I never finished high school. I got thrown out of trade school (long story). Odd jobs were my life for years, earning less money than a dog who couldn’t do tricks. I was never unhappy though, but I was always hungry. And sometimes I would choose food over happiness. Stayin’ alive, as Barry Gibb said. (Interesting point: whenever I've had a few drinks, I’ve always messed up his name by calling him Gary Bibb.)
So it was with great joy one hungry morning when I stumbled upon a treasure while rummaging through the dusty shelves and boxes of the thrift store I work at: It was a real crystal ball — the kind used by gypsies and fortune tellers and The Wicked Witch of the West. Smooth and perfectly round, it felt cool and soothing in the palms of my hands. I rubbed it over and over, softly caressing the reflections and inverted images within its surface. Soon several isolated images began appearing to me — images that in reality were not there: faces, planets, money, love.
As I understand it, a sphere is defined mathematically as the set of points that are all at the same distance r from a given point in a three-dimensional space. This distance r is the radius of the ball, which is made up from all points with a distance less than r from the given point, which is the center of the mathematical ball.
Woah! Did I just say that? I needed to have this thing badly. I would do whatever it would take.
So after a Five-Finger Discount during my lunch break, I left work with a good feeling and happier than ever before. Because as of that moment, I had become a fortune teller. All I needed was a turban and some colorful beads, which I procured but won’t waste your time here with the details. And besides, the people I got them from will never miss them if they ever do find out. Which they won’t.
The next order of business was to set up shop in the doorway of a vacant building. That was easy - I draped an old cloth over a milk crate, placed the crystal ball on top and waited for business. And waited. And waited some more. Nighttime came, the street lamps turned on, people vanished from the streets. The quiet was deafening, and the street lights were blinding. The smell of nothingness was in the air, yet I felt something, or someone, was about to appear.
I’m not saying that it happened at that moment, but then it happened. From around the corner came an old man walking slowly — white hair, white beard, toga… Yes, toga. He was dressed in a toga.
He stopped in front of me. I slowly looked up at him. “Do you want me to read your fortune?” I asked the man in the toga. “I know what your future holds.” I tried to sound mysterious and enigmatic, yet at the same time erudite and pansophical.
The man in the toga remained mute and motionless for many seconds. His gaze was penetrating, so much so that I needed to look away. You know how that is - you can’t make eye contact for too long in the absence of words. It almost hurts the soul.
He noticed that I was avoiding his glare. “No,” he said. And still he drilled his gaze into me, silently, for a long while. I’ll admit, it was a bit of a buzz kill. I started off the day on a manic high, and now I’m feeling drained, deflated and a bit nervous. What’s Mr. Toga up to?
“I’ll read YOUR fortune”, he said, still staring directly into my eyes.
I couldn’t speak. I was at a loss for words. I was failing as a fortune teller.
“Yes, indeed. I’ll let you know what you have in store for the future. Let me peer into that ball”, he said. His voice was deep and sonorous, with a bit of an accent from some far away land, and his gray eyes squinted tightly as he lowered himself down closer to gaze into the crystal. (I say crystal, but it was most likely plain glass. Whatever.)
I thought I should move away. He was way too close to me for comfort, and the smell of Old Spice cologne was overbearing. I began to fear he might do me harm. But I was frozen in place, unable and unwilling to move.
“You’re going to come into some money. That’s in your future.” He looked up at me slowly, his eyes seeming to glow. “But you need to perform a sacrifice. Give me a dollar,” he said softly. As I did not move quickly enough to get to my money, he repeated himself with more urgency. “Give me a dollar! … Now, if you please.”
“Ok, Mr. Weirdo Toga man” — (I didn’t say this out loud). I reached down and got a dollar which he quickly took from my hand. I didn’t mind too much for after all, it was only a dollar.
“Soon you’re going to come into some money, but you need to do this: blow on this dollar three times.” We stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. “I repeat, you will get money, but only if you do as I say. So, go ahead, give it a good puff”.
I was startled and scared, suspecting that I stood on the precipice of doom. But I soon mustered up the courage to slowly blow on my dollar bill three times. One: I felt or heard nothing as I did this. Two: No magic spell, no special incantation. Three: No transmogrification or other-worldly experience.
Nothing.
And then he took my hand and put the folded dollar in my palm, which I did not expect. I had given up that dollar for dead. A small price to pay in the college of life.
He closed my hand tightly around the dollar, looked me in the eye and after a few seconds said, “There! I was right!”
And he left.