The Black Ashtray

The Black Ashtray

J.D. McDonald

Life is an amazing journey. The most breathtaking moments often happen when we venture down an unexpected path. The peculiar thing about life is that you never know when misfortune might transform into good fortune. A friend of mine has always had the absolute worst bad luck a person can have. She has failed miserably in the three areas we most desire to have good luck: love, fortune, and health.

 Despite facing constant setbacks, she approaches each day with a lighthearted sense of humor and fragile remnants of faith. Despite her yearning, lasting love has always eluded her, and her employment resume looks like the starting gate of a horse race. Permanent employment is a never-ending quest... She saves what little money she can, but there is never enough for her live comfortably.

Recently, an unexpected turn of events seemed to indicate her luck was finally about to change when a wealthy distant relative passed away and mentioned her in his will. She hadn’t had much contact with him, so it was a total surprise when she received a letter from his attorney asking her to attend the reading of his will the following month.

In the days that followed I joined in my friend’s speculation about the size of her inheritance. Our imaginations ran wild as we entertained thoughts of her receiving unimaginable wealth in the form of millions of dollars or even inheriting his luxurious home. Eventually, we lowered our expectations and started thinking on a smaller scale. Perhaps he left her one of his amazing foreign cars, or in a more realistic scenario; she would only receive a few thousand dollars instead of millions. After all, she had barely known the man.

We delved into the mystery of this man's connection to her family tree and discovered he was her grandfather's brother, essentially her great-uncle.  While, it was fun to speculate, when it came down to the specifics of this unexpected event, we realized that the likelihood of her inheriting anything substantial was highly improbable.

She remembered meeting him during family reunion on his estate when she was only twelve. She had been impressed with the vastness of his home and the exquisite grounds, but she hadn't liked the man. She remembered him being very formal, abrupt, and constantly scowling at her. At one point, after dinner, he asked her what she wanted to do with her life. She had no answer, so she sarcastically retorted, "I want to be rich like you." He laughed though a haze of cigar smoke and dismissed the conversation.  That was all she could remember of him.

We found he had a large family with several children and grandchildren so the mystery of him mentioning her in will grew more mysterious. He obviously had great wealth, but for him to remember a scrawny impudent twelve year- old grandniece in his will was baffling. Still, the attorney's letter, which we read again and again, clearly stated that she was entitled to a share of his estate. Our excitement, apprehension, disbelief, and total dismissal over the unfathomable summons ebbed and waned as the days passed.

When the day finally arrived for the reading of the will, we traveled to her great uncle's estate in her well-seasoned Volkswagen. The car thumped and squealed rhythmically as it precariously carried us on the ninety-mile trip. I gripped the tattered seat throughout the trip, silently praying her inheritance would be one of her uncle's luxurious sport cars.

The old car sputtered and gasped when we entered the circular driveway of her uncle's home, making our arrival less than fashionable. I did my best to conceal my embarrassment as the butler eyed us suspiciously from the porch. Several elegant limousines with chauffeurs standing beside them were already parked, indicating we were the last to arrive.

The grandeur of the house and the imposing limousines filled us with awe and intimidation. We briefly considered retreating, but the promise of a substantial inheritance propelled us forward. Upon entering, a maid greeted us, though not warmly, and ushered us to a large sitting room. In one corner of the room, there was a large, stately desk filled with papers. Behind it sat a paunchy man with oversized glasses, engaged in conversation with a group of people. As we entered, we were met with raised eyebrows and scowls.

As our introduction concluded, the crowd in the room subtly gravitated to one side, leaving us seated in isolation near the door. It was evident we were not regarded as a welcome part of the esteemed gathering. The attorney's monologue seemed to stretch endlessly as he meticulously went through page after page, detailing the conditions and stipulations of each benefactor before revealing the staggering sums, each amounting to millions of dollars. Each time he turned to another page, our hearts pounded in anticipation of the inheritance my friend was promised.

Finally, as the attorney seemed about to finish reading the will, he randomly flipped through a few more pages as if looking for something he had forgotten. When he finally settled on a page, he silently read it. Then, he focused his gaze on my friend and cleared his throat. This was the moment we had been waiting for; he was about to reveal her fortune. She grasped my hand, and I could feel her whole body tense with anticipation. The attorney dropped his gaze, looked again at the paper he was holding, scanned the room full of people, and then looked back at my friend.

The atmosphere in the room was tense as everyone waited to see what the attorney would reveal. Slowly, he reached under his desk, retrieved a small plain paper carton about the size of a pastry box, and placed it on the desk. In a soft monotone, he informed my friend that her grand uncle had left her an object dear to his heart.  My friend and I stood simultaneously and walked to the desk. The others in the room also stood up and leaned forward to see what was in the box, but it remained unopened. When, at last,  the attorney opened the box it we were shocked and disheartened to see a black ashtray about the size of a plate, carefully wrapped in white tissue paper. The room erupted in mocking laughter as my friend dashed out in tears. I rushed out after her, carrying the insulting inheritance.

The ride home was steeped in disappointment and humiliation. I struggled to find words of comfort, but none came. The box containing the hideous ashtray sat on my lap, a constant reminder of her uncle's ill-conceived joke. I couldn't believe her uncle left her such a thoughtless gift. It looked like a child had made it out of clay and painted it with drab black paint. The only remarkable thing about it was its weight. Despite its size, it was incredibly heavy. I took it out of the box once and looked it over carefully, hoping to find a manufacturer's marking or other signs of potential value, but to my disappointment, it was nothing more than an ugly ashtray. 

For the next three months, the astray sat on a dusty shelf in my friend’s cluttered garage. During those three months, her luck continued to spiral in its habitual way. Her new-found love betrayed her; she was laid off from a job she thought would last forever, and she caught a relentless bout of the flu. The final blow came when her landlord sold the house she was living in, leaving her no choice but to move.

But then life did that peculiar thing that life does when it turns misfortune into fortune. We were cleaning her garage and preparing for her move when we stumbled on the wretched ashtray. Enough time had lapsed that we could give a joking account of the reading of the will before she tossed it on a pile of trash.  I pretended to be horrified and scolded her for callously throwing her inheritance into the garbage. I retrieved it and held it over my head like a crown. That is when I noticed a glint of gold shimmering on one corner of the ashtray. When I inspected it, I concluded the ashtray had been painted gold before black paint was applied.

I was wrong. When we removed the black paint, it appeared to be made of solid gold. The idea seemed preposterous, especially with her luck. Nonetheless, we took it to a gold exchange shop and sheepishly set it on the counter, expecting to be told it was fake gold. To our astonishment, it wasn't; it was nearly four pounds of pure gold bullion, valued at a staggering one hundred seventy-five thousand dollars; that hideous black astray turned her misfortune into abundant fortune.