The Quarter

It had been 3 ½ years since he last stood in this very spot. He didn’t remember the light reflecting so uncomfortably in his eyes back then. He shifted back to his left. It was 3 ½ years ago that Jack had stood in front of the giant Zoltar-like machine, looking a thousand time more confident and less confused than he did today.n nAt the time, he knew the world was his for the taking. He knew all it took was a quarter and a wish…and all he desired could be his…would be his. The moment had been predictable because he was always meant for something. He was destined for greatness. He knew it since he was a little boy. His mother knew it—she would tell him as she kissed him good night you are going to blow the doors off of this world she would say.n nSo he had known this moment would be coming—when he would be faced with the giant metal ask and ye shall receive build it and they will come all that you ask for will be yours machine. The Secret in action. n nHe had stood in this very spot and dropped his only quarter in—is this really it? He had asked himself. Is this how fate has presented itself to me? I am so unique and so destined that it all comes down to my wish and a quarter? As silly as it sounded, it made sense. It felt right. He had know a moment like this would be coming. And so he held the quarter in the slot for a long time, making the most proper wish—making sure not to ask for too much, making sure to say that no one would get hurt from his pleasure. Everyone knows how wishes can go bad—the kid who asks for all the money in the world, and gets it—dollar bills floating down from the sky and piling up in stacks and stacks, rows of bills that fill his entire room...and then the news announcer says the economy has failed completely, banks have shut down, no more jobs, no more schools--and then the kids has to go back and figure out how to undo his wish. n nJack was smarter than that. He wanted only what was intended for him. He wanted to fulfill his full potential. To achieve true happiness doing what he loved. He wanted his top of the Maslow pyramid life that would lead to a Richard Branson-like island for his family and to the interviews in which he say I never cared too much for money or about which car I drove and yes I do know I have a good life—I don’t take it for granted and lots of other humble responses he had rehearsed in front of the mirror, ready for the interview request to come. He would laugh and make a joke about wanting all the green M&Ms separated ha ha--he's just a normal guy they would say. A normal guy who is brilliant.n nAnd with that carefully in mind, he dropped the quarter and…he had watched it, right? He had listened and waited to hear the drop, didn’t he? Could it be possible that he, in the excitement of his desired destiny, had walked away before he heard the quarter fucking drop?n nClearly, he thought, clearly I walked away too soon. Too confident. Too sophomorically ready to reap the rewards of something I hadn’t worked for. Richard Branson worked—he put up money for his first business, he put everything on the line. I never put up money. I never took a real risk-a true honest to goodness risk. I never gave the universe a reason to truly reward me. Hell, I was sloppy—too impatient to even wait for the quarter to drop. n nHe could have had it all, if not for himself.n nAnd for the past 3 ½ he had been waiting. Waiting for success to appear. Waiting for his brilliance to be discovered. Waiting for someone to say you do that so well I want to pay you to do it. And it had never come.nJack had begun to doubt. To doubt his brilliance, his path of destined greatness. He had begun to realize that everyone thinks they’re unique. Like Bruno Kirby, everyone thinks they have a great sense of humor, but not everyone does. Everyone thinks they are brilliant and meant for something and here for a reason.n nBut he can easily look around and see those who are not. Those who think they are brilliant, but obviously fall into that study that showed the dumbest people graded themselves the highest on the test. The smartest people graded themselves the lowest—that was him—that was him. They were the fools, he was the quietly gifted one, the dark horse, the underdog that everyone would soon see was fucking brilliant beyond words.nHow could I have been such a fool, he had been asking his wife. How could I have been so stupid to think that I was different? What if we are all here for the same reason and that reason is no reason at all? What if there is nothing next? What if we’re all doing this for nothing?n nShe had reassured him with the words greatness—true greatness, and the best you can do—is believing there is nothing after this, and still living your life always doing your best…always doing the right thing, the good thing.n nHe believed her, but she would look at him differently if their bank account was full. If they owned their house instead of living in impending balloon payment doom. If they didn’t lease because their credit wasn’t good enough for a car loan.n nMoney talks. And it says a lot. And it has not spoken for Jack in a long time.n nBut here he was, standing in front of the machine. Shifting to his left and staring at his quarter.n nIt all made sense. His wish never went through. He wasn’t a failure, the quarter had simply not dropped. A mistake to walk away too soon, sure, but not a failure. It meant that everything e believed about himself could still be true. I mean, look at what I’ve accomplished over the last 3 ½ years, he thought. It’s not greatness, but it’s definitely a start. Could it be, he thought, that I’m destined for greatness either way—the only thing that changes is the path? n nBefore he could let himself fully believe, before he could let himself revert back to his 37-year-old sophomoric mindset, a wave of reality rushed back to him. He looked past his bent quarter at the pool of change in the bottom of the machine and wondered how many others had made their wish, and how many of those had come true. He wondered if everyone ultimately made the same wish, and he wondered how many people made the stupid wish for more wishes, or just for tons of money to appear in their bank accounts without taking into careful consideration the side effects.n n3 ½ years, and he had learned a lot. And somehow, he had landed himself here and had been given another shot. That’s not normal, right? Not everyone gets a second chance.n nHe studied the machine, looked at its girth and feet and plug and put his hands on the upper corners and shook. His movement jostled the quarter in the tube. But no, he thought, I want the quarter back. I want to make a new wish, based on everything else I’ve learned over the last 3 ½ years. I was a sophomore then, I’m at least a junior now. I can make a better wish—same concept, but better.n nDry cleaning.n nHe had his dry cleaning with him. He had put it down on the ledge behind him, and the plastic had allowed it to silently slip off and fall into a wrinkled puddle on the floor. n nJack took one of the white hangers and untwisted it except for the little curvature at the very end. He jimmied it into the tube and touched his quarter. After several tries, the hanger pressed just right on the rim of the quarter and he began to pull it out. Slowly, steadily. All the way to the opening—right where he had dropped it 3 ½ years ago. He shifted his stance and grabbed the edge of his quarter with his left hand. n nFor a long time, he stared at it. He thought about how he would change his wish, change his dream, change his destiny. n nHe shifted to his left, stared at the quarter, and once again dropped it into the slot.