Towards better things

It was around 8pm that Peter liked most in the office. Free of distractions from colleagues who had long since gone home and his chance to reflect. He loved his job, perhaps a little too much and worked hard to become Head of Architecture at the age of 29.

Peter ran his hands through his brown unkempt hair contemplating his work when he was startled by the door. There were never visitors this late he thought. He hastily made his way to the intercom and noticed a cheerful deliveryman on the camera baring a parcel.

“Can I help?” Peter asked.

“Parcel for Peter Kimble”, the man said with a knowing smile.

“Oh, that’s me.” Bemused, he made his way down the two flights of stairs swiftly, his agile limbs relishing the much-needed stretch. The benefit of cycling to work had kept him fit.

“Hello there”, Peter said as he opened the door hesitantly. He signed for the parcel, dazed by the man’s stark white hair. About to ask why he was delivering so late, the man darted away.

Now back at his desk he opened the parcel tentatively when suddenly it let out an almighty wail that sent him toppling from his chair.

The noise only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to leave him stunned. Peter apprehensively examined the contents where inside rested just one item; A small black notebook, which was emitting a gentle pulsing. Embossed on the cover it read:

Semper ad Meliora

Peter didn’t know what it meant but made a mental note to google it later. He fumbled with the fastening, cautiously opening the cover and read the first line:

You have been chosen.

Peter’s heart began to beat wildly. Intrigue enveloped him, but it was tainted with fear. He wondered for a moment if he should discard the book but the enthrallment was too great for him to resist. So he continued:

This notebook is not for the idly minded, handled honorably it can bequeath divine joyousness.

You’ll encounter magic, wisdom and power but if you do not heed the rules, you’ll meet grave misfortune.

Peter had no idea what it meant.

He flicked through all the pages but they were bare, apart from something scrawled on the very last page:

Black: Good

Red: Evil

Green: Unconfirmed

More will be revealed once your actions are sealed.

Strangely, Peter felt compelled to go into Alan O’Hardy’s office. Alan headed up the Finance division and although he was somewhat pompous, they had a well-natured relationship. Placing the notebook in his pocket, he scanned the contents on Alan’s desk. Nothing remotely unusual, however the project paperwork for a new housing development was visible. Peter had submitted his drawings with the approved contractors appointed to build out the scheme a couple of weeks ago, but he felt driven to appraise the paperwork again. He noticed it was the signed version meaning the project was good to go.

Immediately Peter spotted that the contractor for the ground works had changed. He scampered back to his desk and located the file on his computer. The previously approved contractor was priced the same.

Confused, he took the notebook from his pocket and placed it on his desk.

Feeling weary, Peter decided to change into his cycling gear for his commute home and went to leave. Doubling back to grab the notebook, which appeared to be twitching, once again he was like a dog with a bone. He resolved to having one last look in Alan’s office. He attempted to open a drawer, but it was locked. Absently he picked up a small plant to reveal a key. Once opened, he couldn’t believe his eyes. A sum of cash along with a copy of the original paperwork.

He counted out $20,000. Why did Alan have this much cash in his desk drawer?

Without thinking, he shoved the money into his bag. He locked the drawer and placed the key back beneath the plant.

As Peter cycled home, he was mystified with the events of the evening and thankful it was the weekend. He didn’t want to keep the money, but he also knew Alan couldn’t report it as stolen. He never thought Alan the type to take kickbacks.

Once home, he retrieved the notebook and turned to the second page. To Peter’s amazement there was a freshly inscribed green entry:

24th February 2019: Corruption. $20,000 cash seized. In the possession of the beholder to use as he sees fit.

Peter pondered if that meant the money was now his? As much as he earned a good living, he was just about scraping by with the cost of living in London. He started imagining ditching his bicycle for a BMW superbike. Perplexed, he placed the money on the coffee table along with the notebook and sat back on the couch.

The text was green, meaning undecided. Peter realized that no justice had been served, well aside from taking the money that Alan had unlawfully accepted. He resigned himself to thinking that he would ask to review the paperwork on Monday and question the change in the hope it would expose the corruption.

He rested his eyes, overcome with exhaustion, and fell into a restless sleep.

***

Peter awoke abruptly. Light was streaming though the blinds, casting a dusty shadow across the room. His eyes froze on the money and the notebook on the table.

It wasn’t a dream, Peter deliberated. He placed the notebook and money back in his rucksack and stashed it under his bed.

By the time Peter showered and ate it was already 2pm.

His thoughts kept drifting to the notebook, but he had his brother’s birthday celebration starting in just a few hours and he still needed to buy a gift.

As he opened the front door to leave, a deafening roar erupted. Rushing to his bedroom he grabbed the bag, the noise now lowered to a gentle hum and as soon as he held the notebook in his hands, it stopped.

There was no choice but to take it with him.

Deciding to catch the train, Peter walked to the station where he felt his mind invaded with muffled words and phrases. Was he picking up on other people’s thoughts?

The internal disturbance amplified on the train, Peter’s head feeling like it was going to explode. Relief flooded him when he finally was out of the station.

Stopping outside a department store he tried to gather himself, but random thoughts were cascading through his mind. “I must remember to buy milk”, he heard so clearly when a lady stopped beside him. “I wish he would ring me”, he heard again. Shocked by this new revelation, he realized it must be from the power of the notebook.

He entered the store, hoping he could quickly buy a gift for his brother when he felt pulled to a young man. He looked to be in his late teens. He was somber as he stopped by the aisle which contained stationery. Then he heard, “I wish I could buy a notebook to write my story”. Fascinated, Peter pretended to take interest in the copier paper on sale but listened intently to the boy’s musings.

He slowly glanced at the boy, seeing his dog-eared trainers and dirty clothes then heard another voice, “What is a tramp doing in here”. An elderly woman walked by with her nose turned up.

Peter was overcome with emotion. If this young boy was homeless, he wanted to know his story. What had happened in his life for him to be so deprived?

He realized he was now staring at the boy. His skin filthy, unshaven, and afro hair slick with grime. There was a pungent smell in the air. The boy turned and faced him, looking down “yeh mate I know, I shouldn’t be in here”, his lips never moved.

“Excuse me”, Peter said. “I’m leaving, don’t worry”, he replied dejectedly. “No”, Peter replied softly. “Are you interested in these notebooks?”

The boy looked surprised by the question and shrugged his shoulders. “What’s it to you?”, he asked.

“Choose what you need”, Peter responded instinctively. The boy remained silent for a moment not comprehending the gesture or believing it to be true.

“Are you for real?”, the boy said bewildered.

Peter didn’t know his story, but he knew he needed to be given a chance.

“I think if you have something you want to write you should be given the tools to do it.”

The boy glanced at the array of notebooks, then back to Peter unsure of what to do.

“I’m serious. Look, let me help.”

Peter picked up a small black notebook, not too dissimilar to the magical one stowed in his pocket. He also picked up a pack of pens. “How’s this?” Peter queried.

“Err yeh that’s great”.

“Then it’s settled. Go wait outside the store and I’ll be out soon”.

The boy nodded nervously.

Peter left the store to find the boy siting on a nearby bench. He took a seat next to him and handed him the purchased notebook and pens.

“Everyone deserves to tell their story”, Peter voiced.

“Oh man, I can’t tell you what this means”, he faltered. The boy held the notebook like it was a prized possession, gently caressing the cover. He heard the boy say in his mind “This can’t be real”.

“I’ll tell you what”, Peter began. The boy looked anxious wondering what Peter wanted in return.

“I don’t have anything to give you”, the boy said defensively.

“If you’re comfortable, please let me read your story”.

The boy looked confused.

“I’ll come back to this bench tomorrow at the same time. If you share with me what you’ve written so far, it would be a privilege to read.”

“Err, sure. I think I can fit that into my busy schedule”, the boy said, his mouth twitching into a smile.

***

The next day Peter eagerly awaited visiting the boy. His heart leapt when he saw him sitting on the bench.

“I’m so pleased to see you again”, Peter said enthusiastically.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d come back.”

The boy held the notebook tightly in his hands, it already looked like he had owned it for years.

“It’s not finished but, well, here”, the boy handed the notebook over.

Peter opened it and read the first line:

Towards better things. My story by Jay Abara.

When Peter finished reading Jay’s words, tears were flowing.

“Extraordinary”, Peter just about managed.

Relief washed over Jay and he placed his hand on his chest, bowing his head in gratitude.

“I recently came into some money, which I have no intention of keeping and I want to give it to you”. Peter handed a bag to Jay containing the $20,000.

The boy scrutinized the contents in disbelief. “This can’t be real”, he whispered.

Peter tenderly placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “The future is full of possibilities. Everything you can imagine is real.”

Peter left the boy siting on the bench knowing that he had just changed his life and there was no greater feeling. He reached for the notebook and opened the page where the color of the previous text had changed from green to black and now included a new line:

$20,000 freely given to a worthy soul where onwards he will change many lives for the better.

Peter didn’t know why he had been chosen, how long he would have the notebook or what it meant if the text appeared red but what he did know for sure was that he wasn’t going to waste this valuable gift. He would use it to help others on their journeys and trust in the magic it granted.

Later that evening Peter stretched back on his couch and remembered he still hadn’t learnt the meaning of Semper ad Meliora.

Typing it into Google he was astonished when it returned the following result:

Always towards better things.