Life''s Golden Ticket

  I found myself leaning forward too.

  “Friends,” he said softly in a voice of occasion and finality, “you have come here so that you may become.” He drew in a breath and sat silently surveying the crowd’s reaction to his words.

  I replayed the line in my head: You have come here so that you may become. Become what? The line felt a little anticlimactic. I looked to Henry for his reaction and found him still eyeing the wizard. I looked down the row and saw that most people were similarly enthralled—you could hear a pin drop.

  The wizard wiggled back to the center of the stool. “I suspect that my answer, friends, has only brought you more questions. Maybe this is a good answer, then. It lets me speak a little longer before they put me back in the dungeon.”

  The crowd laughed once again.

  He continued. “Now, the problem with my statement is that you can’t help but ask the question: ‘Become what?’”

  I nodded.

  “‘Become what?’ has become ingrained in your brains. You’ve been raised with the question ‘What should I do with my life?’ That question, of course, is secondary. The primary question is, ‘Who should I be in my life?’

  “You are here because you are restless over who you have become. It is not your dissatisfaction with your job or what you do that has brought you to this park. It is not dissatisfaction with your family. Or your relationship. Or your finances. Or your neighborhood or your home or your car. It is a quiet dissatisfaction with yourself, with who you have become. You feel there is something more inside you, and you have come here searching for ways to dig it up and unleash it into the world. Deep down, you know you are more than what society has said you are or told you to be, and you are here to begin the great quest of proving it to the world and to yourself.

  “I am here for one reason: to help you break a sinister spell that has held you in its thrall most of your adult lives. Yes, a spell. You have been hexed. You have been cursed. You have been hypnotized into believing something so insidious that it has jeopardized your ability to live the life you deserve. You have been lured into a lie that has controlled your mind and contaminated your life, a lie that has prevented you from being your best, from taking risks, from having the confidence and strength needed to seize the life that you’ve always wanted.”

  The wizard’s voice had been building in passion, and he nearly fell off the stool at the end of his sentence.

  “Friends,” he said moments later, scooting back again to the center of the stool, “forgive my passion. But this spell is powerful, and you must be made aware of it. Though you cannot recall it ever happening, a spell has been cast upon you, and it has mesmerized you into believing that you are not good enough and that there is something wrong with you. This spell is Society’s Spell, and it has made you secretly feel inadequate, ugly, weak, slow, small, useless, and helpless for far too long. Tonight we break that spell.”

  The wizard paused and examined the crowd once more. Everyone was pressed to the backs of their seats; the force of the wizard’s words had rolled over us like a great wave.

  The wizard took a deep breath and eyed the ground. He spoke in an apologetic tone. “Unfortunately, I lack the power to break this spell on you. I don’t have the time or the skills to completely break Society’s Spell—you have unwittingly allowed it to control your life for too long, and my time is almost up. But there is good news,” he said, his voice lifting. “You can begin to break the spell tonight, with this journey. Since you are the only one who can truly control your mind, you can defeat the spell. How do you break it?”

  Now he slowly shifted to the edge of the stool.

  “First, you must recognize that a spell exists. This one is easy. Look to little children. Watch them play and crawl and be. Does any child believe there is something wrong with himself or herself? No. Do small children routinely, if ever, experience the onslaught of negative emotions like insecurity, doubt, sadness, or depression? No. You see, you weren’t born feeling badly about yourself, you were taught to feel that way. Here’s more fundamental evidence. If, when I say to you, ‘You are not good enough,’ you do not have a strong reaction, a need to fight and argue with me or at least to scoff at me and brush me aside, then there is a spell on you. And it is neutralizing your innate desire to stand up for yourself and become the person you were destined to be.

  “If you can believe this, then you have taken the first step . . . and you will be able to take the second and third. The second step is to interrupt the spell—to question or tune out society’s messages, as well as those in your mind, that make you question your strength. The third step is to start living your life by conscious control. In your adventure here, you will take these steps and we will help you.”

  The wizard slowly tottered to his feet and shuffled to the front of the stage.

  “Clearly, there is much ahead of you tonight. But now I simply want to impart an old magician’s secret: to break a spell, you must override it with a more powerful magic. If you want to break Society’s Spell, you must mix a magic within you that can overpower it. That magic, which I am sure you have long forgotten to stir within your soul, is hope. You must flood your entire being with the hope that you can start anew, that there is more out there for you, that you will become the powerful person you were destined to become.”

  He moved to the very edge of the stage and leaned out toward us.

  “Of course, to many of you all this might sound like nonsense, this idea of a dark spell and a potion of hope. That’s okay. It won’t be until the end of your journey that you will understand how far away you are now from where you could be. Hindsight, they say . . .”

  Two light, quick taps to my left shoulder diverted my attention from the wizard. I looked left and saw the small girl who had accompanied him onto the stage. She motioned for Henry and me to stand and follow her. “Hurry,” she said, “you’re not supposed to be here.”

  The girl led Henry and me down a long, dark hallway carved from the limestone bedrock behind the stage. We arrived at an oversize wooden door, and she motioned for me to open it. Inside, a damp, dark room sat unfilled except for a wooden bench.

  “Sit,” she said. “I’ll fetch the wizard.”

  A few minutes later the wooden door opened with a crash, and the wizard entered out of breath.

  “Henry,” he asked, seemingly upset, “where is this man’s invitation?”

  Henry instructed me to give the wizard Mary’s envelope, and I obliged, confused.

  The old man peered at it closely, gave Henry a quick, startled look, then returned his attention to the envelope. He began nodding knowingly and looked up at me with tears in his eyes.

  “Young man,” he said, “are you ready to hear Mary’s story?”

  5

  THE FERRIS WHEEL

  The wizard led Henry and me through another long, dark limestone corridor. We came to a stairway that led upward to two large wooden doors, like the doors of a stone cellar. The wizard opened the portal, and we emerged about thirty yards to the right of the Ferris wheel. The ride was no longer moving or occupied with riders. The park was once again deserted.

  “Where did everyone go?” I asked.

  “On to their own adventures,” the wizard said, glancing up. “Looking for answers.” He turned to me and asked, “What answers are you looking for?”

  The questions that had been building inside me burst out like machine-gun fire: “What is this place? What happened to Mary? Why did she want me to come here? Why did she mention her brother on her deathbed? How did my mom . . . the Truth Booth. . . . What’s in the envelope?”

  The wizard held up his hand, silencing me. “Good enough. Good questions. The answers will come.” He looked at me curiously and said, “Tell me, do you believe that this is all happening?”

  I thought about all that I had experienced so far. It felt like a dream. I shook my head. “No.”

  Henry let out a sigh and looked to the ground, as if di
sappointed in my reply.

  “Strike one,” the wizard said sternly. “When you arrived here, you signed a contract. That contract is everything. You agreed that you would be open to experience and possibility, but your response shows that you do not accept what is happening, which tells me you are not open to possibility, which tells me you care little about the contract. This is happening to you. Mary was hurt. You did speak with your mother. You are standing here with an old wizard and a gentle groundskeeper. And you are in danger of being asked to leave because you just broke your contract.”

  The wizard’s eyes turned cold, and he stared at me expectantly.

  “I . . . uh, I’m sorry, I just . . . this is all overwhelming, and I don’t know how to . . .”

  “Fine,” the wizard said, cutting me off, “just hold your doubts and don’t break your contract, or you’re gone. Clear?”

  I was stunned by his harshness. Where was the kind old man so full of hope?

  “Got it,” I said, confused.

  “Glad we got that out of the way.” He turned to Henry and winked, then smiled at me. “Because I bet you’re really not going to believe what happens next.”

  Henry and I boarded the Ferris wheel, and the wizard lowered the safety bar across our laps.

  “Ready for a little magic?” the wizard asked, his eyes sparkling once again as they had in the cavern.

  “Sure,” I said without meaning it. I hadn’t been on a Ferris wheel in years. Not since I met Mary.

  The wizard walked off the operator’s platform and stood in front of the Ferris wheel. Lifting his right hand, he pointed his finger at the ride, slowly following the outline of the Ferris wheel with his finger. He appeared to be drawing counterclockwise circles in the air. He started speeding up the circular motion, going faster and faster. I saw him close his eyes, and at that precise moment a light began to emanate from his hand.

  Suddenly, the ride lurched to life.

  Henry and I were pushed forward into the safety bar as our cart swung backward.

  “Holy—”

  “Hang on!” Henry said, cutting me off and laughing like a child. “Here we go!”

  Our cart swooped backward and upward. The Ferris wheel was in motion and moving fast.

  “Whoopee!” Henry cried. His eyes sparkled with the excitement of a child.

  We rose higher and higher, and the full expanse of the park revealed itself. The moonlit view showed the park to be much larger than I had thought. A square walkway formed the perimeter. I could see kiddie rides and game booths surrounding the square, then food huts and a large grassy area, a pirate ship, a carousel, and a gigantic metal barn. On the inside of the walkway stood a massive, circular tent, painted red and blue and gold, and dozens of smaller tents and walkways, more food huts, bumper boats, roller coasters, and dozens of other rides.

  When we hit the top of the ride and started down the other side, Henry said, “Quite a view, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I said, in awe.

  As we neared the bottom of the ride I looked to see the wizard, still making circular movements with his arm. When we made eye contact, he speeded up the motion. Our cart once again leaped backward, and I grabbed frantically at the safety bar.

  “Not a fan of the Ferris wheel, huh?” Henry asked with a broad grin.

  My knuckles were bone white on the safety bar. “No, not exactly.”

  “Why not? Seems fun to me.”

  “Yeah, I guess it is for most people. But I’ve heard stories about these rides.” This very ride, in fact.

  We were traveling only about one and a half times the normal speed, but that was too fast for me.

  Henry huffed, “Nonsense, these things are very safe. What stories have you heard?”

  I looked at him nervously. “I guess only one. The story of a little boy who fell off this ride. Mary’s brother.”

  Henry looked at me flatly. “And what do you know of that story?”

  “Well, not much. . . . Mary never really talked about it, and I never really asked. But I do know he fell to his death. So that’s why I’m a little anxious up here.”

  “Seems like a story she would have told you about. That’s a pretty big life event, losing your brother. And you say Mary was your fiancée? Tell me, how much of Mary’s life story do you really know, then?”

  He asked the question at the top of the ride, and as we began our descent I felt my heart fall as well. Mary had never been one to talk much about the past. Whenever I asked about her life growing up, she would just say, “Oh, those are boring stories, and anyway, the past is just the past. Let’s live for today.” She always said that, and her face lit up with an optimistic glow.

  As we neared the bottom I turned to Henry and said, “I guess I never knew her life’s story too well, but I always knew her well enough. We connected like that.” I snapped my fingers.

  We passed the bottom platform, and the ride came to a sudden, screeching stop. Our cart tipped forward and nearly dumped me out. I looked wildly toward Henry, but he sat calmly, as if nothing had happened. The wizard stood still, holding his arm in one place. I looked back to Henry, and he nodded for me to look forward.

  Two children boarded the cart in front of us.

  One was a small boy. The other was a small girl . . . Mary.

  The wizard moved his hand, and the ride lurched to a start once again.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off Mary’s younger self. She looked exactly as I had seen her in childhood pictures: brown hair in pigtails, pink dress, black glossy shoes with neatly folded white socks, smile a mile wide.

  As we rose higher the two kids talked excitedly and began tickling each other. When their cart was beneath us and I lost my view of them, I gave Henry a worried glance.

  “Sometimes,” he said, “we think we know a story, but maybe we don’t know the full story.” He turned around and looked at the cart behind us.

  Todd, Mary’s brother, was winning the tickle war. He raised both arms above the safety bar in victory.

  My heart sunk as I realized what was about to happen.

  “NO!” I screamed. “I don’t want to see this!”

  Mary leaned over Todd and pointed out their parents walking below.

  I sat horrified, looking up to the kids’ car as we descended.

  When Mary and Todd’s cart passed the loading platform, they yelled down happily to the people waiting in line.

  The people in line—where did they come from?

  We rose once more to the top of the Ferris wheel, and I saw that the park had come to life again. There were hundreds of people below. I heard the roller coaster in the distance. I saw a barker handing over a stuffed animal at one of the game booths. The noise and sights distracted me for a second.

  Then I heard Todd scream.

  We were descending again, and as I looked up I saw him screaming and waving at his parents below. “Hi, Mommy! Hi, Daddy!”

  We passed the platform, and I saw the operator arguing with a man at the front of the line.

  Our carts rose to the top again, and I looked back to see that Todd had pulled his legs up and under the safety bar. He was kneeling in his seat.

  Mary was grabbing at him. “Sit down!” she demanded.

  “I want Mommy to see me!” Todd squealed.

  I tried to scream at Todd to sit down, but no sound came out of my mouth. I looked to Henry, who was staring at something below. I followed his gaze. The man in the front of the line suddenly stopped arguing and pointed skyward. The operator looked up to see Todd leaning far over the safety bar, waving at his parents. The operator screamed, “Kid! Sit down!”

  Mary was also screaming for Todd to sit.

  “Hi, Mommy!” Todd screamed.

  “Todd!” someone screamed below me. I looked down. It was the two kids’ father, Jim. He and Linda looked up in horror.

  I glanced back to the operator and saw him slam a big red button.

  The ride jolted and slowed.


  “NO!”

  Todd’s feet dangled just a few yards above and out from me. Mary was leaning over the safety bar, desperately trying to grab him. She had managed to get a handful of his shirt when he lost his balance and went over the safety bar.

  “Toddy, I got you!” she cried.

  “Mary, don’t lemme go!” he wailed back. He had one hand on the bottom of the cart and was frantically trying to reach up with his other hand.

  And then he lost his grip. His shirt tore away.

  The crowd below screamed and scattered.

  I watched his mother cradle him in her arms, rocking him back and forth.

  “No!” she cried. “Not my baby . . . not my baby . . . please no . . . not my baby!”

  Jim looked up toward his daughter, still leaning over the safety bar, still holding the scrap of Todd’s shirt. “Mary,” he called out, “what have you done?”

  The Ferris wheel lurched again and stopped when Mary’s cart reached the bottom. The operator’s face was pained as he lifted the safety bar and let her out. She walked slowly down the platform’s stairs and toward her parents, through the crowd, which parted before her as she walked. She stood helplessly as the paramedics pulled her mother away from Todd’s limp body.

  I buried my face in my hands. “No more!”

  Henry gently touched my shoulder.

  “Why? Why are you showing me this?”

  Henry whispered, “Sometimes we forget that everyone has important moments in their life—happenings that forever affect them. This was one of the stories you forgot about every time you called Mary a ‘control freak.’”

  I looked at Henry, horrified.

  He continued. “Could it be there’s a reason she always tried to get you to behave in a certain way, to follow the rules?”

  The ride kicked on again, and our cart swayed forward to the bottom position. Henry lifted the safety arm and stood up. “Sometimes we forget other people’s stories. Sometimes we even forget our own. It’s time you were reminded of a few of the most important ones.”