Debbie's Gift

"What insanity! You'd think customers would be used to the buy-one-get-one-free deal by now", she said as she mindlessly wiped the sweat from her forehead with a white rag.

"Oops!" She threw the white rag down upon remembering that it was covered with bleach and sanitizer, only to be used for wiping down sticky countertops. Debbie, her shift manager, laughed at her employee's silly mistake.

It was summer, and the coffee shop was having a sale on frozen coffees– buy one, get one free. It was the busiest time of the year besides Christmas, and although she had been working there for three years already, BOGO week was never easy.

"What are you going to do for your birthday, girlie?”.

She pondered Debbie's question, smirked, and deflected easily, "come on, I wanna get a head start on the cleaning. It would be nice to get out before midnight today."

"Hey, I thought I was supposed to be in charge", Debbie countered, "I don't show up and tell you how to do your job." Debbie was always teasing. That's what made them such a good pair— she was serious and focused, and Debbie, who was decades older than her, was a childish ball of fun. Work never seemed like work when they were together. Debbie even started scheduling their shifts so they'd work together most days. They carpooled together, ate lunch together...they had a bond beyond coworkers. They were truly friends. She didn't have many of those.

"It's 11:00 pm and we're already finished! See, I told ya we'd get out before midnight just like you wanted!" Debbie's thick Minnesotan accent bounced off the empty walls of the coffee shop, "Must be a birthday miracle."

She didn't believe in miracles, but she did believe in the benefits of motivation, and she was highly motivated to get in the bath, make a nice cup of tea, and fall asleep. It was her birthday after all, and she deserved it! She and Debbie packed their things, clocked out, and turned on the alarms to leave.

As they said their goodbyes in the parking lot, Debbie began to pull something out of her bag.

"I have a gift for you", it was dark, and hard to make out exactly what the dark square she held was, "it's a journal. For all your unique thoughts".

A beautiful, sleek, black Moleskin journal.

….

That night as she soaked in her warm tub surrounded by candles, smoke circling her senses, and submerged in water, she decided to make her first entry into her new journal.

She didn't have anything particular in mind to write about, but she knew she wanted to write. It had been ages since she put her feelings to the page, and her birthday was the perfect time to do it. She slowly opened the notebook, the spine creaking as if bound together for hundreds of years, holding a secret treasure only meant to be opened by her. Her favorite pen, an elaborate green and gold pen, would do the trick!

“Okay… what to write about? What to write about…?” she wondered. Debbie’s voice echoed in her head, “...for all your unique thoughts”.

“All of my 'unique thoughts', huh? The only thoughts in my head are work, work, work. It takes over my every brain cell! My entire being! I don't have any thoughts but coffee and customers”.

Her mind was a flurry. She hyper focused on her time at the shop, wondering if any of this was worth it.

She thought about the uptight mom who spilled the hot chocolate on her toddler as she snatched it off the counter. How she offered help but the helping hand went ignored, and how the mother called the store moments later to complain about the incident (luckily, she answered the phone and did not forward the message to her boss).

She thought about the rude businessman who had “too much foam” in his cappuccino, and proceeded to fling the fluffy air bubbles onto the counter, demanding she make the drink again.

She thought about the weird woman who came in the shop 10 minutes before close, proclaiming that she was once a celebrity actress, a championship bodybuilder and a stunt double. How the woman made her do a 360 spin and lift her apron to determine whether she’d win a bodybuilding competition. How this eccentric-yet-despairing old woman kept forgetting what she ordered. She and Debbie stayed three hours after close that night.

Finally, she thought about the crush she had on her co-worker, Jake. How she knew he liked her, but it could never be. She thought about how their families were so different. Hiim– a boy from a grossly wealthy, conservative family. Her– a girl from the “wrong side of the tracks”. The perfect plot of a John Hughes romcom. But Debbie assured her he was nothing to fret over: “he may be the cutest boy at work, but he’s got nothing on you”.

It all made her sad and forlorn. She lifted her head in melancholy; her mind heavy with past regrets. She decided to abandon writing for the night, and instead let the music smother her. The positive percussion of Roy Ayers played in the background– Debbie recommended the album “Everybody Loves the Sunshine” to her. The lyrics of the title track consumed her, and she was suddenly very aware of being in the warm pool of water. The candles flickered as if to coax her back to reality and out of her head. The scent of cedarwood and cocoa danced through her senses.

Suddenly, she knew everything would be okay. She didn't understand this feeling, had no explanation for it, and no reason to believe it but she trusted it anyway. She simply accepted it and let it pull her out of the brief depression.

All of those work incidents have one thing in common: Debbie. If it had not been for this job she hated or the customers who despised her, she wouldn’t have created funny, lasting memories with Debbie. They wouldn't have conjured this savory, bountiful friendship.

So, she was grateful.

She picked up the little black book and began writing:

“I wish Debbie and I a friendship that will last a lifetime”.

She smiled at the sentence. A feeling of warmth washed over her, as if a sparkling pink light was hugging her beating heart. Gratitude had its arms around her, and that smile was almost permanently affixed to her face as she was reminded of the little things that fed her soul.

But gratitude doesn’t mean settling for less, right? She opened the book back again,

“P.S. I don’t feel whole when I’m working a job that tears me apart. I deserve better. So does Debbie. I wish us both peace.”

She was never one to wish upon a falling star, but something about wishing upon a little black book felt worthwhile. She finished her bath, and got ready for bed. Tomorrow is her day off (and her birthday) so she was excited to get comfortable and tuck herself into her bed, where she’d be spending the better part of 24 hours.

…

The next morning felt painfully unfamiliar. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was about to embark on a new journey, but at a price. Throughout the day, she tried to shake the eerie sensation but still felt like someone was watching her. When the early evening came and nothing happened, she convinced herself that she was just paranoid and it was time to release the trespassing illusion.

Moments later, her cell phone rang, but she let it go to voicemail. Whoever that was knew better than to call her on her day off. It had a tone of urgency, but she figured if it was dire, they’d call back.

And they did.

“Hello, this is Debbie’s neighbor. Is this...”

She swiftly interrupted the voice on the other end, the forebodings of earlier back to haunt her.

“Yes, this is she.”

“Debbie passed away shortly after leaving work last night. She had a seizure, and lost control of the wheel. I’m so sorry to have to tell you this news. Her family couldn’t call but they wanted you to know. She spoke about you often, and very highly. I’m so sorry.”

Everything was clear to her now. Everything explained.

....

A month passed. As did the funeral, the social media posts, and the early stages of grief. She hadn’t picked up her black journal since the day Debbie died. It was the only thing she had to remember her by, but it remained too painful to revisit. She was disgusted at the heartfelt wishes she wrote that were dripping in naivety. The world was cruel– the little black book only reminded her.

Her boss gave her time off to grieve, which she was thankful for, but without Debbie, work would never be the same. All the moments she hated, made bright by Debbie’s presence. But she was finally returning to work for the first time since Debbie’s death.

As soon as she walked in, she was confronted by her boss.

“Hey, can we speak in my office? It’s about Debbie.”

What could they possibly have to talk about? Did her boss just want to see her cry? She kept a closed mind as the conversation began

“As you may have known, Debbie had stock in the company, and she has made it clear that if anything were to happen to her, she wants the money from the account to go to you. So, we wrote you a check.”

She grabbed the piece of paper in disbelief. “I don’t understand,” she muttered in shock “why would Debbie do this? How did she do this?”

“For whatever reason, she took a shining to you. She always wanted you to have the money, for whenever fate came knocking.”

A check for $20,000 with her name on it was in her hands. Debbie had given her one last gift. She reflected on the words she wrote in the black journal:

“I wish Debbie and I a friendship that will last a lifetime. P.S. I don’t feel whole when I’m working a job that tears me apart. I deserve better. So does Debbie.

I wish us both peace.”

Both of her wishes had come true in ways she didn't expect. Her friendship with Debbie did indeed last a lifetime. Debbie was at peace, and now thanks to Debbie’s gift, she could be at peace too.

She was sorry she ever doubted the power of Debbie’s little black book, and wondered what other miracles were lying in wait in its pages.

It was time to pay a visit and see.