Pass It On

The damp, gray sidewalk under my feet. A blanket of heavy, gray skies. Gray up above. Gray down below. Gray in front and gray behind. Gray everywhere. A gray sort of day and a gray sort of world.

There’s the pitter-patter of raindrops everywhere and the split-splat of dozens of shoes on wet concrete. Pitter, patter. Split, splat. Blah.

My thoughts drift to the interview earlier. Maybe this time it will pan out. I thought I did a decent job answering their questions. But who am I kidding? I’ll probably get another call saying, “We had so many qualified applicants, but . . .” or “We decided to go with someone with more experience.”

I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. How many jobs have I applied to? I’m running low on money. How much longer can I go without a paycheck? I don’t even want to do the math.

Does anyone out there see me? My throat tightens, and my eyes grow hot.

No, stop that. Just breathe. Keep walking. I’m almost home. Think about the baby steps. There are dishes to wash, clothes to fold, bills to pay. Then sleep and repeat tomorrow.

Shit, why even bother? There will just be more dishes to do tomorrow. More laundry to fold. More bills to pay. More rejections to come.

I shut out the nagging voices in the back of my mind and traipse up to my porch. Looking down at the keys in my hands, I notice an envelope sitting on my doormat. That’s odd. I wasn’t expecting a package today. Like I could even afford to order anything right now.

Bending down to pick it up, I see the words “For Blair,” written in Sharpie. That’s me, but where’d it come from? I flip the envelope over. That’s it. There’s no return address and no shipping information. Just “For Blair.”

I carry it in, absent-mindedly dropping my keys on the table, and rip the package open. My jaw drops. This can’t be right. I sink into a chair and gape at the envelope, dazed and frozen in time for a moment.

I gather my thoughts and turn the envelope over, heart pounding in my ears. Dozens of bills float out, falling in a little stack. Who would do this? Why? Where did it come from?

The bills stop fluttering out, but it feels like there’s something still in there, so I jostle the envelope a bit. Out plops a little, black notebook with a thud. I pick it up and turn to the first page. At the top, it reads “Pass it on.” What does that mean? Someone sure was cryptic about this whole thing.

I rifle through the rest of the pages, but they’re all blank. To be extra sure, I go back and turn every page individually. But no, the whole notebook is blank except for the words “Pass it on.”

I count the cash three times. Sitting on the table in front of me is $20,000 in cash, all in $100 bills. I’ve never seen so much cash in my life. Hell, I’ve never even seen $1,000 in cash.

What should I do with it? My thoughts start racing. I could buy a car. No more wet socks in the rain. Or maybe pay off bills? I could even take a trip to see the world and go places I’ve never been.

No, I need a way to get to more interviews. I guess that means I should look at cars. My eyes drift to the sink, and the pile of neglected dishes stares back at me.

Too many days avoiding the simplest of menial tasks. The taller the pile gets, the more I can’t bear to wash the stupid dishes. I hate myself for leaving them there, but I just can’t seem to bring myself to confront the pile. It should be easy, so why isn’t it? I can’t even make myself do the damn dishes.

The tightness in the back of my throat starts creeping back. You know what? Why am I sitting here thinking about the dishes? There’s a miracle sitting right in front of me on the table. I can worry about the dishes later. Might as well go look at cars.

I gather the bills and pack them in my bag along with the little black notebook and a pen. I head out the door and start walking.

As I trudge along, my mind wanders to the mysterious envelope. Who would leave something like that? They must have known I was down on my luck, but why give so much?

As I get closer to the bus stop, I focus back on the world around me. There are the familiar gray skies. Gray walks. Gray people ambling along looking lost. I watch all the faces swimming around me.

They look just like me. How many of them are struggling just to get through the day? Where are their mysterious envelopes? I see the stressed and worried faces passing by, and an idea starts to form in my head.

Maybe that’s what that cryptic little note meant? Pass it on. Help others just like I was

Oh, no, no, no. How stupid would I be to give this up? $20,000 was literally just sitting on my doorstep when I needed it most, and I’m already thinking about giving it away? Maybe that’s why I’m in this shitty situation in the first place.

Well . . . I guess what’s $100 when I’ve got $20,000 in my bag? There’s a grocery store right by the bus stop, so I turn and head inside.

I grab a bag of chips off the first shelf I see and walk to the checkout, where I scan the aisles, searching for a cart filled to the brim. There. A young woman looking frazzled and tired with a toddler sitting in her cart.

I approach the woman from behind, my heart pounding anxiously in my chest, and tap her shoulder. She jumps a little and turns around. “Excuse me,” I say, “Do you mind if I go ahead of you? I’ve just got the one bag of chips.”

“Oh,” she says, a look of annoyance flashing across her face. “I guess.” Behind her, the toddler starts to whine. The woman visibly tenses up as I sidle by her, and my heart starts pounding faster.

The cashier rings up my chips with a dull glaze over his eyes. “$1.67,” he says in the sort of drone only retail workers adopt after too many days and too many people.

I lean in and say in a hushed tone, “Can you use this to pay for this lady’s groceries?” I slide one of the $100 bills over.

“Uh, sure,” he says, his eyes perking up a little and eyebrows knitting together in what I assume is puzzlement.

On an impulse, I reach into my bag and pull out one more bill. “I hope this brightens your day as well,” I say, handing him the bill.

Now his eyes widen, and the hint of a smile touches the corners of his lips. Feeling embarrassed, I dart away before he can say anything. I duck behind a shelf and peek over the edge back to the cashier’s lane.

I see the woman placing her items on the belt with her toddler amping up for a tantrum. The cashier hands her the $100 bill, and the woman stops and stares. Then a wide smile breaks out across her face, and her whole demeanor changes. She looks alive, not so frazzled and worn down.

My heart skips a beat, and I leave the store feeling elated. The skies look a little more blue, and the air feels a little less heavy.

I reach into my bag and write a snippet about the experience in the little black notebook, making note of the people and the feeling it gave me.

Then I get on a bus and stop at a used car dealership. I have no idea what I’m looking for, but I know I can’t afford repairs. I’ve got the cash, so I might as well get one I can count on.

It takes a while, but I find a car I’m happy with. $6,700 for a little Toyota. It seems like a lot, but I’ve still got $13,000 left. That gives me a few more months to find a job before I’m really in trouble.

As I turn to find a sales rep, I notice a man sitting on the corner with a cardboard sign.

“Anything helps. God bless.”

I start walking away, but with every step, I feel the weight of my bag hitting my leg, reminding me of the wad of cash just sitting. Anything helps. Shit.

I stop and turn around. As I approach the man, my flight instincts kick in. I don’t know him. I’m alone. His leathered skin, scraggly beard, and tattered clothes fire off warning signals all over my mind. But I grit my teeth and keep walking. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat with me?” I ask.

He looks up, and his eyes light up. “Really?”

I take him to a diner just down the road and share a meal with him. As I leave him, I write in my little, black notebook:

“Bought a warm meal for a homeless man down the street. I was scared at first, but we shared dinner and a conversation about his life. I left him with another $100, and he broke into tears. I walked away with a full heart and full stomach thinking about the dirty dishes sitting in my sink. Suddenly, the shame and guilt lifted a little. Those dishes represent all the meals I’ve had without a thought.”

Tempting. It’s so very tempting to keep the money, to get the nice car. I could do so much with this money, and I’ve already blown $400. Lord knows I need it . . .

Back at the dealership, my thoughts churn. I keep looking around the lot and find an older car for $2,100 that looks like it still has some life left in it. Gathering my resolve, I buy the car and set off to find more little ways to spend $20,000.

. . . . .

It took nearly two months, but I filled the whole notebook. 200 bills. 163 people. 1 car. I wish I could say I didn’t hesitate or doubt myself, that it was second nature, but that’d be a lie.

It took another month after that to get a job offer. Nearing the end, I really started to doubt my decision to just give away that money. Looking back, I don’t have any regrets. The car opened doors. Passing on my good fortune changed something in me.

Twenty years later, and the mysterious, little black notebook still sits on my nightstand as a reminder that if I happen on a stroke of luck or goodwill, to pass it on. By now, the corners are worn and the pages are tattered, but it’s my most prized possession.

I feel like I actually see the people around me. Their struggles and triumphs. And somehow, the world seem less gray.