The Offer
He waits in an old, inner-city hotel–
like any of the most wanted terrorists in the world would do, right?
When I walk through the dusty door, he's looking out the window at the driving rain,
standing like he's been there since time began.
For all I know, he has.
He introduces himself, though of course I already recognize him.
I've studied him extensively, and managed to learn…
absolutely nothing.
(He's famous for being a mystery.)
His voice is slow and serene,
and just from the clarity of each word he speaks, I start to think
that if I sit here in this old armchair for long enough,
he'll explain the meaning of life to me in passing.
Then I remember that I don't believe in fate;
my life is my own,
so how can he tell me what it means?
But he gets me. I'm sure of that.
He can put into words my lifelong feeling that
something's out of place,
somehow "off."
And he says he'll show me what that is.
It sounds like a good offer–
until I realize that truth
now seems to involve taking drugs from strange,
possibly dangerous men.
Who knew?
I can't even see his eyes;
just myself in his sunglasses,
and the reflection of the universes he holds in each hand.
I have a third choice, too:
simply leave,
and go home,
and see if I'll be allowed to go back to work
after the closest thing I've found to destiny called me on a cell phone.
But I don't want to do that.
They won't miss me at work, and
I won't miss them.
As I lean in, my infamous terrorist friend gives me a warning–
as though the truth might prove
too bitter a pill for me.
Too late now, though: I already trust him
(and myself)
and the choice is made
before the red pill is in my hand.
(And really…
What's the worst that could happen?)