Ayla

Ayla entered the room with an invitation clutched tightly in her hand. The space smelled of old books that would crumble at her touch she resisted the urge to do the same as a hand gently tapped her shoulder. Why are there no windows, she wondered. One less colonial portrait and one skylight surely would have helped the aesthetic. Unless they were going for a 1930’s ‘I founded an investment bank in my twenties’ feel, in which case, top marks to the interior designer in charge.

“Don’t touch me man, I’m moving,” she muttered to the well-dressed valet at the door, making a point to show him the invite. He was so well dressed, she felt like asking him if she could take his coat. She tried to catch a glimpse of his face, but he kept in the shadows.

“Who can I ask for the Wi-fi code bro?” she asked into the emptiness knowing she would not get a reply. “Can’t even get a signal, I just posted a story, I need to see how that’s going.”

She was gently ushered to a seat at a round table that had her name on a placard, mirroring the shape of the crest on the wall. As she looked around her, she became lightheaded just thinking about how much money was invested into the fixtures of the room.

One chandelier would sort out rent for a year, she thought, chuckling to herself. She looked at the person next to her to make that joke, but very quickly realized the people around her were not the kind of people who worried about rent…or made jokes for that matter. She drew her hoodie tighter around her face to stave off the stench of entitlement. She looked from the armored suits on the wall to the suits at the table, and then to the floor. They each looked homogenously like an Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue had a passionate and wild romance one night with a Ralph Lauren formal wear sale and then violently retched on leather chairs. If she looked up it would not have made a difference, all eyes were on the one empty and significantly more ornate chair.

A man dressed in a light brown overcoat effortlessly wafted into the room and sat at the chair. the man, with a heavily lined and impassive face, gestured at the table, and in a flash, silver platters appeared in front of everyone containing a brown envelope and aligned perfectly next to it, a sleek black notebook. He glanced around the room and his eyes seemed to settle on Ayla, a slight look of surprise danced across his face that turned into amusement.

“You have all been selected to be here,” He paused. “As surprising as it may seem in some cases.”

Ayla drew her hoodie tighter and clutched her invite tighter. She was supposed to be here, it said so on the invitation. Why would you send an invitation to someone and then be surprised when they showed up, especially when you had it gilded in gold. She suddenly became very aware of the knot in her stomach.

“In front of you is an envelope. Inside it is twenty thousand dollars in cash. Next to it is a black notebook, in it could be your destiny, in it could also be difficulty, but likely it will be both. Pick either the envelope or the notebook and leave.”

She could hear a wave of murmur run through the other eleven people at the table and stop suddenly at her. The knot in her stomach got tighter.

One by one, they picked up the sleek black notebook and walked away from the table until she was the only one left in the room with the gentlemen in the light brown coat. He looked at her, his eyes boring into her soul. Ayla waited till everyone left the room. She knew what she wanted to do the minute the proposition was put to her. Twenty thousand dollars could change her life, give her the cash injection to fund her business the way she deserved it to be, but the notebook stared at her seductively. How do you put a price on destiny? She ran her fingers across the leather spine and felt the electric charge of potential pulsate gently through her pores. She picked up the envelope to see disappointment start to dull the eyes of the gentlemen in the light brown coat, and then she crammed it forcibly in her pocket. He shook his head in disappointment.

“Why?”

“I don’t need a notebook to tell me my worth,” replied Ayla, starting to get sick of his air of condescension and in fact, generally sick of being made to feel unworthy since she stepped through the door.

“You can still change your mind, there’s…”

“Can I leave now, or do you want to keep chit chatting?”

“It’s up to you.”

“What was in the notebook?”

“Why don’t we find out?”

Ayla drew her finger across the cover to the corner of the notebook and peeled back the page. She gasped. The first page was of a beautiful, intricate portrait of her, down to the chicken pox scar on her nose. She dropped the notebook.

“What is this?”

The gentlemen in the light brown overcoat smiled at her. She slid the money slowly back to him, allowing it to drag against the wood grain of the heavy oak table. He did not break eye contact as he picked up the money almost like a contract was ratified between blinks, her choice was made.

“Ayla…”

The voice was coming from the book. Ayla backed away slowly.

“What the hell is this?” she whispered in the direction the gentlemen in the light brown overcoat. She looked up and he was gone. She checked her pocket for the invite, also gone. The knot in her stomach rose to her throat.

“Don’t be stupid, pick me up,” an awfully familiar voice called out. It felt like the sound was coming from the back of her head and in front of her at the same time.

“That really feels like something I’d regret,” Ayla muttered under her breath while she bent forward to pick up the notebook.

“Like that time, when you ate the last taco from the gourmet food stand?”, quipped the familiar voice.

“…How did you know about that? I never told anyone?”

“There’s a public toilet four blocks from here that could tell a tale or two”

Ayla picked up the notebook and opened to another random page. The same intricate drawing stared back at her and started to chuckle. The drawing moved within the constraints of the page with complete freedom. It proceeded to animate a lavish three-piece lounge-set within the pages for her to laze.

“Ok so what’s the deal here, three wishes? Pick three people to die so three people can live? Eternal life but I have to understand death is true happiness?”

“NO, what? No. Ok Wow. Morbid.”

“In my defense, I’m currently talking to a black leather notepad,” Ayla replied while desperately looking around the room for speakers or even ventriloquist perhaps, she knew she was stretching for an explanation, but desperate times am I right?

“Naww! You noticed the leather! It’s a nice touch isn’t it?” The drawing now sat cross legged on the page and adjusted her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“What’s the deal with the guy in the light brown overcoat, ” Ayla asked trying to distract while she desperately looked under the table for a clue or answer for the obvious question.

“I dunno, keeper of the crypt or something? You know I can see what you’re doing.” The drawing pointed out while peering over the edge of the page, standing on the sofa it had drawn.

“This is a crypt?!”

“Did you read the invite?” the drawing asked, incredulous and slightly embarrassed, sitting back down. It had turned the sofa set into a deck chair and was now at the beach sipping a very elaborate fruit juice.

“Ok no, not in detail, but it had gold gilding, it seemed pretty legit, this is a crypt?”

“Impressed we know what gilding is”

“Me too, wait, how do you talk like me? And sound like me?”

“I am you, I’m future, more accomplished you, I’m you when you’ve fulfilled your potential, I’m the end-state, I’m you at your best… and you have five minutes with me to ask me whatever you want…”. The drawing manifested a countdown at the end of the page, in roman numeral for whatever reason, probably showing off, let’s be honest.

“WE JUST WASTED HALF OF THAT TIME,”

“You really should have read the instructions, that’s probably lesson number one, write that down,” the drawing tutted, and sat back down cross legged at the bottom of the page.

“Hey, I chose the twenty thousand dollars first, did you like that?”

“Yeah, and said ‘I don’t need a notebook to tell me my worth’, it was quite badass.”

“It was, wasn’t it? It sounded good in my head too, well executed.”

“I agree. But to the matter at hand, do you have any questions for me?”

“Yes, what will this cost me?”

“Nothing and everything,”

“Ok don’t do that, just answer the question.”

“Oh, OH I SEE, only you can be badass.”

“I need to understand.”

“Ok, you’re supposed to figure this out afterwards, but it will cost you your motivation. That’s the price you pay. Kinda the whole point of destiny is figuring out what it is, isn’t it?”

“That seems really redundant, why would anyone do this?”

“Do I need to remind you that you came to this at your own volition?”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“So, all those well dressed, rich, aristocrat looking fellows, they all don’t meet their potential because of this?”

“Well yes, but listen, it’s quite cool. They all ask the questions they want, and its usually something around how I become richer, or more powerful, or whatever. Then they pass out, and I write out the answer in their book. They have an intense moment of pride, and the rest of their life is emptiness. It sucks really. But interestingly you’re really the first person who asked what the cost is.”

“When you worry about prices all your life, you can’t help but ask.”

“I know.”

“Yes, I know you know.”

“So, what do you actually want to know?”

“I just have one question.”

“Ask away.”

“How do I become happy?”

The drawing in the notebook smiled, almost with pride and stared off in the distance, seeming to gather its thoughts.

“I’ve been doing this for centuries, and that’s the first time anyone has asked me that question. The truth is Ayla, you’ve always been happy.” And the drawing started to erase itself.

“What, wait, what kind of cheap pseudo swami fortune teller answer is tha…” a heavy yawn escaped Ayla’s mouth.

She awoke with a start with a train announcement blaring she was nearing mid-town. She reached in her coat pocket and felt the reassuring corners of the black leather notebook. She opened it and it was blank. She closed her eyes to try and process what just happened, but the accompanying splitting headache made it a tomorrow problem. She tucked the notebook away while the train pulled into its destination.