To Whom It May Concern

Simone’s normal routine was to work on her balance by walking on the large rocks that separated the forest from the sandy beach about 30 feet from the water’s edge for about a mile then, after about a mile, return to the cabin by walking on the sand. It was on one of those large rocks that she noticed the little black book. She jumped off the rock, picked it up, then looked around to see if the person who’d left it was still there. It was early morning and the sun wasn’t quite shining brightly on the western shores of Washington state. She was alone as far as her eyes could see.

She slipped the elastic closure off and opened the cover thinking there might be a name and address inscribed inside. On the first page was a greeting in large writing, sloped in an elegant, confident hand reading “To Whom It May Concern”. She smiled, shook her hair away from her face, and sat., She turned the page and began to read.

“My time here is almost at its end. I bought this Moleskine notebook and the pen inside at the little bookstore in town so I could leave something behind, proof that I was once here, real and alive.”

Simone felt a sense of dread, took a deep breath, and scanned the water’s edge, not wanting to see what might be there, but looking, nonetheless. The water was relatively calm and nothing seemed to be floating nearby. As if anticipating the thoughts of the reader, the letter continued with assurances that there was no need for alarm.

“Seriously, there will be nothing left behind, save for this notebook, and no person wondering where I might have gone, so no need to alert the authorities. I developed no personal relationships in my 20 years here, though I’ve seen and experienced almost more than I could have hoped to see and shared adventures too numerous to mention. It’s much too late now to even begin thinking of forming a bond with a man, woman, or child. It would have only led to heartache, in the end.

“I thought I’d briefly share a few of my best and worst experiences with you, Whom It May Concern. Do you mind my calling you that, as I have no clue as to who you actually are? If you do, please, just think of it as a placeholder and mentally insert your name.

“There’s nothing interesting about me, not my appearance, voice, or manner of dressing. This is by design. My goal was to never draw attention to myself, rather to fade into the background.. There is only one skill that I’ve used in my time here that’s set me apart from others and that’s my ability to speak many languages. It comes naturally. I suppose it’s biological. This skill has enabled me to visit every continent and communicate easily with the people I’ve met along the way. The stories they’ve shared with me have curled my toes, broken and brought my heart joy. I’ve been lucky to have heard them.

“By the way, Antarctica is beautiful. If you ever go, I recommend you take a book to give your eyes a rest from the magnificence. It’s almost too much to bear. Your eyes may need respite.

“I listened to an old man by the name of Jack Sweeney in a London pub. His name alone made me smile. He told me he’d lost his husband to cancer just a few weeks before. He didn’t know what to do with his life, since it had revolved around someone else for 40 years, so he’d taken up drinking to fill the void. The void must’ve been a chasm, based on amount of beer he consumed. I told you bonding with others only leads to heartache, but I suppose you’ll find that out for yourself, if you haven’t already. I’ve often wondered about how things turned out for him in the end.

“A few years ago, a young woman was sitting across from me on a train from New York to Penn Station suddenly started to sob. I handed her the packet of tissues in my jacket pocket and asked if there was anything I could do for her. She shook her head. ‘I’m pregnant. My boyfriend is pressuring me into having an abortion. We’ve been together five years, but it appears he doesn’t think I’m the kind of girl you marry.’ She was a very well-spoken, pretty, well-dressed girl. I asked her what she wanted to do. She just shook her head, as if to say she didn’t know. There were two other women sitting with us. One of them piped up, ‘you could always abort the boyfriend’. The delivery was deadpan and the line landed well. By the time we reached the station, the three women were talking about options and the young woman’s tears had stopped. Another warning about attachments.

“Five years ago I saw a man have his hand amputated for stealing food.

“I saw an elephant die at the hands of poachers and its husks removed with a saw.

“I saw a commercial airplane fall from the sky after getting hit with a missile.

“I witnessed a man punch a woman in the face in the middle of a crowded street. Her nose bled heavily. Nobody seemed to pay it much attention nor did they intervene.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I didn’t. My purpose is to observe, nothing more.

“With all the death and destruction, violence and anger, promise and crushed hope I saw in such a short time, I quickly grew anxious to leave. There was no easy escape then. Patience is difficult for me. Perhaps it’s genetic. I don’t know. Eventually, the horror gave way to the sweetness, and I found myself less anxious over time.

“Once, a few years ago when I was in China, It was a sweltering afternoon, so I decided to go see a movie to get out of the heat. Seated in front of me was a young boy and his mother. The movie was about to start and everyone was settled in their seats when I heard the boy ask, ‘Mother, do bad guys know they’re the bad guys?’

‘No,’ she answered.

‘They think they’re the good guys?’

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Then, to them, we must be the bad guys.’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

“There was a moment of silence.

‘We think we’re the good guys, but we could be the actual bad guys and not know it.’ The mother patted his hand.

“He shook his head, as if grappling with the concept and the confounding logic of it all. I wonder how many young people have this marvelous epiphany each day. It was an honor to observe.

“It was on that same trip to Asia, in the roundabout and haphazard way I prefer to travel, hopping planes, trains, ships, and sometimes automobiles, that I saw the Great Pacific Garbage Patch with my own eyes. My first tears fell from them shortly after. I don’t know why I was so moved by this sight knowing I would never truly understand why or be saddled with the solution of how to save a planet from the inhabitants. I think I cried for you, Whom It May Concern, and everyone I’m leaving behind, whomever they are.

“Hope remains, however. And love, I suppose.

“I did make the mistake of forming one attachment. It happened about six months ago, just as I was finishing my travels and arrived here in Washington to make my exit. I caught a dog eating out of my compost bin. I’d heard something fall outside and went to investigate. He was timid and afraid, but too hungry to run. I went inside and found a chicken breast, which I cut into chunks. I don’t eat meat, but had watched enough television to know dogs need meat and happened to have picked up some chicken for a neighbor who had asked me to pick up a few items for her. It was late when I got home from the store and her light was off, so it just happened to still be in my refrigerator. It was destiny.

“I bought a small bag of dog food the next morning when, surprisingly, I found him curled up on a deck chair. He skittered away at first, though returned and ate gratefully when he realized I was harmless. The next day he was curious enough to come inside. He hasn’t left my side since. I’ve named him Sama Lama Ding Dong, a silly name, I know. It made the veterinarian smile, just as I smile when I think of the name Jack Sweeney. It’s just fun. The doctor said he was relatively healthy and had already been neutered, so he had once belonged somewhere with someone. Despite our best efforts, his prior home was never found, which is just fine with both the dog and me. Now I have a companion of the best sort. Bad timing, however, wouldn’t you say?

“I was as surprised to see love in his eyes as much as I was surprised to find genuine love for this orange mutt. He gazes at me and the way he started following me to bed straight away. Having him sleep beside me seemed the most natural thing in the world, like the laws of physics. Love can’t be helped and falling in love is best, isn’t it? Especially when one of the two is a dog.

“It will be hard to leave Ding Dong behind. He’s sitting at my feet as I write this, wanting nothing more than to stay with me. This is why bonding with animals is also not a good idea. It’s the same heartache as getting attached to people, for all I know.

“I took on the responsibilities of dog caretaker with gusto, walking him twice a day, feeding him good food, bathing him. Last week I was walking him to the dog park when I saw a man holding a sign that read ‘Anything Helps’. I happened to be carrying some cash on me, in the event that I ran into that devil ice cream truck that hovered around peddling its frozen pleasures. (Ice cream is something I will miss wholeheartedly.) )I reached into my pocket and pulled out the two ten dollar bills.

“I’ve seen men cry before, but I had never before been the cause of those tears. He thanked me profusely and said his name is Ben. I told him Ben was my father’s name as well, a good name. I’ve found people like hearing these little coincidences, so what was the harm in the lie? I waved him off. He walked ahead of us for a bit, me stopping for Ding Dong to sniff and mark where it was needed, so that more distance grew. Then I saw him come upon another man who was holding a sign that said ‘Hungry’. He handed the man one of his bills. They exchanged a few words and the other man walked off, holding his cardboard sign against his leg.

“I called out to Ben and asked him why he gave away half his fortune. He told me he knew the pain of hunger, that relieving that pain for someone else was his duty as a human being. ‘You must feel that, too,’ he said. I told him I was only an observer. He nodded and said ‘me, too’.

“I’ve wasted a lot of time contemplating what to write here, just staring at these pages. One could never pour twenty years of witnessing in these pages. It was a fool’s errand from the start. Now it’s too late for the pound, so I suppose I’ll just have to take Sama Lama Ding Dong along for the ride. Heartache averted, at least for now.

“When I told my landlady I would be leaving on our agreed upon date, she said she’d be sorry to see me go. I suspect that’s because I paid the rent on the little cottage in advance and with cash. Surely, I had no impact on her life, though it does make me wonder. Was I always so careful to not insert myself? Would anyone be writing a memory of me in their little black notebook?

“Speaking of cash, I have some funds left over. I’ve put it in a plastic bag and will leave it under this rock, so it won’t be lost in the Pacific. You’re welcome to it and hope you use the $20,000 for good, not evil, but you’ll do as you see fit, I suppose.

“I see my ride coming on the horizon. Thank you for reading this and good luck to you, Whom It May Concern.”

The letter Z was written in a flourish at the end of the last page with the pen clipped to a few of the blank pages that followed.

Simone stood up and put her shoulder to the rock, rolling it enough to reach under. She pulled out a large, clear plastic bag stuffed with hundred dollar bills and a short dog leash.

In the sand she saw shoe and paw prints heading directly toward the water until about the midway point between the rock and the waterline. There they ended abruptly, as if man and dog had been lifted off the ground.