Parables from my LIFE – (from upcoming book) by Beeaje Quick

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Universal Gratitude

I often find myself breaking down large portions of my life experience as if it is being plucked from a book; and in some instances, I pen the book. Writing books take a long time and a lot longer to fully understand when the material is reflective in nature. The author is sometimes the last person who can fully understand the nuances in the moral of the story, long after readers have tasted the nectar of a stranger’s introspection. Other times, I break down my life into parables, and the lessons of particular days are deduced by penning pithy metaphors. Let us imagine we are sitting under a starry night with a gentle campfire. This forum has been tried and tested to evoke passion for story telling. Strangers brought together by a subconscious need to communicate.“…One day, a long, long time ago, I broke up with my girlfriend. Things had been going badly for months and our ship finally ran aground. Before the ship sank, we jumped overboard and swam to our respective islands. In many ways, I was relived to finally be on my own again. I could do anything and kiss the lips of every mermaid I wanted. Except, I was not living on an island, I was living in a giant movie theater on Hollywood Boulevard filled with art no one wanted to buy and a film career that sank in still water at the bottom of a gloomy vase.

My ex-girlfriend had been blessed with supermodel looks and supernatural intelligence. It took her all of eight minutes to find another partner after our breakup. I have never been good at breaking up, I want it, but then I don’t want to lose anything. The news triggered panic, which sent me running through the streets of Los Angeles, looking for my tall flower until I found the garden she was being celebrated in.

I did what any normal man can do in these situations: I BEGGED. I promised I was a changed man and more, much, much more. Business had been very slow; my rent and expenses amounted to 1000’s of dollars that I was late on paying. Reality notwithstanding, I offered to take her on a trip to her homeland in Canada. I was in my 30’s and had never seen snow before. We traveled to Mount Whistler, and due to my surfing background, I took to snowboarding very naturally. Did I mention that my GF was a former super gymnast and a ripping snowboarder?

We enjoyed a truly wonderful week. I felt very close to her and was planning the future with the compass of a mature man, instead of the egocentric artist I had become. I was genuinely prepared to make changes that would better our lives. However, it was too little, too late and on the way to the Vancouver Airport, my GF conveyed a desired to spend a little more time with her family. At that moment, I knew our relationship was officially over. I rode to the airport with a heavy-heart earmarked by two competing realities: 1, I lost my relationship with an impossibly, wonderful woman. 2: Having blown the rent money on the trip, I faced eviction and maybe even worse than that.

Walking through the Vancouver Airport, I felt a sense of dread, especially when you consider most people were happy holidaymakers, or travelers en route to meet a loved one. I would arrive in Los Angeles without anyone to greet me, save the bevy of angry creditors and disenchanted partners.

My flight departed in one hour and I stationed myself in the airport bathroom for some deep introspection. The cold, stainless steel cubicles stretched ten rows long. I entered a random booth and sunk into the porcelain seating arrangements, placing my head to my knees as if I was going to pray. And pray I would, “please help me God, I’m really in deep SHIT (no pun intended). I don’t usually ask You for money, God, but if I don’t get some fast cash – I’m finished.” The sound of my flight announcement prompted me to reach for toilet paper without looking. I felt something atop the dispenser I could not immediately identify, which turned out to be a brown wallet that was as thick as a Big Mac.

WAS THIS A MIRACLE????

I have long held to the code that one must never keep anything found if it has an article of identification pertaining to an individual [corporations are exempt in my code of reasoning]. My natural curiosity pressed me to open the wallet: it was jam-packed with the highest denominations of YEN currency. The single piece of tattered ID confirmed the fifty-something man, wearing a short-sleeved white shirt, stuffed with a pocket full of pens and crooked tie was a Japanese engineer. I did not count the loot but realized there was a small fortune inside the accordion-sleeves of the wallet. Crispy notes had been professionally folded by a paper flower maker and slipped into secret compartments.

Walking through the main hall, I scanned every Asian man for a positive ID in a place residents sardonically call Japanada, in light of the large Japanese population living in Canada. While trying to match the face I now had engraved in my mind, I began talking to myself: “Maybe it’s fate I found this money? After all, I was asking God for His help, and BOOM, this wallet appears before me. Then another voice contended, “THE CODE, THE BLOODY CODE!!” Maybe I could take a few bills to help my grim financial situation…? “No! No! No!” I continued searching for the elusive Japanese engineer. I presumed that a traveler carrying cash without a credit card suggested currency was the only means he had to survive in a foreign country. I intensified my search without success.

Ultimately, my final boarding call was announced and I marched to the information counter with a sense of great composure. A young Black Clerk greeted me warmly. “I found this wallet in the toilet,” I said matter-of-factly. I have to go and catch my flight, thanks.” The man opened the wallet and reacted as if he laid witness to something incredible, “Woooooah, woooah – wait a minute sir,” he pleaded. “There’s a lot of money in here and you have to remain present while I count it and sign some forms.” Walking away, I turned to address him, “I don’t have time for that now- do what ever you need to do – I have to go,” I apologized. The Information Clerk spat anxiety into a walkie-talkie while I took my place in a kilometer-long queue that promised a passage back to Hollywood.

A few minutes later, I spotted the Black Clerk escorting a fragile Japanese gentleman that appeared to be much older than the photograph in his wallet. Compared to the black man’s lofty physique, he embodied a vision of an Asian hobbit lost in Middle Earth. The black clerk spotted me and his reaction was unrestrained. It appeared he was escorting the older gentleman to retrieve his wallet from a different counter. “This man!” He hollered with greatest enthusiasm. “This man is the one who returned your wallet, sir! He’s a very honest man and he returned it with all your money!” The Japanese man did not speak a single word of English and was oblivious to the pantomime. The black clerk endeavored to illustrate the nature of my good deed, utilizing every gesture in his charades repertoire without acclaim. He went so far as to accost other Asian travelers to assist in translating, but the Korean and Chinese tourists could not bring relief to his frustration.

I was obliged to follow my advancing queue before the tall clerk and the short Japanese man walked off toward a security counter. After 10 minutes, I caught sight of the Japanese man shuffling toward me, wallet in hand-counting his money. I became stirred, because I knew the old man had finally learned what had occurred and was most likely going to offer me a reward. I would graciously turn it down, and celebrate my pleasure to help a fellow traveler. As the Japanese man approached nearer and nearer, I blushed from the anticipation of certain gratitude I was about to receive for having done the right thing. The Japanese man came right up to me and, then, to my surprise, continued walking past without as much as throwing a thank you in my direction. Completely oblivious, the old man still did not know who I was, or what part I had played in the reversal of his carelessness. He appeared to be a modest man simply accounting his money on the way to his destination. All my good-deed rapture and projections of emotional reward became an explosion of awkwardness. At that moment, I felt like the man who thinks he is about to win an Academy Award before they call the name of the guy sitting next to him –while all the time– the camera is fixed on him so everyone can register his disappointment. As I walked away, an unexpected smile came to my lips and taught me that if you are going to do something pure, you cannot even expect a simple, ‘thank you.’ You do the deed because it is the right thing to do and that is your reward. A condition that is easier to appreciate as a philosophical model than when your feelings become caught up in receiving gratitude for a job well done.