Life's Golden Ticket (16 page)

Meg looked at me vacantly. “She was here for the same reason as Harsh. She wanted to know if you would change. She discovered the answer was no.”

“But it's not!” Pain and anger and hurt clenched in the pit of my stomach. “How could you say that? I
will
change! How could you tell her I wouldn't! What did she say?”

“I didn't tell her anything,” Meg said. “Mary saw what she needed to see. Then she asked if she should leave you.”

“If she should
leave
me? What did you say?”

Meg looked at me coldly. “I told her yes.”

“What! How could you! Who do you think you are?” I stood up as if I were about to charge out.

Meg stood and pointed to my seat. “
Sit down!
” she commanded. Her voice seemed to bounce through every cell of my body.

I crumpled into my chair, on the verge of tears. I could barely breathe. The room felt like a coffin; the world felt as if it had collapsed on me.

“
Why?
” I blurted through my hands covering my face. “Why did you tell her that? Don't you know how badly that must have hurt her? I could have changed! Why don't you believe I could have changed?”

Meg whispered her response: “Because you don't know what you want in life. If you don't know what you want, you can't change from here to get there. You have nothing to reach for, nothing to measure yourself against. It doesn't matter if you've sword-fought with dear old Dad, or ridden horses with Grandma, or swum in the crystal blue ocean with Mary. Just because you feel better about the past and who you are doesn't mean your life will change. This is now. In here, we
talk about the future. You have to know where you want to go and adjust your course . . . or you just drift.”

Meg paused until I looked at her. Her eyes were compassionate. “I told Mary you were a drifter and always would be.”

My heart broke. Anger seared the back of my throat. I opened my mouth to let the feeling erupt. No words came out.

“I'm sorry,” Meg said. “But if you don't decide what you want in life, you can't change your course to get it. No goals, no growth. No clarity, no change. I'm sorry.”

She extinguished an incense candle, patted my shoulder, and walked out of the room once again.

I
sat motionless in Meg's tent for nearly an hour. My mind replayed everything she had told me and everything I had seen in the crystal ball. I began to realize that I had spent much of my life frozen in the past or paralyzed in the present. I had never really looked at things long-term. I had never thought about the last days of my life and who I wanted to be or what I wanted to have accomplished. Mary's and Meg's words echoed over and over: “
You're not ready for change
”
. . .
“
No clarity
,
no change
”
. . .
“
You're a drifter.
” Meg's words still angered me, yet my heart filled with grief at the thought of Mary sitting in this very chair and seeing the future, a future in which I would never change. I imagined the pain she must have felt, the disappointment, the frustration, the hopelessness—the same feelings I felt when I hovered above my life and saw how it turned out.

Eventually, sadness turned to stillness. I wasn't sure how to interpret what Meg had said or what she had shown me, but I was going to do something about it. I looked at the crystal ball and decided to defy the verdict.
I will not end up that way.
I reached up and smacked the crystal ball off the table. It hit the wall and fell to the floor with a
hollow
clunk.
I picked it up. I couldn't believe it—it was plastic. Meg was telling the truth. It really was a cheap fishbowl turned upside down. I turned it over and over in my hands.

T
he red velvet curtain behind me opened, and Henry emerged. He stared at me and at Meg's vacant chair. “What's going on here? Is everything okay? Where's Meg?” His complexion still looked pale, amplified even more by his concern.

“She left,” I said.

Henry frowned. “What do you mean, ‘she left'?”

“She just got up and left.”

Henry scratched his head. “Why would she . . . well, are you okay?”

“Yeah. I'm . . . fine, I think. . . . I have a new perspective.”

“Great! Then Meg was good to you?”

I took a moment to think about his question. “No, Henry, she wasn't. She showed me some things that truly broke my heart. I'm not sure exactly what to think. Maybe I needed to see those things to change? I just don't know. I'm confused. But I'll tell you what: I won't let my life end up that way.”

Henry stared again at her empty chair, looking lost in thought. “I just can't understand that woman. She knows not to leave anyone alone.” He shook his head and looked back at me. “Let's talk about it on the way?”

“On the way?” I asked.

“To the show. Remember? You were supposed to meet me at the Big Tent.”

T
he Big Tent's entrance was packed with throngs of eager fairgoers. Everyone was milling about, chatting, eating, waiting for the tent to open so they could get good seats. The excitement in the air only amplified my energy in telling Henry about my future, about how
damn sure I was that I wouldn't let my life turn out the way Meg had predicted. The ideas and hopes and dreams about my new life gushed out of me faster than I could process them. I told him about how I would apply all that I had learned at the park. I promised never to live in the past again or get bogged down working on things I wasn't passionate about. I told him I would never end up lonely at the end of my life. I spoke of love and passion and family and faith. I don't know if I was reacting to Meg or summoning old ambitions, but I swore to start over and make my life count.

At some point I began to feel like a kid in a toy store speaking to the deaf ears of a parent. Henry was listening, but he was distracted. He struggled to lead me through the crowd of people to the front of the tent. At the entrance stood two large men in blue shirts with yellow lettering:
SECURITY
. Both men smiled at the sight of Henry, and one of them pulled back the enormous tent flap for us. The crowd screamed with excitement. The other security guard waved and crossed his arms and called out, “No, not yet, folks! Not yet!” The crowd booed as Henry and I hurried inside.

“Henry,” I said, sounding like a wheedling child, “have you even been listening to what I've been saying? I'm going to
change.
” I looked at him, expecting encouragement.

But he just nodded and said, “I'm happy you're excited to change. But let me ask you something I asked you earlier. Have you ever been excited to change your life before and not done it?”

I felt the wind go out of my sails. “Yes, but, Henry, this is different. I . . .”

“I know, it's different,” he interrupted. “I know you're excited about all this, and I couldn't be more thrilled that you want to change. But I know you've dreamed before and let those dreams die in the daylight. You've hoped before, but didn't hop out of bed in the morning to make those hopes reality. I am excited for you, and I don't mean to disparage your good intentions. But I know you have more to learn before you'll ever change. That's why we're here—I want you to learn from the best. C'mon.”

He led me down the entrance aisle, which was at least twelve feet wide and bordered by two double-high sections of bleachers. At the end of the aisle I could see the true immensity of the tent. Bleachers lined the high canvas walls, and in the middle of them was a circular open area the diameter of a football field, containing three huge, intersecting red rings about two feet high. The middle ring was a quarter again the size of its neighbors. A couple of dozen men were securing sections of a large cage in the ring to the left. High above the rings, a spiderweb of wires connected dozens of tall metal towers, making up the structure of the tent. The massive framework of a lighting system hung from the wires just above the left and right rings, so that the entire space had the feel of a state-of-the-art concert arena.

“Nice, huh?” Henry said.

We walked about a third of the way around the rings, then up an aisle between two sets of bleachers. At the aisle's end two more security guards greeted us. One shook Henry's hand. The other smiled at me and pulled back the flap.

Just as he spoke, both the guards' radios squawked, “Get ready! We're about to let 'em in!” We all turned and looked toward the entryway, where a sea of people began flooding in.

The guard pulling back the flap looked at me, then at Henry. “Henry, you better get situated.”

Henry nodded and ushered me through the flap.

The other side was a scene of chaos. Performers were readying themselves frantically: half-dressed clowns, scurrying trapeze artists, and assistants running everywhere, putting makeup on the performers or helping them step into their costumes. All were hurrying and crying out for more help.

“It's always crazy before the show,” Henry said.

“I guess,” I muttered.

Henry led me past a long bank of mirrors bordered by enormous lightbulbs. Stopping at the first empty stool in front of the mirrors, he said, “Sit tight. I'll be right back.”

I
sat watching the performers get ready for about twenty minutes. Then a gigantic roar came from the other side of the flap. I could hear a muffled announcement.

“We're on!” yelled a clown, and a dozen of them filed through the flap. The crowd rumbled and laughed and clapped.

Ten minutes passed, and there came another inaudible announcement, at which point a group of what appeared to be gymnasts disappeared through the flap. More rumblings from the crowd.

Ten more minutes passed, with sporadic loud applause. More announcements, and four women with dozens of silver hula hoops around their necks hurried out.

T
hat's him over there!”

I looked up to see a woman in a sequined leotard pointing me out to a man in white stretch pants and a tight sequined shirt. The man walked over to me and introduced himself with a deep Italian accent. “I am Berto Zanzinni.”

I shook his hand and looked at him as if to say,
Okay, nice to meet you
.
Why are you talking to me?

Berto frowned. “You don't know who I am?”

“Sorry, no. I'm just waiting here for my friend Henry.”

“Yes. I know. Henry sent me. I am Berto.” He looked at me as if I should know who he was. “Berto,” he repeated with a tinge of frustration, “Berto Zanzinni. Of the world-famous Flying Zanzinnis.” He grinned at me as if I should now drop to one knee before royalty.

I looked at him blankly.

“Henry did not tell you we would be meeting?”

“No, he didn't.”

Berto laughed and smacked my shoulder. He called over the woman who had pointed me out earlier. “Luisa, come over here, love—you will love this. Grab Antonelli too!”

Luisa disappeared behind a curtain and emerged with a man whom I guessed was Antonelli. She walked up and hugged Berto. Antonelli stood next to them, looking me up and down.

“Luisa, Antonelli, our volunteer here does not know he's a volunteer. Henry told him nothing.”

“Didn't tell him
anything?!
” Luisa said, her beautiful olive face aglow. “Nothing! Oh, Berto! We are going to have fun tonight, no?” She laughed giddily.

Antonelli didn't say a word.

I looked at them, frightened. “Henry didn't tell me what? What do you mean, ‘volunteer'? What's going—”

Berto interrupted. “What is your pant size, man?”

“What?”

“Your pant size? What is it? Thirty-six waist, thirty-two long? You are about a hundred seventy-five pounds, yes, no?”

“Yes, about that. Why?”

Berto and Antonelli turned and walked away.

Luisa smiled at me. “Because we need to get you dressed and ready, silly.”

“Ready for what?” I asked, terrified that I already knew the answer.

“To perform! To walk on air with the world-famous Zanzinnis!” she sang and walked away.