Book of Choices

“On their 18th birthday, everyone must go to City Hall and read through a choose-your-own-adventure style book of life choices. The choices are permanent, and will determine the path that each person’s life takes.”

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CHOICES

I’ve been doing this job for 17 years now. 17 years and 364 days. Tomorrow’s something of an anniversary, if you could call it that. How many lives have I seen blossom, only to shrivel and die prematurely, based on the rash decisions of a newly minted adult? Far more than those whose lives have been successful.

Most Readers (we prefer “clerks”, but the public seems to like “Readers”) came into this profession because when we made our choices, we thought we could trick the Book and find a way to help those poor souls.

They call it a Choosing of Your Life Adventure. But that implies a falsehood. That implies that you actually have a choice, that hard lives are a result of terrible choices.

After 17 years of Reading after Reading, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that none of it is a choice. If it were, I would not be sitting here, damning those who, in their youthful ignorance, rush their decisions and go with their gut. I would not be sitting here after learning that there is no way for a Reader to positively influence a child’s choice.

I’ve already seen and dealt with every situation that you could think of. The kids who were excited to find out what life had in store for them; those were the ones who’d been trained to make the right choices practically from the time they were born. Then there were the kids who hadn’t prepared at all, who were suddenly faced with the realization that they had to decide the way the rest of their life would unfold, in just two hours, without any guidance or foresight.

“Caroline West?” I call out into the waiting room. A young woman with long brown hair and beautiful green eyes walks up to me with a smile. An air of confidence surrounds her. “Right this way.” We walk down the hallway, through the doors leading to my office. She sits in the large red plush chair, crossing her legs, leaning back, making herself comfortable.

“Caroline West. Daughter of Elizabeth and David West. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.” She smiles.

I wish she knew what was coming.

“Okay. I’m going to read this book aloud to you and present you with options. You will choose what you would like to do. Your choices will be permanent. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I see you’ve got a lot of important decisions ahead of you. College, for one. Did you have any in mind?”

She picks her dream school, and easily chooses her path to medical school. She wants to be an ER nurse. Her dream job.

Her eyes sparkle with excitement and awe as the questions and answers continue. So far, she is pleased with the results.

“You meet a very handsome man, and develop a friendship that feels like it could be something more. Do you pursue a romance?”

“Ooh, it sounds dreamy. If I’m already friends with him, then I can trust him. Yes, I will.”

She is still smiling, still pleased.

With each question and answer, the words on the pages in front of me change. I can see the path that she is destined to walk, and it does not end happily. Dreams of romance, love, and success crumble into anger, fists, hardship, and sorrow.

The last time I tried to help a child, it didn’t go well. I tried to look at the next page for some hints, some clues, tried to read the Consequences, tried to gently guide them to a happier ending. Not only did the words on the page rearrange themselves (who would have thought the Book could be spiteful to its Reader?), but I nearly dropped the book because it felt like my hand was on fire.

Our session ends in silence. She thanks me weakly, stands, and walks toward the door. With her hand resting lightly on the doorknob, she hesitates and turns back to me.

“Does anyone ever try to challenge and change their Reading?” Her eyes are pleading.

“Yes.”

“Has anyone ever succeeded?”

“No.”

Not to my knowledge, anyway. I’ve seen some kids try. It’s not pretty. I’ve seen adults try. Also not pretty. In some sense, the Book actually protects them – until their time, at least. In my case, the Book insists that my time won’t come until a large fire of some kind. I’ve tried to find out more, but it is stubbornly silent. No more information, and no changes.

“Oh.”

The door closes behind her.

I step out into the lobby. “Isabelle Robbins?”

A tiny, rail-thin, wisp of a girl is pushed to her feet by the man sitting next to her. She steps slowly toward me, head down, unwilling to meet my eyes. “Here,” she says quietly. Her father doesn’t say a word, and she is silent as I lead her into my office and close the door.

I open the book.

“All right, Isabelle. First question. Are you going to seek treatment for your anorexia?”

She lifts her head, startled. “What? I - I...” Still so quiet that I can barely hear her. “Well… I’m a dancer. I have auditions coming up, and my weight is...”

“So that’s a no?”

She stares straight ahead, not looking at me, and gives a single nod.

I check the box.

“Okay. Um... it looks like we’re done here… Good luck, Isabelle.”

I close the Book.

/ / / / /

Tom Robbins trembled with rage. This was the final straw. He’d had his own Reading years ago, but the Reader had not told him this, because Isabelle’s decision wasn’t something he could control. The choice was hers. The Book had told him that he would have a daughter, that Bella would be his pride and joy, and that she would be a fantastic dancer. It had told him that she would develop anorexia, but it had said nothing more than that. The decisions were hers. The Book had not told him that his daughter would waste away and die.

Bella was his only child. His only remaining family member. Ellie had died when Bella was only four. During his Reading at age 18, the wretched Book had told him that he would marry the love of his life, they would have a beautiful daughter, and that Ellie would die. It hadn’t told him how she would die: in a fiery car crash at the hands of a drunk driver. Losing his beautiful wife and Bella’s mother had been bad enough. Now he had lost his precious Bella too. Life was unfair, so goddamned unfair.

Tom knew what he had to do. It was not in his Reading. He was supposed to die at a ripe old age of 91, in a nice enough nursing home facility. But that wouldn’t do. He’d made contact with old friends, ones who knew the Guards and the Reader. He didn’t know where this manic energy, this sudden ability to resist the Book and defy what it had given him, had come from. But it gave him the power to keep going, formulate his plan, and set it into motion.

/ / / / /

“Shall we get started?” I ask. The young man in front of me is tall and confident. He has obviously been raised well. Even in these first few moments, I can tell that this kid’s Reading will have a lot of possibilities, most of them successful. Lucky guy.

We go through the usual questions. He is already a star basketball athlete and salutatorian in high school, and is reaching for the stars. The Book shows a path through college, athletic success, and a stellar career in the NBA. He avoids the vices that trip up many professional athletes, wisely invests his money, and becomes successful in his local community.

I am pleasantly surprised.

With the Reading complete, I usher the boy out of my office and return to my desk.

I pick up the briefing file for the next candidate, but am interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hallway. I frown. I haven’t called for the next candidate yet.

The door flies open, crashing against the wall. A large man is standing in the doorway.

“Excuse me, sir. You aren’t allowed in here. Didn’t you see the sign outside?” Is this guy a moron? There’s a massive line of parents and kids outside. He couldn’t have missed all of them. Not to mention the large, bright red “CANDIDATES ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT” sign on the door.

/ / / / /

The Reader looked up. Tom saw her lips moving, but didn’t hear any of the meaningless words. He kept walking, step by step, into the room and towards the desk and the Book.

/ / / / /

“SIR! STOP RIGHT THERE!” I’m on my feet, yelling at the top of my lungs.

What is going on? How did this guy get this far, past the doors and the armed guards? I reach under the desk, groping, and find the silent alarm button. My hand is trembling as I press it.

/ / / / /

Tom raised his arm, pointed the pistol at the woman’s head, and pulled the trigger. A single 9mm round found its mark, right in the middle of her forehead. Her body jerked, then crumpled and fell, landing on the carpet behind her desk.

There. The last obstacle was gone. It was time to destroy the Book. The Book that had ruined his life, Ellie’s life, and now Bella’s.

He knew he had to move quickly. The sound of that gunshot would bring the remaining guards running in here in seconds.

Tom vaulted over the desk, almost tripping over the body of the Reader, and pulled a large glass bottle from inside his coat. The smell of gasoline filled the room as he unscrewed the bottle’s cap and splashed the liquid over the Book on the desk.

His hands were steady as he took the box of matches from his other pocket, struck one, and watched the small flame flare up.

The door flew open again. Five men stormed into the room, shouting, guns drawn and ready to fire. Tom didn’t pay any attention. They were too late; they didn’t matter now.

He dropped the burning match onto the Book.

The gunshots were deafening in the small enclosed space. Tom didn’t feel the pain. He collapsed, landing on the carpet next to the Reader’s body, his blood mingling with hers. As his eyes closed, the last thing he saw was the Book engulfed in flames, its pages turning to ash.

It was finished.

. end .