Anything but Ordinary

Mary Dobson was sure she was the most ordinary girl in the world.

She knew somehow this was a great disappointment to her wild hippie mother, Starfire. As if her mother felt that allowing her father to name her something as plain as Mary had condemned her to a life of absolute banality. Mary understood. Her spontaneous, renegade mother fell for her sweet, stable father who provided security and gentle love. Her father loved the creative, wiley woman who added spice to his routine with her hilarity and drama. Even so, Mary knew her mother looked for more in her - some of that Starfire passion or spark.

Sure, Mary loved plants and even learned some of the herbal witchery her mother swore by, but in a place like Portland, that may have been the most ordinary thing she could do.

Mary’s safe place was the Rare Book Room at Powell’s - a sacred space with that perfect old book smell and luxurious, quiet secrets of the old world. The info booth girl on the top floor knew her by heart and always granted her a pleasant smile and kind, “Hello, Mary.”

The girl was beautiful. She had dark skin and native features with a side-shave, a nose-ring on each side, a septum piercing, and oversized glasses. If Mary had been more interested in people in a romantic way, she may have even thought to ask her out one day - a coupling her mother would undeniably gush over. But that would be too interesting for Mary — it might disrupt the calm routine of her life as she knew it.

“Hi, Denise, nice to see you,” she said, waving as she entered her treasure cove.

She settled in - sitting between two short bookshelves - and perused her selection. She reached out to a dark navy book and pulled it off the shelf. She breathed in the sensual old book smell. She examined the cover and ran her hand down the gilt spine. She felt a slight disturbance between the papers but thought nothing of it. Many of the books here had salvaged pieces after all. However, as she opened the cover to the marbled entry pages, something fell out.

What was this?

Mary carefully closed the book and put it in her lap before she looked down.

Hmmm.

Her mystery item appeared to be a little black book.

She picked the book up and examined it beside the ancient tome. The little book was undoubtedly too modern an accompaniment to this great-grandfather literature in front of her. She opened the book for clues. Inside was a simple inscription:

Extraordinary

The next page had a list of names and addresses. Mary couldn’t think of an inscription less relevant to her, but she was genuinely intrigued by the accompanying contacts. An outdated address book certainly seemed up her alley. Since the addresses were all within the city, she decided to do something very un-Mary-like and find the first person on the list to help her return the book to its owner. She replaced the old tome to it’s correct spot and walked out the door - little black book in hand.

Denise looked up at her surprised, “That wasn’t very long, was it?”

Mary, flustered, replied, “Oh, um, I forgot something important at home,” and quickly shuffled down the stairs.

***

123 Hawthorne St.

Annabel M.

When Mary arrived at the eclectic pink house with purple trim, she was not particularly surprised. The house matched the many vintage shops on the street. Little plants, sigils, and wind chimes surrounded the doors — whomever lived here could easily have been a friend of her mother.

Mary walked the mismatched stone pathway to the front door. In a moment of hesitation, she double checked the book. Then, she decided firmly, it must be returned.

So, she knocked.

She heard a bustle in the house, clanging and giggling noises came closer to the door - as if the character inside was amusedly knocking into everything.

A wild woman with curly white hair and a long mustard and floral dress opened the door. She smiled so wide when she saw Mary in the doorway that her crescent moon earrings jingled.

“Ooh child! I’ve been waiting for you!” The woman said, waving her arms in large, exaggerated movements.

Mary, confused, wanted to retort something about not being a child (perhaps a young adult), but in the time she took to think, the woman had gone from the doorway.

The opening revealed enough plants to appear like a jungle, an assortment of dream catchers, colored-glass designs, and random tiny art pieces hanging from the ceiling. A little salt and pepper cat came to the door and meowed loudly for attention — even the cat had a moon collar. This made Mary laugh a little - this woman was certainly Starfire material.

The woman returned and smiled, seeing Mary petting the cat.

“Lucifer loves you.”

“Lucifer?!” Mary blurted out half-laughing. She immediately after hoped she hadn’t offended the woman.

“Oh, I know! Such a funny name. I actually thought it was a girl when I found it. Then, I had a friend over who pointed out it was a boy. Silly me! So, before I could really think, I called him Lucifer for tricking me. And then, I couldn’t think of anything funnier than the crazy old witch lady calling her cat Lucifer in for dinner to spook any new neighbors away. So it stuck! Ha!”

Mary giggled - she was surprised the woman wasn’t winded from talking so fast - but loved her idea.

She looked at the woman again and realized she was holding a thick envelope with glitter on it. She held it out to Mary.

“Here you go honey — I’m so glad you’re finally here! I’ve been waiting with glee to offer my contribution!”

And before Mary had time to ask the litany of questions that had popped in her head - the woman placed the envelope in her hand, closed Mary’s fingers around it, swirled around, and shut the door.

Mary blinked a few times and opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She looked down at her hand. Why had this woman given her some ridiculously large glitter-designed envelope?

She looked down at Lucifer who was still purring and rubbing against her leg.

“Any suggestions over here lord of darkness?”

The kitty looked up and mewed quietly, stretched over to an open sun spot, and laid down. Mary rolled her eyes. She looked at the envelope again, wondering how to find the owner of this book and strange friends list. She was reluctant to put the envelope in her bag, knowing the glitter would spread and the bag would never be the same. She decided to quickly examine the contents instead.

She was shocked to find stacks of cash inside. Mary’s jaw dropped again. She started banging on the door.

“There must be some mistake - I can’t possibly carry this,” her voice had reappeared, and she started yelling.

The wild woman popped her head out from a top window and shushed her.

“Stop making such a ruckus and move along, hon!” She waved her arms vigorously at Mary to shoo. Lucifer lazily stretched back up and started walking the stone path as if ushering Mary out.

What in the…? She stared at the envelope, then back at the house.

Well, now she had to find the owner of this book to resolve this psychotic interaction. She begrudgingly stuffed the envelope into her purse and looked at the next name on the list.

***

456 Division St.

Trong D.

Not too far, but far enough away from the last house, Mary found her mind still racing.

What had just happened? What was this book? Was this a freak interaction? Who was owed large envelopes of cash? What did the woman mean by the word contribution and that she’d been waiting??

She stepped in front of the next address on the list. This house looked nothing like the other one. She stood in front of a sleek, modern, seemingly one-story house, with a perfectly manicured lawn, zen-garden, and carefully laid out spirit houses. Not a stone was out of place.

Mary took a deep breath. This place looked like a picture of perfect sanity. Surely, she would find some answers here.

Before Mary had fully walked up and had a chance to knock, a small old man opened the door. He handed her a pristine white envelope, smiled, and closed the door. The daylight shone through the envelope again showing a large sum of money. Mary was aghast. She refused to walk away without answers. She knocked on the door, and this time when the man opened the door, she asked,

“What is going on? Why do I keep receiving these? Who owns this book?”

The man smiled again and pointed at his ears indicating he could not hear her. He waved politely and closed the door again.

Mary thought she might be losing her mind.

She couldn’t keep collecting cash like this. But if she didn’t find the answers, how would the person whom she was supposedly collecting for ever receive this money? And how would Mary even find out why this was happening? The thoughts overwhelmed her, and she decided she must keep going.

***

At each subsequent address, Mary had the same experience. Well, actually, they were all incredibly different experiences, but they all ended with Mary holding an envelope with too much cash to make her comfortable and too few answers.

By the end of the day, Mary had exhausted the list and her bag was filled to the brim. The last address on the list had put her fairly close to Powell’s again. She decided to head to the cafe and try to decode her day.

She grabbed a small snack and drink and placed her bag in her lap for safekeeping. She ran her hands over the little black book. She loved how it felt — how neat it looked — but she loathed its secrets. What was she going to do? She opened the book one last time looking for clues.

Someone sat down across from her.

“You found my book.”

Mary’s fingers froze, and she looked up to find an intimidating woman slyly grinning across from her.

Mary’s desperation for answers pushed her words forward.

“What is going on?”

“I have been looking for someone just right for this. Each of those people are people I took chances on - people I believed in. And each of them comes with their own special success story. Each of them possess a unique quality, something I see in you. You see Mary, it seems you’re quite extraordinary.”

Mary laughed nervously, “I’m afraid I’m quite the opposite. You must have me mistaken for someone else.”

The woman leaned over and whispered, “You have $20,000 in your purse right now Mary. A million people could have picked up that book and stopped at any of the numerous exit points. They could have tossed it, ran with Annabel’s money, figured the puzzle out and taken everyone’s money — but not you Mary. You didn’t run, you didn’t stop. That, Mary, that makes you anything but ordinary — it makes you quite extraordinary.”

Mary stared at the woman for a long time.

“So, what do we do next?”