A Hundred million wishes

           The one thing Roosevelt hated was poor conversation. “Small talk,” his mother often told him, “is for small people. You are not a small person.” He had gotten quite good at avoiding it, or rather, the people that brought it with them, which he estimated was most people. The key, in his opinion, was framing. A newspaper, a briefcase, and a three-piece suit were all he needed to establish that he was an important man thinking important thoughts— thoughts too important to disturb.

“Hey.”

           Of course, location was just as important. For instance, a busy airport terminal was something to be avoided at all costs, unless he wanted to get stuck talking to someone with a brain the size of a marble. Which was exactly why he chose a morning flight back to New York, and why he currently sitsat at an empty bar instead of his assigned gate.

“Hey pal, got a second?”

           Roosevelt stared fixedly at his newspaper, trying very hard to ignore the rapidly approaching voice. He had spent the weekend on a business trip, only to lose the firm’s biggest client. The last thing he wanted to do was talk.

“Excuse me.”

Roosevelt felt a tap on his shoulder.

          He slowly lowered his newspaper and looked at the man in front of him. His eyes were assaulted by the worst fashion sense he’d ever seen: beach shorts, a denim jacket, and a hat with an enormous feather in it.

“How can I help you?” Roosevelt said. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Could you do me a favor? I’m looking for the gate for the Cancun flight. I’m running quite late.”

“Sorry, can’t help you. You should ask that attendant—” He pointed. “Over there.”

          “Thanks.” The man wandered off, feather swaying. Roosevelt turned back to his newspaper. He wondered if he would get his yearly bonus. Probably not. The watch he’d been eyeing would have to wait. His thoughts were interrupted by a second tap on his shoulder. Roosevelt glanced up with a sinking feeling. Him again.

          “She said it was this one.” The man gave him a pointed look. “Looks like we’re on the same flight.” He sat down next to Roosevelt without waiting for a response. 

“We aren’t. My flight is to New York.”

“Is that so?”

          Roosevelt got the distinct sense that the man didn’t believe him. He hated being called a liar.

          “Look.” He put the newspaper down and pulled out his ticket from his wallet. “See? New York.” That was his first mistake.

          The man raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t the New York terminal a few rows down? Why are you here?”

“Most of the seats are full. I wanted some peace and quiet.” Roosevelt hoped he would pick up the hint.

“That's too bad; Cancun is lovely this time of year. Can’t say I envy you.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Garb, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“Roosevelt. The pleasure is mine,” he lied.

“New York, huh? Where do you work?” Garb elbowed his ribs. “Big-shot lawyer?”

Roosevelt scooted away. “I’m in finance.”

“Same thing.” Garb shrugged.

“They’re quite different, actually.”

Garb shrugged again. “Same kind of people, anyways.”

Roosevelt looked him up and down. This man was profoundly irritating. “And where do you work?”

“Right now, I’m a fortune teller. I’m planning on switching careers, though.” He shook his head. “People don’t believe the way they used to.”

“Huh.” Roosevelt reached for his newspaper on the table.

“What do you think of the magician business? Think it’s worth getting into?”

“Couldn’t tell you.” He began to read.

          “I’ve heard magicians were big in Cancun. One of my friends made a fortune there.”
           Roosevelt didn’t respond. His flight was in fifteen minutes, and he wanted to spend those minutes in complete silence. He wondered if perhaps this fellow was drunk. Lucky him. Roosevelt couldn’t remember the last time he had a vacation. For him, storm clouds were on the horizon: his wife had started looking at baby shower magazines. Hopefully, he could get a promotion soon, before she brought up—

“Wanna see a magic trick?”

           He sighed and put the newspaper down. At this rate, he’d never get any peace. “You’re really something.” He gestured. “Go ahead.”

Garb beamed. “You’ll love this.” He whipped out a deck of cards and fanned them out on the table. “Pick a card, any card.”

Roosevelt chose the six of clubs.

          “Great. Now put it back on the deck, but don’t show me.” Roosevelt obliged, and Garb began to shuffle. At last, he stopped and flipped the card at the top of the deck. He held it up triumphantly. “Is this your card?”

“No,” he said flatly.

He grinned. “But did you notice that I’m wearing your watch?” He held up his other wrist.

Roosevelt was quiet for a moment. Then, he cracked a smile before reaching for his watch. “How on earth did you do that?”

Garb winked. “Before I was a fortune teller, I was a pickpocket. That’s my favorite trick.”

“Really? Did you ever get caught?”

“No, but I’ve gotten close. It’s a risky business. I learned not too long ago that if I step foot in Cancun, I’ll be arrested and thrown in a van.”

Roosevelt paused mid-sentence. “What?”

“I’m an international fugitive. My magician friend tried to set me up.”

Roosevelt stared at him, blank-faced. “For… telling fortunes?”

“Tax fraud.” Garb winked at him. “I’ll tell you the story if you let me read your fortune.”

           Roosevelt glanced at the nearby attendant, then back to Garb, concerned. Was this a joke? Maybe he should say something. The last thing he needed right now was to be associated with a criminal.

“It’s a great story.” Garb waggled his eyebrows.

           For a fugitive, he didn’t look very dangerous. Maybe he was lying? Roosevelt glanced at his newspaper one last time. His curiosity was killing him. He shifted closer, against his better judgment.

“Tell me.” That was his second mistake.

Garb grinned, then slowly pulled out a second, larger deck. “Tarot cards,” he explained. “Simple but effective.”

He began to vigorously shuffle the deck. “Have you ever been to Vegas?”

Roosevelt shook his head and held up his ring finger. “You know how it is.”

          Garb widened his eyes. “Really? Not even for your honeymoon?” Roosevelt shrugged. They married young, and money was tight. It was the right choice.

          “That’s a shame. Give me your hand.” He extended his arm and Roosevelt locked fingers with him. Garb now shuffled one-handed in a strange, rhythmic manner. Roosevelt was impressed.

          “Before we begin, you should know that fortune tellers can’t see the future. That’s a misunderstanding of the art. Anyone who claims otherwise is trying to scam you.”

Roosevelt held his tongue.

          “Fortune tellers read fortunes. That is, your luck. And luck is nothing less than a measure of how much influence you have over the universe. The weight of your soul, so to speak.”

          Garb stopped shuffling and let go of Roosevelt’s hand. “The hard part’s done. These cards are now tied to us. Right now, our fortunes are entangled, just for a moment.” He gingerly placed them on the table.

          “Anyways, back in my pickpocket days, I worked the streets of Vegas. I ran with a local gang— nothing major, just something to put a roof over my head. We had this bombshell actress—” Garb gestured suggestively. “Working with us. She’d bump into a tourist and act like she was lost. A real pro if I’ve ever seen one.”

Roosevelt’s mind was still on the tarot cards. “And you…”

          “I’d rob him blind.” Garb crossed his arms in pride. “Anyways, I had a gambling habit back then. Never did me any good, but one day, I hit it big. Really big.”

          He leaned in, an odd, hungry expression on his face. “See, I’ve always thought I had a sixth sense— something I could see that other people couldn’t.” He gestured at himself. “It’s why I became a fortune teller. But that night, I didn’t just see it, I felt it in the air, a… convergence of sorts. It was absolutely electric. I didn’t fully understand it, but that was the night I really started to believe.”

          Garb flipped the top card on the deck and tapped it twice. On it was a woman surrounded by vines. She held a sceptre, a haughty expression on her face. “Your first card is The Empress. A strong omen, but not necessarily a bad one. The vines are a sign of fertility— your wife must be expecting.”

          Roosevelt flinched. He recalled catching her throwing up in the bathroom a month ago. She told him it was expired food; he thought nothing of it then.

          Garb continued. “As it just so happened, me and Elaine had an… entanglement at the time. The actress,” he clarified. “She had some debts that she couldn’t settle, debts with some really nasty folks. The plan was to meet under a nearby bridge and run away together, but the night of our escape, she was nowhere to be seen. Instead, I get ambushed by my former gang. They wanted the money.”

          He flipped a second card. It had two men wandering through the snow, their faces dimly lit by the windows of a church. Garb grimaced. “Five of Pentacles. Not good.” He glanced at Roosevelt. “Financial troubles. I’d start job hunting if I were you.”

Roosevelt remembered the client he just lost. A faint pit of dread formed in his stomach.

          “Anyways, I thought she had double-crossed me. Turns out that someone saw me walk out of the casino that night and put the pieces together. I didn’t know that, though, and I’d be damned if I went out without a fight. So I threw the money in the river and ran the other way. Never looked back.”

          He was quiet for a second, then flipped over a third card. It was a dull grey, with three swords piercing a heart. “Three of Swords. With The Empress, it means heartbreak.” He didn’t elaborate.

          “I tried to earn my fortune-telling license a few years later. Apparently, once you go through a background check, the government becomes very interested in your past income. Turns out that I never paid taxes on my winnings. And—” Garb crossed his arms. “I never will.”

          “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” Roosevelt wondered how he even got past airport security.

          Garb gave him a sly look. “Trade secret. Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out. It’s not too hard to disappear.”

          “Nobody disappears these days,” Roosevelt replied.

          Garb raised an eyebrow. “Why not? Anyone can do it. You could disappear right now if you really wanted to.”

          Roosevelt laughed mirthlessly. “Maybe you. Not me.”

          Garb didn’t break his gaze. “Why not?”

          Roosevelt didn’t respond. He had daydreamed about it before, of course— what it would be like to wake up one day and pack his bags, what kind of expression his wife would make. Would she be angry? Cry? He wasn’t sure— he hoped she’d be upset, at least. It was so hard to tell these days. But that’s all it ever was: a fantasy.

He had a life to live out.

          Garb interrupted his train of thought. “Anyways, all I’ve shown you so far are things you already know. That’s because tarots operate under the rule of fives: three for the past, one for the future, and one… I’ll explain the last one later.” Garb slid the deck over to Roosevelt. “For this next part, I’ll need your help. Close your eyes.”

          Roosevelt obliged and started to hear the sounds of shuffling.

          “Do you believe in spirits? Ghosts?”

          “...No. Why do you ask?”

          “Are you a religious man?”

          “I wouldn’t say so. Why?” Roosevelt was starting to feel uncomfortable. This stranger was far too nosy. And a criminal, he reminded himself. 

          “How about astrology? Reincarnation?” Garb asked hopefully. “Aliens, perhaps?”

          “Where are you going with this?”

Garb sighed. “Times really do change,” he muttered. “Open your eyes.”

          Roosevelt glanced at the table. The cards were now arranged in a perfect circle. 

          Garb looked at him. “In my opinion, everyone believes in something. Despite what you might think, I don’t believe in fortune-telling, I know it.”

          He paused. “I believe in wishes.”

          Roosevelt raised an eyebrow. “Wishes,” he said flatly. “You believe in wishes.”

          “The central tenet of fortune-telling is that luck is fixed: you’re born with a certain amount, and the events in your life are a manifestation of that luck.”

          Garb took a deep breath. “But that’s what makes me different. I think that everyone gets one free wish, one out of a hundred million. One wish granted, one lucky draw, one roll of the dice. One chance to change their luck— their fortune. That night I won at the casino; that was my one free wish. That night, I was the center of the universe.”

Roosevelt was silent. The gears in his head were turning.

“Out of all the people here, I walked up to you. Do you know why that is?” Garb motioned at the deck expectantly.

          Roosevelt hesitated, then flipped a card. He shuddered in revulsion. On it was a jester howling in agony, every limb shattered and bent. He held the sun in his hands, and his mouth was filled with stars. Two words were printed at the bottom:

​

THE FOOL

​

          “Journey and rebirth, the card that trumps all others.” Garb spread his arms. “It was fate. You, my friend, are about to be the center of the universe. You are on the verge of your hundred millionth wish.”

          “What exactly do you want from me?” Roosevelt replied. He had come to a realization.

          Garb scooted closer, and his voice dropped. “The fifth card doesn’t just predict the future, it creates it, with all your remaining luck.” There was an odd light in his eyes. “I never found out what happened to Elaine. If I could find someone about to use their wish, we could work together and both get what we want. You see where I’m going with this?”

          At last, Roosevelt had put the pieces together. Everything made sense now. Garb wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t stupid, and despite his fashion sense, he wasn’t homeless either.

          Garb leaned in. “She was the love of my life. I just want a second chance. What do you say?”

          He was completely, utterly insane.

          “Could you leave me alone?”

          Garb looked as if he’d been slapped. “Wait, hold on—”

          Roosevelt started to get up. “I’ve had enough of this. Leave me alone, or I’m calling security.”

          “All you have to do is draw one more card. I’ll help you pick the right one!”

          In response, Roosevelt started to wave for the nearest attendant.

          Garb stared at him, frustration written on his face. At last, he broke the silence. “You’re a real piece of work. You know what? Don’t bother. I’ve got a flight to catch.” Garb stood up and tossed something to him. “Here’s your wallet back, by the way.”

          Roosevelt stared in disbelief.

          Garb shrugged. “Just a little prank.” He was out of sight before Roosevelt could respond.

          Roosevelt glanced around. The airport had gotten busier while he was distracted, but thankfully, no one noticed what happened. At last, he was finally, blissfully, alone.

#

          Roosevelt continued reading where he left off, letting the noise of the crowd fade into the background. He really had to get better at disengaging from people like Garb. The clinically insane were not to be toyed with. Next time, he’d make up an excuse. A cell phone call, or perhaps the bathroom.

          As he read his paper, Roosevelt idly wondered if Garb would be able to escape the authorities once he reached Cancun. Probably not. They’d have the airport surrounded by the time he reached his destination. If he were in his shoes, he wouldn’t take the flight at all.

          In fact, wasn’t the terminal gate for Cancun right where he was sitting? Why would he walk off—

          Roosevelt bolted upright. 

          His flight. His flight to New York. Why hadn’t they called boarding yet?

          He sprinted to his gate, and his suspicions were confirmed: no one was there. He walked up to the nearest attendant.

          “Excuse me, is this still the gate to the New York flight? Why isn’t anyone here?”

          “I’m sorry,” she replied sympathetically. “There’s been a gate change. It’s on the other side of the airport. Did you miss the announcement?”

          Roosevelt didn’t reply. He fumbled for his wallet, his stomach sinking. The magic trick. The sob story. That nonsense about wishes. It all made sense now. Everything he did was to distract him until the last second. Garb was going to disappear, right?

          He opened his wallet. His ticket was gone.

          What better way to disappear than in a city of eight million people?

          He sprinted to the correct terminal just in time to see his plane take off. 

#

          Roosevelt walked back to his seat, utterly defeated. First, he lost the firm’s biggest client, and now this? His boss might even put him on leave. A pit of dread formed in his stomach as he imagined what his wife would say if that happened.

          He recalled the last card he drew and laughed bitterly. The Fool indeed. At that moment, it dawned on him that he didn’t want to go back home. Not at all. In fact, he wished he was anywhere else.

          As he sat down, something next to him caught his eye: a hat with an enormous feather in it. He snorted. It seemed that in his haste, Garb—if that was even his real name—had left him a parting gift. He grabbed the hat, and a piece of paper fell out.

Roosevelt knelt and picked it up. It was a ticket to Cancun. On the back, two words were scrawled in messy handwriting.

 

WHY NOT?

 

Roosevelt stared at the ticket blankly. His heart pounded, and an absurd, impossible idea started to form.

Your hundred millionth wish.

          Surely it was all a lie. Garb never believed— he just wanted to steal his ticket. He probably just pulled out a pen while Roosevelt wasn’t looking, one last prank before he left. And even if he didn’t, so what? Wishes weren’t real. The world didn’t work that way. If he was lucky, the next flight to New York would be in a few hours.

And yet…

The Fool. Journey and rebirth. Roosevelt glanced at the airport gate. He couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to be home.

          The boarding process would begin soon. He imagined what would happen if he stepped onto that plane and started a new life. He was just another analyst from a no-name firm, just a face in a sea of faces. He wondered if that’s all he’d ever be.

One wish granted.

          His mind raced. Would he ever get this chance again? Once he was there, it wouldn’t be hard, really, to rent a car and just keep driving. He could withdraw enough cash to last him a few months, and from there, who knows? Roosevelt had seen a picture of Cancun once while browsing a travel guide. He had never seen water so blue.

One lucky draw, one roll of the dice.

He could disappear right now, if he really wanted to.

#

          Several hours later, Roosevelt would step out of a plane, a ticket balled up in his pocket. It would be a pleasant evening by the time he arrived: a warm breeze had started, carrying with it the sounds of life. He didn’t notice, though. His mind was elsewhere.

          Roosevelt would wander aimlessly through the city, taking everything in. Sometimes, he’d stop and look at the sun setting between the buildings. Most of the time, he would sit and watch the crowds go by, thoughts drifting.

          Eventually, he would hail a taxi back to his apartment.

          Roosevelt would open the door and be greeted by silence. His wife was out late again, but he didn’t mind— there were leftovers in the fridge. He would eat quickly, then go straight to bed. In the darkness of his room, his thoughts would turn to the crumpled-up ticket in his jacket.

          Cancun? What was he thinking? It was a child’s fantasy. He had a beautiful wife, a nice apartment, and a respectable job. Why would he ever throw it all away?

 

That night, he would dream of the ocean.