Doughnuts and Donations

Most would consider walking home at two in the morning in central Wisconsin in the middle of January a death wish, I however found it mildly meditative and would even go as far to call it essential after working a twelve hour shift. Fortunately it was overcast and the pale violet glow of the clouds lit the way home. Several blocks into the trip I heard what sounded like a vehicle’s engine roaring and the whirring of snow covered tires spinning recklessly into the night. Rounding the corner of the street my apartment building resided on I witnessed exactly what I thought I’d heard before. A dark blue late 80’s model van spun wildly in doughnuts in the middle of my street miraculously remaining upright.

Apprehension froze my feet to the sidewalk, I contemplated looping around the block to avoid potentially becoming a hood ornament or getting abducted no more than two hundred feet from home. I began walking again while keeping a watchful eye on the peculiar vehicle. As if on cue the van slid perfectly to a stop facing down the street. The vehicle sat idling, exhaust billowing from its tail pipe. I found myself little more than thirty feet ahead when the van shifted into gear to continued down the road only to drive along side me and match my pace, I didn’t dare to look over through the passenger window at the driver and contemplated bursting into a sprint to reach my apartment and lock the front door behind me. The van picked up its speed just enough to put a comfortable distance between us then promptly stopped once more this time cutting the engine. The clamor of metal from inside the van stirred my nerves as the rear doors of the van opened slowly. I watched warily as a slender fellow with a just as wild as it was bright ginger beard carefully stepped out onto the snow packed road, he sported goofy round amber spectacles that allowed me to let my guard down as something about him set me at ease

“Figured that might get your attention” the bearded man said as he shuffled his way toward me. His voice was vaguely familiar, lighthearted and warm but his sunglasses more so it was then I realized exactly who he was. He had come through my drive-thru lane only a few hours earlier and ended up paying for the food of several customers behind him after handing me three delightfully crisp hundred dollar bills. I was growing increasingly confused and nervous by the situation, “Can I help you?” willing my vocal cords into action as the words escaped my lips trembling pathetically that moment realizing just how cold it was and how the wind seemed to seep through every layer I had on and drain the heat from my bones. “You’re off the clock if I’m not mistaken, but my business with you is in regards to another matter”, his voice carried warmth when he spoke. He unzipped his bulky winter coat half way and reached into a hidden breast pocket. He then withdrew a black leather bound journal and handed it to me, I took it slowly, my hand trembling either from the cold or trepidation, most likely both.

Apart from it being methodically crafted upon brief inspection of the journal I observed a curious gleam from its gold lined pages which nearly sent me into a trance had the bearded fellow not interjected. He had already returned to his van while holding the rear door handles in each hand as he looked at me over the lenses of his glasses, “My time as author has come to a close but yours has merely begun, you now hold the opportunity to shape your reality to your liking, to have, do, or be whatever you’d like, never forget you possess the ability to make the dreams of those around you a reality as well! The book handpicked you, that is if it actually hands” He let out a snicker, “With that Jacob, I bid you a fine evening” He eloquently imparted as though he’d rehearsed it at length just minutes before their meeting. He winked as he shut the van doors and started down the road once more and soon enough he was gone.

Now more bewildered than before I stood stunned in disbelief all the while holding the evidence this bizarre interaction had in fact transpired. When I finally opened the eighty eight some odd page notepad I was met with pages stained a mint green hue that was almost imperceptible which subtly contrasted the snowflakes that landed on them. In order to enjoy the immaculately crafted patterns imbued in ice I suppose I came within too close a proximity to the pages as they melted as soon as the warmth of my breath met them, but instead of soaking into the pages the flakes beaded into droplets and fell to the ground below as though the pages contained an oddly hydrophobic quality.

I decided to keep the journal purely due to its novelty, that and I couldn’t allow myself to simply throw away such a fine notebook. I then made my way into my building and up four levels to my unit and locked the door behind me to hopefully discourage anyone in the building who might’ve seen the exchange from barging in. I decided a little reprieve was more than in order parking myself on the living room sofa and placing the journal on the coffee table in front of me. As I sat there with the odd little book resting between my feet I wondered just what made it so special. I bent forward and took the book and opened it to the front cover. Unlike the other eighty seven blank pages this one actually contained text that shook me as I read, author: Jacob Hodgens, the characters appeared as though they were printed on a press ahead of time only left me with more questions. Additionally, a few inches below were what seemed to be a short set of guidelines.

1. Whatever is written within these pages will be made manifest in a day’s time.

2. For each selfless entry an additional page will be created.

3. Whenever the pages of this book are completely filled or the owner no longer desires to be in possession of this book and elects to write the words, my time as author has come to a close, a new author will be selected and the current author will see that this notebook is transferred to the next.

In order to make an entry I first needed a pen which would prove to be a challenge in its own right. I crept around the apartment silently in effort not to wake my girlfriend who was presumably in a dead sleep. After searching all the cupboards, all the drawers and shelves and under all the sofa cushions I finally found a lone hotel pen beneath the sofa. The pen was the variety of ballpoint that shot out the end as one twisted it. I sat puzzled with quite possibly the most powerful book on the planet in one hand and a clunky hotel pen in the other. I sat puzzled scratching the hairline of my right temple with the butt of the pen scouring my mind for what the first thing I ought to write should be. My mind was running in circles but would consistently return to paying off the remainder of the rent that would be needed till the lease was up and surprising my girlfriend with the news that she could spend her money on whatever she liked and not to worry about rent for a while. I had begun writing down the amount of twenty thousand dollars before I could comprehend doing so, it felt like overkill at first but I allowed it to be a test of the ability of the notebook and if I did somehow come into that money I could use my newly acquired disposable income to help others. I had begun losing motor control from obvious exhaustion becoming abundantly apparent as my pen fell from my hand to the sofa and as though both my mind and body decided at once that they had their fill of consciousness and plunged into a deep sleep.

Warm lips pursing against my forehead pulled me from a cycle of wakefulness and complete slumber. “Real poetic buying a journal you can’t write in dork” her voice was better than any wake up call. Her words left me confused however and couldn’t I differentiate if it was due to my delirious state or something else. She demonstrated with the pen I’d used only a few hours prior that nothing she did left any considerable mark. I reached out my hand so that I could show her the degree of her foolishness. I flipped to the page I’d written my first entry and turned it to face her, she then gave me a look as though I’d grown a big toe in the center of my forehead overnight, “And what are you trying to show me exactly?” she implored still possessing the same lips curled inward squinty eyed head tilted expression as before. I turned the page back toward me and saw my handwriting clear as day on the page and realized this unassuming notebook was not just your run of the mill journal.

While on my way out of the building I passed the Thorpe’s as they were on their way out as well and gave them a warm smile accompanied with a nod. The Thorpe’s were easily my favorite neighbors if you could call them that as they lived on the ground level while I lived three floors above them. There were three of them, Daniel, Liz and Jonah. Jonah, their son, was a childhood cancer survivor who never seemed to lose his cheery disposition as he battled lymphoma, he was far past remission at this point having grown all his hair back but the Thorpe’s were reminded everyday of their trials still dealt with the debt from his treatments. Both of the Thorpe parents worked to dig themselves out of that debt but after today would find themselves completely free from their past struggles

The walk to work was far from serene with sixty mile an hour wind gusts throwing me off balance every few steps. My head pointed down at the icy sidewalk only looking up every so often. A firm paper sheet clung to my torso held there from the wind; it was a scratch ticket with a jackpot of fifty thousand dollars. The ticket had a few numbers already scratched but seemingly flew away before the owner could finish. I took the ticket to a gas station that handled lottery games along the way figuring it was a good way to get out of the elements for a bit. After scratching the bottom of the ticket to expose its barcode I handed it to the store clerk. A few failed scanning attempts later the machine trumpeted its indication of a winning ticket as a computer screen displayed thirty thousand dollars.

The clerk had to close the store temporarily to notify the state lottery office of my win and shortly afterward a representative was on site with a check for twenty thousand dollars as was the total after taxes were withdrawn. Every doubt I had about my new notebook had since been obliviated. Work would have to find someone new to close each night. I elected to deposit half of my winnings and use the other to conjure up a charity for children recovering from cancer to give the Thorpe’s their financial freedom back.