Life's Golden Ticket (3 page)

“I bet you want to get to the bottom of this,” she said, her voice dropping to a deeper tone. “But you know the consequences of sponsoring this kid. Are you sure you're ready? Are you sure he's the right one?”

Henry nodded slowly.

A long moment passed, and Betty leaned forward, peering at me.

“Okay, kid. Big Betty will go easy on you today, even if you are a little ugly.”

She burst out laughing at her joke, rattling the entire booth. Then she struggled to turn her bulk, to snatch a paper form from a bin above her right shoulder.

“Read this,” she said. “Sign it. That's it.”

She pushed the form through the window. Her hands were twice the size of mine.

The form was a simple piece of paper entitled “
PRICE OF ADMISSION
.” The form had four check boxes down the left side, with a statement next to each one. At the bottom was a line for my signature. The statements read:

        
    
I agree to give up my dependency on my present experience and be open to possibility.

        
    
I agree to give up my defense mechanisms and face the truth.

        
    
I agree to give up my belief that change equals pain.

        
    
I agree to give up my impulses to quit or leave my host's side.

What kind of amusement park made you sign a contract to get in?

I read the statements and looked at Henry. “This is it?”

“That's it,” he said. “Take it seriously.”

Betty added, “You don't know how lucky you are to have met Henry, kid.”

Henry nodded for me to sign. Once I did, I slid it back to Betty. She picked up a rubber stamp, but hesitated before touching the paper.

“Henry,” I heard her whisper, “you
really
sure about this one?”

Henry leaned in and said something inaudible.

She looked once more in my direction, her eyes narrowing, then stamped the form and slid Mary's envelope back to the caretaker. He handed it to me, and I put it back in my hip pocket.

“Kid,” she said to me, “you're in. You're the last one today, I guess.” She pointed behind me; strangely, there wasn't a soul in sight. I looked into the park and saw an open square with a flagpole in the center. There were no people there either.

“You be good to Henry,” Betty commanded. “We love him here, and he just vouched for you, so be thankful. Now get going.”

With considerable effort, Betty stood up. She bumped up against the walls as she turned to leave her post.

As Henry gestured for me to follow him through the turnstiles, I glanced back at the booth to see Betty huffing and squirming to reach for the door.

Henry and I entered the park, and just a few feet inside we were stopped by a loud crashing. I turned around to see the door of Betty's ticket booth swing open and a little girl jump out.

She couldn't have been more than eight. She wore a cute, bright yellow sundress. Smiling, she skipped into the open square and disappeared behind one of the red-and-white-striped tents.

I looked back at the booth, openmouthed.

Empty.

I turned to Henry. “Did she just . . . did you . . . did I just see . . . ?”

Henry waited patiently for me to find my words.

“Did I just . . . see what I think I saw?”

He touched my shoulder softly and smiled. “Maybe it's time I told you what goes on here in the park.”

T
he open square just inside the park was about eighty feet on a side. A soft breeze slapped the lanyard against the hollow pole. The walls of the tents that bordered the square moved gently in the breeze. Other than that, the square was eerily silent—no more shuffling, jostling people, calling barkers, or spinning Ferris wheel.

“What is this place, Henry?”

Henry looked around the square thoughtfully. “
That
I can't quite explain. It's where miracles happen. It's a place where people become what they've always dreamed of being. I s'pose that's why you saw Betty become a beautiful, happy, healthy little girl—so you could see this is a place where people can transform themselves.”

“But how did it appear, how did this place just . . . ?”

Henry shook his head and interrupted. “No questions like that. Let's start with a simple ground rule. No questions about how the park came to be, or what it is, from here on out. If you question it, the experience isn't what it should be.” He gave me a take-it-or-leave-it look. “Just accept that this could be a place of miracles for you, and choose to experience it fully. Got it?”

“Okay, but . . .”

“And no buts,” he countered. “Now, come with me. . . .”

He walked to the far side of the square, and I could do nothing but follow obediently. I felt an urge to ask more questions, but I was so unsettled by the happenings of the past few hours that I couldn't even muster the logic to put the words together. Even if I could, Henry had already warned me.

When we got to the edge of the square, he said, “This is the Truth Booth.” It was tiny, like one of those mini–photo booths kids and love-struck couples gravitate toward at shopping malls. “In a few minutes,” he said, “I'm going to have you sit in there, and we're going to figure out some of the reasons you might be here. You see, everyone who comes to this park was invited by someone who cared deeply for them. And they accepted the invitation because they knew this place might just change their lives. That's why Mary would have come here: to change something. Most folks who get here, though, only have a vague notion of what they want to change. The Truth Booth helps them get clarity by forcing them to look at the reality of their lives. But before you go in there, you have some questions for me, don't you?”

He had read my mind. In the moments he had been talking, logic had returned, and I had fixed on the one question I couldn't leave alone.

“I'm sorry for asking again . . . but are you sure you don't know what happened to Mary?”

Henry studied me for a second, shaking his head. “I'm afraid I don't know
exactly
what happened to Mary. Everyone who comes here has a unique experience. They all go on rides, play games, eat, and walk around thinking about their lives, but exactly what they experience and what they learn differs for each individual. I can also say that everyone who comes here ends up confronting some things about their lives that may not be pleasant. Sometimes in that process people freak out, shut down, or get lost. I fear one of those things may have happened somewhere along the journey for Mary, but I just don't know. We'll have to figure it out together. But let me be clear about some
thing,” he said, positioning himself directly in front of me. “We are not here together simply to understand Mary's story. This is a place of destiny. There is a reason
you
are here—a reason beyond Mary, a reason you could even see this park without an invitation, a reason you bumped into me, and, somehow, a reason I felt deep down that I should help you. Everything happens for a reason.”

“Why did you help?” I asked. “Betty made it sound like a big deal.”

“It
is
a big deal,” he said, offering no further explanation. “Look, son, Mary asked you to come here to understand what she experienced. Fine. But you are also here to understand something about yourself. There are lessons for you here. I'll be your guide—I believe I was meant to be. I've been here a very long time and have never heard of someone
not
opening their envelope at the end of their experience. There is unfinished business here. Our challenge in uncovering what happened to Mary is that this park works on
you
and no one else. So here's my advice: Don't try to understand what happened to Mary, because this experience will be more about you than about her. Trust that her story will unfold eventually along with your own, okay?”

I nodded but didn't really understand. I looked down, trying to sort it all out in my head. I felt helpless. I didn't know what to do, or think, or say. I felt frustrated: this was all too crazy—I just wanted to know what happened to Mary and then get out of there, wherever “there” was.

“It's called overwhelm,” Henry said softly, picking up on my feelings. “You're going to be dealing with some pretty big issues, and you'll feel it more and more as we go. This experience will be unnerving. You may have to face some tough truths. Like I said, you're just going to have to go along with this and figure it out piece by piece. And you're going to have to have faith that there is a reason for all this—a powerful reason why you are here. Now, let's get on with it.”

He pulled back the Truth Booth's curtain and motioned for me to step inside. I climbed in, took a seat, and looked around. I was sitting in front of a television screen with two credit card–size slots beneath it.

As I stared at the blank screen, Henry said, “Get comfortable. This might not be easy. When I close the curtain, put your right hand on the screen in front of you. You'll figure it out from there.” He gave me a last warm look from around the curtain. “You okay?”

I looked back, unsure. “I don't know. . . . This is all pretty wild. I just want to know what happened to Mary.”

“I know. But think: Is it possible she wanted you to experience what she did? In fact, isn't that what you told me she said to you?”

“Yes, she said that.”

“Okay,” Henry said. “You're about to begin a similar experience. Yours will be unique to your life, but you'll get the idea. I'm going to close the curtain now, okay?”

“Um . . . all right.”

He smiled in approval. “Now, just be honest, son. Be totally, completely honest. It will help.”

He swept the curtain shut. It was pitch-black inside the booth. I reached forward and put my right hand on the tiny television screen, as Henry had told me. It quickly grew warm. Then it started to glow a light pink. Warmer. Then red. Warmer. Then purple. Hot! I pulled my hand away. The screen faded to black; then a small, gray, fuzzy image appeared. The image seemed far away. It started to come into focus . . . closer. . . . It looked like the outline of someone's head . . . closer. . . . It looked like a face . . . closer . . . clearer . . .

I shot backward in surprise, slamming my head into the wall.

It was my mother's face in black-and-white. She looked exactly as she had the last time I saw her alive, when I was seventeen.

My mouth hung open. I leaned forward and touched the image of her face.

The image came alive. She spoke. “Hi, honey.”

I pulled my hand away and slammed back into the wall again. My heart nearly leaped out of my chest. I could
hear
my pulse in the dark booth.

She was so real. She blinked, looking at me expectantly.

I shook my head. She couldn't be real. “Mom?”

“Don't be afraid,” she said. “I'm here to ask you some questions. We don't have much time, and I love you, so let me begin straight
away. Are you happy?” Her voice sounded soothing and soft, as it always had. Her eyes were kind and engaged.

I shook my head in disbelief at what I was seeing. “Mom? It can't be you.”

“It's me. But let's hurry. . . .”

“Mom, I . . .” I felt silly talking to the screen, but the words tumbled out anyway: “Mom, I miss you, I miss you so much. . . .”

Her face took on that knowing, patient look. “Don't cry, son. I miss you too. But please listen—we really don't have much time together. I have to ask you some questions. Tell me: are you happy?”

Through my tears, I saw a sense of urgency in her face.

“Yeah, Mom . . . I'm . . . I'm doing good. . . . You know you never need to worry about me.”

She smiled and gave me her don't-even-try-to-fool-your-mother look. “That's what you used to tell me when you were a boy. You and I both knew it wasn't true then. You never wanted me to worry; you're a good son for that. But I need you to tell me the truth. Is your life going the way you expected? The way you dreamed?”

“Mom, why are you asking me these things? Why is this happening?”

“I can't tell you that. But you need to tell
me:
is your life what you dreamed it would be?”

I paused and looked away, not wanting to answer.
Besides, this isn't real . . . right?

“Son?” she asked.

I looked back at her, and her kind eyes pulled a response from deep within me. “No, Mom. It's not what I dreamed of. . . . Life has taken some unexpected turns.”

She nodded, brushing her dark, softly curling hair off her face. Smiling, she said, “Well, you were always good with directions. Where'd you get off track?”

“I don't know. . . . A lot of places, I guess.”

“Where?”

“A lot of places. It's not that my life is bad. It's just . . . I know there's more.”

“Let's pinpoint where there could be more. Work?”

“Maybe,” I said.

“Maybe?” she said, arching her brow.

“Yes,” I said.

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes maybe?”

“Okay. Definitely. I'm restless at work. . . . I could do better, something more me, something more fulfilling.”

“There you go,” she said. “If work is one of the unexpected turns you mentioned, then it's time to turn it around by admitting it. The truth is always a good turning point. What else isn't going well?”

I could hardly think how to tell her about Mary. I always wished they could have met.

“Are you in love?”

I looked at her in surprise. She seemed to read my mind. The thought of talking about Mary created a heavy lump in my throat.

“Yeah, Mom . . . a great lady. Her name's Mary.”

“How's your relationship been with her?”

My eyes started to sting again. “Uh, well, you know, it's been—it was . . . a little rough.” I didn't know how to tell her that I had pushed Mary away and that it was probably my fault she got into the accident.

“Has she been good to you?”

“Yes,” I said, my voice trembling. “Always. She was always good to me. She was always patient, always trying to help me be better.”

“Have you been good to her?”

The memory of screaming at Mary before she disappeared burned in my mind.

“Have you been good to her?” Mom asked again.

I doubled over in my seat and did my best to hold back tears. “I tried! I tried to be a good man. But I don't think I was.”

A few moments passed, and I looked up to see Mom sobbing softly too.

“I'm sorry this is so hard. I know you always do your best.”

I couldn't look at her. “Mom, I just don't know what to do anymore.”

“Sure, you do. You always do, and you always did. Just be a good person, like you've always been.” She paused until I looked back.
“Listen, you were always a strong boy, a smart boy, a caring boy. Don't let what happened between you and your father convince you otherwise. Don't you dare settle for anything other than the life you want to live. Look at your life. Look at every area. See what you need to stop doing and what you need to start, and do it while you still can, no matter how hard it is. Do what your grandpa always told you: ‘Just keep learning and living.'”

A minute passed as Mom waited for me to regain my composure.

“It's time for me to go now,” she whispered.

“No, Mom! Not yet. . . . I have so many questions.”

“I'm sorry, son, I've got to go. But let me say one last thing. You can be whoever you want to be, and you can do whatever you want to do. I always told you that, and I know you used to believe it. It's time to believe again, son. Promise me you'll keep that in mind?”

Tears flowed again as soon as she said the word
promise.
I had made two promises, to the two most important women in my life, in less than a day.

“I promise.” I paused, floundering for words. “Mom, I wish you were really here,” I said slowly. “I love you so much.”

Her image started to fade. She smiled. “I'll always love you. . . .”

“Mom! No, don't go!”

“. . . Remember your promise. . . .”

“Mom! Don't go!”

The screen went blank.

H
enry led me across the square without saying a word. The night was cooler than before but still comfortable. The faint hiss of the Victorian gaslights filled the air. When we arrived at a tent on the other side, he pulled back the entry flap and motioned for me to enter.