’s one of those times in your life where it feels like the world is spinning a million miles a second and you can’t seem to catch your breath, change is around every corner lurking behind you, playing hide and seek. I am about to graduate from college in Michigan, move home to New York, break up with my boyfriend, and start my first “big girl” job in Manhattan. So much change.

I shut my laptop after mindlessly staring at the screen outlining all of my past experiences and accolades. I realized I was the last person here.

What time was it?

How long had I been here?

Confused, I stood up. My chair screeched behind me, knocking into one of the century-old bookcases that lined the halls of the university’s library. A black leather-bound book fell to the floor following a collision with the aging chair. The words, “Astra inclinant, sed non obligant”, were subtly embossed on the cover. It looked old. “Who uses Latin anymore?”, I thought to myself. But the dead language was not what added life to my interest.

I opened the mysterious black book and a slightly torn, tattered – yet soft – hundred-dollar bill floated to my feet.

A chill ran down my spine as I read aloud the translation of the embossed words on the cover again:

Astra inclinant, sed non obligant.

The stars incline us, they do not bind us.

Then underneath, in much smaller print read, “Free will do exists. The decision of what to do in any circumstance is ultimately our own. Are you willing to renounce this autonomy for something worth even more? I dare you. Sign your name on this page and let the words of this book be your sovereign.”

I giggled to myself. I flipped to the next page:

Crescit amor nummi, quantum ipsa pecunia crevit

The love of wealth grows as the wealth itself grew.

Here is a small down payment. Let’s call it motivation.

I looked down to find Ben Franklin staring back at me, finally acknowledging the small paper that had fell onto the tip of my shoe. I felt a strong – yet silly – obligation to take the money and the book and walk out the door.

So, I did.

It started off kind of thrilling. I felt like I was about to embark on some profound twisted journey with a treasure chest at its conclusion. The excitement was engrossing; I signed my name, as I was dared to do, and pocketed the money. I had walked to the library when the sun was still up. The darkness, making its entrance, shocked me back into reality.

I got back to my apartment, threw my backpack on the couch, and sat at the kitchen table with my little black book. I turned to the next page to find a short passage. I had clear, concise instructions about what to do with the money I had just found: give the one hundred dollars to the librarian and recite the Latin phrase depicted on the book.

I feel ridiculous.

Who do I think I am?

Nancy Drew?

Harry Potter?

I was surprised to find a little old man at the front desk. Although, I am not sure why I was surprised. I suppose I was expecting a student to be manning the desk.

I pulled my shoulders back and took a deep breath. “Hi, I’m Grace.” He just looked at me, unphased. “Astra inclinant, sed non obligant”.

I’m fully aware I butchered it.

He abruptly stood up and complete shock flushed over his aging face. I took a step backward. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”, he said, as he held out his hand. “Oh right,” I dug my hand into my bag for the bill, “here you go!”.

His hand – shaky but determined – took the money from mine. He held it up to his face. He was looking for something. I could see it now. There was writing:

Fred, my dear friend, you know what to do now.

He was looking at me now. He turned and marched into the back room behind the desk. Not a minute passed before he came back with a small rectangular box, protected by a rugged iron lock. He glared at me, “The love of wealth grows as the wealth itself grew. The key is in the book. There is no turning back now. Good luck, Grace.”

I had no idea what is happening. I remember thinking, “Am I now a member of some secret society?”.

I was now the one with shaky hands. I took the box and managed to mumble a quick “Thank you.” before sprinting out of the library.

I walked across the street and sat down at the bench underneath the Beaumont Bell Tower on campus. I pulled out the black leather-bound book and rested it on my lap against the locked mystery box. I opened the book to the instructions that led me to Fred the librarian and turned the page. The Key is written at the top of the page. I ran my fingers over the faintly lined paper and was brought to a stop. I could see the outline. It was stuck between two pages. I carefully peeled the two pages apart and let the key come free.

I was trembling.

What could possibly be in this box?

I could barely hold the key to the lock. When I finally find the peace of mind to bring my hands to a stop, I twisted the key. I heard a click. I slowly lifted the lid to find a note.

My mouth dropped.

Free will does exist. The decision of what to do in any circumstance is ultimately our own. There is $20,000 in this box. By finding the book, signing your name, and opening this box you are willing to renounce your autonomy for something worth even more. I dared you and you have accepted. Now, the words of this book are your sovereign. Do as the pages say. There are eyes everywhere…