Celebration of Life

Mother always told me that your closet is not complete without a little black dress. That is what I was wearing on the very dark night that it happened. To say the night was surreal was like saying the blizzard that was raging outside was a snow flurry. Working as a waitress in a diner prepares one for dealing with all types of people and situations. Tonight, I felt I was in a five-star Michelin restaurant where the chef decided to serve fast food burgers and cold French fries to billionaires.

The invitation had read “Celebration of Life for James Newburn”. I knew Mr. Newburn as a customer who came in twice a week and ordered the same meatloaf special. The frail customer stated it best. “Comfort food becomes more important as we age.” I liked him a lot and would spend my break sitting with him. Me sipping coffee and him telling me about his extraordinary and successful life. Not in a bragging way but more like a grandfather enjoying the company of his favorite grandchild. Therefore, I was not surprised of his death or the invitation to his funeral.

As I entered the funeral home I noticed small groups of adults of varied ages engaging in hushed tones. Being someone interested in actions and reactions of people, I made sure I edged close enough to these scattered groups to realized that Mr. Newburn had planned his funeral down to the last detail including seat assignments. I took my seat just minutes before the funeral director gave the go ahead to the organist to play a traditional hymn. This was followed by a man of the cloth reading a passage from the bible before turning the podium over to a stern looking man in a black suit and tie. He pulled a paper from his jacket pocket and read. “I was a man of strong principles, little words and a large fortune. My final wishes will come in the same form. I valued friendships, I abhorred hypocrisy and I have amassed large sums of money. After the final prayer is said you will all reach under your seats and retrieve the little black book I have left for each of you. My final wishes for you will be laid out in black and white. Once you have read my personal note to you, please leave quietly and share what you read with no one.” Eyes in the audience darted back and forth everyone looking for a sign that someone saw this coming. The final prayer was recited but minds were jumping ahead to imagine how much their uncle, father, grandfather or neighbor had left them. Then the frenzied searches for the book. I hesitated my search because honestly, I did not think there would be a book under my seat.

I had known Mr. Newburn for 10 years. He was there on my first night on the job and I had served him the night before he died. I had shared my hopes and dreams during my breaks and learned to admire a man who I barely knew. But I would not have called him a close friend. Just two people who enjoyed each other’s company twice a week. As I hesitated to reach under the seat, I heard the hustle of chairs scraping on the floor and the sound moving into a widening silence that fell upon the room like the slow end to a rollercoaster ride. Then the mourners gasped in unison. Stunned looks were exchanged. Then the mass exodus. I was left alone which was what I wanted at the moment. I slowly bent to retrieve what I thought would be an empty pocket where a book should have been. It wasn’t empty. My fingers grasped a small book that felt luxurious, smooth and cool. It contained a note scribbled with shaky hand. “My dear Marlene, I assume that you were the last to look under your seat and that all others have exited quickly and quietly. It is your turn to go through the front door and look for the man that read my instructions a short while ago. He will take you to the corner of Ebony Lane and Library Circle. There will be another man in a black suit and tie who will hand you a valise and will escort you home. You may then open the valise in private.” I rose slowly and followed the instructions.

I was ushered into a black limousine and taken to retrieve the valise. I knew the corner well because it was the location of the diner that brought Mr. Newburn and I together. I was handed the valise and driven home. I entered my apartment with anticipation of what was to come. I carefully unlatched the case. Laid out in perfect rows were stacks of twenty-dollar bills totaling $20,000. Under the bills was a silk scarf that was so black it appeared iridescent. Removing it revealed another smooth black book identical to the one under the chair at the funeral home and a sealed envelope. The words inside were written in the same shaky hand. “I have given you $20,000 as a gift and my last will and testament. My will leaves everything I own to you but you must carry out my wishes. My estate will provide you with a salary. Your full-time job will be to distribute my money in increments of $20,000 to those that you deem worthy. Your kindness to me over the past 10 years has shown that there are good people in this world and some just need recognition. Your friend, Mr. Newburn”

I gently closed the case, took a long shower, fixed a hot cup of tea and placed the black books under my pillow. I will name my philanthropic venture “The Little Black Book of Hope” and I will start bright and early tomorrow.