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100 Little Black Books

The Amazing Life of Mrs. Pink

By Melissa G WilsonPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
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Mrs. Bernice Pink always carried her little back notebook with her wherever she went. Even her husband Chester, known to all as "Chester Pink the Mattress King," couldn't pry that little book out of her thin, pale hands that very special sultry evening in Chicago when he knelt on one knee with a heartfelt proposal at their favorite Italian restaurant.

Now, sixty years later, Mrs. Pink, at the ripe age of eighty-five, was still regularly seen by neighbors clutching her latest little black notebook as she shuffled down the streets of Chicago's Gold Coast, her shapely (still dyed) blonde bob blowing in the wind, her miniature ink-black poodle, Queen Elizabeth, trotting merrily beside her. It was a sun-buttered Tuesday morning in May when I had the happy pleasure of running into Bernice on her way to get her monthly wash, blow-dry, and trim.

"Hello!" she chirped when she saw me. "How are you, my dear girl?"

I gave her one of my big-toothed smiles and replied, "Oh, I'm just peachy! But do tell me, what's the word on the street? Hear anything worth sharing?" I couldn't help myself. No one could resist Mrs. Pink's old-fashioned, upper-crust yet homey phrases that made one want to jump in a sort of time machine, sailing back in time to a day and age where the conversation was as plentiful as satellite tv is today. I also couldn't stop myself from needling Bernice a bit to, hopefully, yield some juicy gossip.

With that invitation, she stopped abruptly, eyed a particularly shady park bench nearby, right across from one of my favorite places in Chicago -- the Newberry Library. She waved her hand directing me to the bench and I sat down promptly. No one ever would want to waste a minute when it came to the gossip Bernice could spill.

Bernice smoothed her St. John blue-knit skirt as she sat down, opened her little notebook where, I swear to God, rested a long clear bookmark that held a squished, blackish-green worm inside of it. Of course, I had to ask about it immediately. One never knew when Mrs. Pink would tell you a rip-roaring story about some creature she brought back from one of her travels around the world. You see she loved all kinds of strange creatures. I started recalling that last tale she told me about her “frog conquest .” It was important she stated upfront, to note that the frog she brought home was called a “Peru Poison Frog." It was also known as an emerald poison frog found in the Ucayali and Huallaga River basins in Peru. She had caught this beautiful frog right after a fun-filled day of ziplining. I just hoped she wasn’t going to start on a similar story today. You see, I’m not much of a reptile lover.

But today, I said nothing, waiting for Bernice to begin her story, but instead, she said to me, "Now Caroline, I want to put your address into my notebook. I have something to send you. "Oh sure!" I replied. I had no idea what she might want to send me. I know she knew where I lived. But I slowly spelled out my address so that she would take it down accurately. Then when I was through, I paused for a moment and asked, "Bernice what did you want to send me?"

She giggled, sounding almost like a teenager. Her laugh was also filled with a tinge of childhood mischief. Then she stood up abruptly, snapped her notebook closed, winked at me, and walked away, waving goodbye with her hand over her shoulder, without as much as a glance backward.

I just sat there for several more minutes replaying the encounter. I tried to come up with some idea as to what I might have missed. What was Mrs. Pink up to? Was she going to host a party? I had never been to one but I heard she threw great parties. But I also nervously thought she might be thinking of sending me one of her stuffed frogs or even the stuffed owl she had glued forever on a tree limb nailed to her wall, looking down on her as she sat on the big leather recliner she still kept years after her husband had gone to the big mattress store in the sky. That owl was cherished by the whole Pink family, almost like it was an extended family member. That story was especially sad as Bernice and Chester had actually rescued the owl when it was a baby. Then, not knowing that you should never put an owl on a tree branch as it will cling to it and ultimately paralyze itself there and die, proceeded to do just that. Not wanting to forget their wrongdoing, they decided to have their little owl stuffed and keep it there as a reminder to never do anything like that again.

I just hoped she wouldn't send me anything stuffed. I kept trying to remember if I had ever said anything to make her think I would want any piece of her large taxidermy collection. I walked home just praying I wouldn't get such an unwanted delivery.

***

A month passed and, thankfully, no unusual packages arrived. I stopped short that day in May of calling Bernice to try and pull out of her some idea as to what she would be sending me. I decided, instead, that I would channel my increasing curiosity about that day and potential package, to explore new ideas for my upcoming new book in my YA fantasy series. I realized that Mrs. Pink's strange behavior that day offered me a perfect catalyst to spur me on to a new, richer level of writing.

But one week later, a package did arrive.

It came in the form of an envelope sent by a courier service. Inside was a letter from a notable law firm in Chicago asking me to attend a reading of a will -- Bernice's will to be exact. Holding the letter in my shaking hands, I sank down to my knees onto the black-and-white tiled floor of my condo's entryway.

What!? Bernice was dead? Tears spilled down my cheeks that suddenly felt red hot. My mind raced back to that morning in May. Bernice must have known that she didn't have long to live. But why would she have left for me? How could I be a recipient of anything she owned?

I had only known her for about a year. We had met through my best friend, Tonja, who had been serendipitously telling me about Bernice for more than two years. I just had never put two and two together as to who this strangely wonderful woman was . . . until an evening when my husband, Craig, and I, were set to attend a senior follies at one of Chicago's many theaters. We were happily watching the show, our heads smooshed together, as usual, chatting softly as the performers, all over seventy, were dancing, singing, and delighting us with their ageless talents.

Suddenly, we were tapped gently on our respective shoulders. Surprised by the interruption, we swiveled around and there was this very pretty older woman waving her index finger vigorously at us stating, "Children. Please. Unlock yourselves. I'm trying to see the performers!" That was a moment for sure, one I had never experienced. We felt like we had just gotten in trouble with our third-grade teacher but we just happened to be at the ripe age of 40 plus.

Even stranger was the fact that the couple who had invited us to the show -- John and Julie Heidrick, had also asked us back to their place afterward where there would be an after-party. We happily accepted their invitation. One hour later, while in John and Julie's dining room, munching on cheese, crackers, and champaign, in walks that same elderly woman. Still embarrassed for talking during a performance, I had to go over and offer my apologies. But what I got as a bonus was the discovery that this was Tonja’s Mrs. Pink! I was finally getting the honor of meeting this amazing woman. I knew from that moment the two of us were meant to connect and that something very special would come from that meeting.

***

It was raining the day I was to go to the attorney's office who was reading Bernice's will. I found myself trying to dress in a way that she would have approved of, perhaps even praised. I finally had decided on a silk pantsuit. I was glad I did not wear a dress when all was said and done.

There was no one else in the office of Henry Bain, her lawyer, when I arrived. He came in shortly, sat down at his desk, reading glasses primly perched on his bulbous nose, the will set firmly upright in his large hands, and asked me if he could start reading the portion that applied to me. I nodded solemnly.

"I Bernice Pink, being of sound mind and body hereby bequeath the following to Caroline Worthington . . . " After those words, my brain froze for a minute or two until I heard:

My most cherished dog, Queen Elizabeth along with $20,000 to take care of her for the rest of her life in the custom I know she deserves.’

Now that was a surprise! My mind flashed back five years when I first met Queen Elizabeth. She had been six so that would make her around eleven now. That was quite a large amount to care for a dog her age. Henry, the lawyer, must have been reading my mind. He added, "Oh and there is also this: “Additionally, I have taken the liberty of paying for the next decade of care for Queen Elizabeth. Of course, if Queenie dies prior to the end of ten years, the funds remaining will be revert to a donation to my wonderful pet helpers, my veterinarians, Sue and Johnathon Price.”

"Oh, oh that's so kind." was all I could say at that moment.

"But there is one more thing."

"What's that?"

"Mrs. Pink also left you her collection of 100 moleskin notebooks. As to why, this is what she wrote:”

'Finally, I leave dear Caroline my collection of moleskin notebooks -- all 100 of them. Once I found out that she was a writer I knew my notebooks would be cherished by her and used in some way to benefit both human and dog kind.'

"What do you think that means?" I asked, shocked.

"Well, from what she showed me of the books, they appear to hold story after story about the lives of her many dogs. And although I am not a writer myself, I am a reader. Quite frankly they remind me of the marvelous books by James Herriot, "All Creatures Great and Small."

"Oh my. Ok then." I was experiencing the strangest feelings. For whatever reason, I was suddenly able to put all the wonderful pieces of Mrs. Pink's amazing life and connection to me together. No one, not even my husband, was aware that I grew up in a very abusive home. My mother had, at one point, brought home seventeen dogs, most of them living in cages on our porch. It was a crazy, sad childhood. I had stuffed those memories so far away that, at one point, they felt like they had never happened. One thing was for sure though. I promised myself I would never ever have a dog.

But now I was able to shift my perspective. I realized that Mrs. Pink's dog stories would help other struggling children move forward in their lives and that in this wonderful new world of publishing, I could bring her books out myself. With that new awareness, I left the lawyer's office that day ready to begin my new life.

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About the Creator

Melissa G Wilson

Multi-book, bestselling author turned book coach and publisher of thought leader books (150+ to date)including the likes of Tom Peters who has sold 4.5 million copies of his book series. Now also writing fiction and loving every minute.

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