Little Black Book

Little Black Book

There are days when I quietly sit upon this bench gazing at nameless faces as they walk by. Starving for some sanity in the chaos of their random, yet predictable, movement, I watch their feet and their steps, searching for a rhythm or pattern, but I find none.

If you take the time to look down you will see that the concrete has been carefully partitioned off to accommodate for the heated expansion of summer and the cold collapse of winter as the stones shrink and swell. I take time to make sure that the placing of my paces is evenly distributed between those seams, or carefully placed one on each rock as God has laid them out. Step on a crack and invite mayhem and disaster. Knowing the penalty and having the ability to avoid every seam gives justification to my fate, should I decide to pause upon any seam.

Just now there was a sound that pricked my ear and then a change in motion as an object sought me out. It was a book that slid my way and rested there within my grasp. It beckoned me to bend, reach, and pick it up. I picked it up. I picked it up and gazed upon a nameless, faceless, book. There was no title, no picture, no mark of any kind on either cover or the binding.

Without opening the book, I did not know if I held it right side up or down, if I gazed upon the front cover, or the back. The cover was gently textured in a way that was intended to nurture a response, it welcomed me. The color was black, and the edges of the pages were not gold or silver, but a common faded white. When I carefully flipped through the corners of the pages, I found that my guess was right. The book was properly oriented in my hand and the pages were numbered and all accounted for. I had yet to view any page in its entirety because the mystery of the unknown was adequate to feed my curiosity for the moment.

Before moving on, I paused and asked myself; what tidbit of fact or fiction, what portion of human wisdom, or what whimsical glimpse of fantasy was waiting for me? Should I choose to pry? Pondering this, I held the book between my hands and gazed around at nothing in particular.

Then my eyes were captured by a distant figure who seemed to be studying me. I continued to scan my surroundings, but couldn’t help noticing that she was doing the same, then our eyes met. At first, she seemed to be annoyed that I had caught her, but then she resigned herself to that fact, and she approached me.

“Can I please have my book?”

“What book?”

“That little black book you have hidden between your hands.”

“Oh, this book. How do I know this book belongs to you? Is your name written inside?”

“No, but you would already know that if you had opened the book and checked, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Can I have my book?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s important to me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why?”

“Because, if this book was important to you than I wouldn’t have found it laying on the pavement.”

“How do you know?”

“Let me explain, even though this is a small book, its size is very important. Its dimensions are approximately 2”x4” which means it’s very unlikely that it slipped through a hole in your shirt or pants pocket. A hole that size would have been noticed beforehand. Because we have already mutually established that your name is not in the book, it would have been hard for anyone to return it to you after they found it. Also, because of its size, you probably wouldn’t have been carrying it on a stack of larger books. That would’ve been careless. Therefore, I deduce that you tossed this book on the sidewalk on purpose. Am I right?”

“Can I have my book?”

“Why is it so important?”

“It’s personal, can I please have my book?”

“I’m thinking.”

“I’ll pay you for it.”

“How much?”

“$100.”

“$100 doesn’t sound like it’s very important to you.”

“Okay, I’ll make it $1000.”

“What happens if I open the book, and then decide?”

“The offer is only good if you don’t peek.”

“Let me get this straight. I can keep a book that cannot be verified as yours, which might be worthless to me, or I can return it to you for a thousand dollars?”

At this point I decided to stand up. As a 60-year-old retired truck driver with long gray hair, a shaggy white beard, standing at approximately 5’9” tall, I towered above her unassuming height. She was a full head shorter than me. I was not trying to intimidate her, I simply needed to stretch my legs.

It pleased me to see that she was not startled or frightened by my action. I tried to sum her up. Her hair was brown, straight, and parted down the middle. She wore bright yellow sneakers, khaki pants, and a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She was not intimidating, but she was definitely intriguing. Then she spoke.

“Can I have my book?”

“Was I right, did you toss the book away on purpose?”

“No questions, just a simple transaction, I get my book, and you get $1000, what’s it going to be?”

“I think I’ll take my chances, you keep your money, and I’ll keep the book.” I turned slowly and started to walk away.

“Okay, $20,000 and that’s my final offer!”

I paused and looked down where I stood. There was no seam, no crack, no omen of bad luck. I did not turn around. Then, as I stood calmly waiting, I heard her steps and watched her as she came around to face me once again.

“I’ve been more than fair. I simply want my little black book.”

How odd it was that when she added the word “little”, that word seemed somehow to grow, gain in value, and represent much more than it had a few moments ago. Looking down I was surprised to see two paper banded stacks of currency, each labeled $10,000. The book was in my right hand. She took my left, turned it over, placed the money in it, and confidently took a step back.

Empty-handed! She was empty-handed, and yet, she took a step back!

“Can I please have my book?”

In what do you trust to make a decision like this? Do you trust your intellect, your methods of deduction? Do you trust your heart? Or do you trust your gut? She had made no aggressive moves, no threats to call the authorities, no action at all to give me pause, and she stepped back. Smiling and stepping forward I placed into her hands the $20,000 and her little black book. Then I walked away.

She cried out: “It was a test!”

“A test?”

“Yes, a test. It’s a test that I have carefully planned out for weeks, I just didn’t know until today who my guinea pig was going to be. Then I saw your size, your long hair, your massive beard, your tie-dye shirt, your camo pants, and I wondered, how much humanity will I find inside this man?”

“Was it worth the risk?”

“Yes, I needed to know. I was hoping for the right answer, and I valued that answer more than I valued the money.”

“What was in the book?”

“Does it matter?”

It didn’t. Somehow, I felt grateful, satisfied, and a bit humbled. Without waiting for my reply, she smiled and walked away. I said goodbye to my bench and continued on while counting steps and feeling fine.