See Your Future! $1

by Thom Garrett and Danna Colman

The sirens were growing louder. They were catching up much faster than I had expected. Too fast. I risked the curve without braking, barely able to keep my speeding car on the road. It wasn’t enough. The highway patrol cars had closed the gap. One was behind me, one was beside, creeping forward, trying to get in front of me to box me in. A few more seconds and they would have me. My heart was pounding, my eyes almost blinded by sweat and tears. And then I saw it — they were too late. The bridge abutment was there, right there! I was going to make it! Thank God, I was going to die!

I swerved into the concrete abutment and felt the impact. In slow motion, my bones began to break as the car crushed in on me, breaking glass and tearing metal screeching unbearably loud. I was launched forward through the windshield, my broken and bloody body smashing into the concrete and then collapsing onto the crumpled hood of the car. I exhaled one last time as my lungs filled with blood, one last breath, just a sigh, and I died.

Almost reverently, I removed the VR goggles, tears spilling from my eyes. I turned to the wrinkled old man reading today’s paper. “Thank you,” I said.

His head tipped and twitched, birdlike. One eye, dead and white, saw nothing. He turned his head and looked at me with his good eye and seemed to see everything. “Same time tomorrow?”

“No,” I said. “I’m done.”

I walked out the door and into the street, up to the driver’s door of the GT Supersport that I knew would be idling there at the stop light. I pulled open the door, dragged the driver out, and I jumped in. I revved the engine, popped the clutch, and ran the red. The first siren started just a second later, and the chase was on. This time, I would be fast enough to die.

Ten days earlier, I would have said I was going to live forever, or at least for a very long time. I was on my lunch break, taking a rare stroll through Chinatown. I picked up a noodle bowl from a truck and did a little window shopping while I ate. It was an odd mix of touristy kitsch and neighborhood grocers. There was a funny little shop wedged between a tattoo parlor and an electronics store. The shop didn’t look to be much wider than its front door and didn’t seem to be selling anything. There was just one handwritten sign sloppily taped to the window of the door. “See your future! $1! See it again! $2!” Curious, I dropped my empty bowl in a sidewalk trashcan and went in.

It was dimly lit and looked nothing like a shop. A braided rug on the floor, a coffee table with some dirty dishes and a full ashtray, and two upholstered armchairs. An old man sat in one reading the paper and smoking a cigarette.

“Oh jeez,” I said. “Sorry! I thought this was a business. There was a sign on the door.”

He lowered his paper and raised his face, his cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He was small and bald, except for a few scattered tufts of white hair. His skin was dark and wrinkled, his nose was fat and a size too big, and it made his eyes seem small and beady. One of those eyes looked at me with drilling intensity. The other was milky white, opaque and blind.

“You want to see your future,” he said, a statement, not a question. “One dollar for the first time. Two dollars for the second.”

“How much for the third? Three dollars?”

“Four for the third, eight for the fourth, sixteen for the fifth. One dollar now. Please sit.”

I handed him a dollar and sat in the other chair. He lifted the hinged top of the coffee table, sending dishes and the ashtray sliding precariously close to the edge. He withdrew a cloth bag, and from that a set of goggles, Virtual Reality goggles like they sell at the mall. I was disappointed but decided to play along. He touched a switch and a little light on the goggles turned green. I took them from his hands and slipped them on, saying, “Something’s wrong. I don’t see a thing.”

“What did you see outside my door?”

“Um, I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention. Cars and people. Shops. There was a trashcan nearby.”

“Imagine yourself walking out my door.”

As soon as I did, I could see it. It was the best VR I had ever seen. I honest to God thought I was stepping out onto the street. And of all things, a man, walking and texting, slammed right into me. He dropped his phone, and when he picked it up, he saw the screen was cracked. He started swearing at me, like it was my fault! I laughed and walked away.

The scene shifted, and I was at work. I remember wondering how that was possible. How could some VR software know exactly what my office looked like, down to the smallest detail. Becker, my partner came in and said we’d been asked to submit a bid for a contract, a big one that we really needed. I was excited because our firm was on the ropes, and without something like this, we would be down for the count soon.

The scene changed again, and I was at a pub with friends, and then again and I was waking up with Erin, my girlfriend. It changed again, and again, and again, snapshots of ten days with stunning detail. I had never heard of anything like these goggles. This wasn’t Virtual Reality. This was reality! The one funny glitch was every day I saw myself leaving this same shop again.

On the ninth day, I saw that we were going to land that contract, and that would guarantee steady income for at least a year. On the morning of the tenth day, a Friday morning, I was staying home because I was hungover from celebrating, and I was having an argument with Erin. She waved her arm and accidently knocked her favorite coffee cup off the table. I guess it was the last straw when it shattered on the tile floor. She glared at me and said goodbye, walking out without looking back.

And then I was leaving this shop yet again. I got in my car and drove away. I was distracted, emotional, upset about Erin. I got on the road and drove. Out of nowhere a school bus veered into my lane. I blew my horn and swerved. The bus corrected, but it was too late for me. I lost control and crashed my car into a bridge abutment. The screen went dark.

I removed the goggles, shaking from the experience. I handed them back to the old man. “Jesus,” I said. “That was amazing. But you need to talk to your software developer. That ending is a total downer.”

“Did you see yourself coming back?”

“Oh, now I get it! You think if I saw myself coming back in the future, I’ll actually come back and pay you more for each visit. Sorry, pal. I’m not that stupid. And why would I even want to? I hate how it ended. I never want to look in your damn goggles again.”

“But you might. Each time gives you a new start, a second chance. You have many possible futures, but once you’ve seen one it cannot be changed. Unless you look again and change it yourself.”

“Great sales gimmick,” I said, “but you’ll never see me again.”

Angry and still a little shaken by the experience of witnessing my own death, I pushed through his door and out onto the sidewalk. A man, texting, walked right into me. He dropped his phone, and when he picked it up, he saw the screen was cracked. He started swearing at me, and I walked away, laughing nervously.

The rest of the day was one deja vu moment after another, only now it wasn’t just a feeling. I really had seen it before, and what really started to scare me was that those damn goggles had been right in every way. When I awoke the next morning with my girlfriend looking exactly as I had seen her the day before, I decided to go back to the old man’s shop.

I found him sitting just as he had been, reading the paper and smoking. He seemed to be expecting me. “Two dollars,” he said.

“How does it work?” I asked, sounding a little more upset than I intended.

The old man just shrugged and said, “I’m one of those people who is happy to see the future without understanding how it works.”

I paid my two dollars and sat down. As before, it was total darkness until I pictured the sidewalk outside his door. I stepped out, and it looked about the same, but I didn’t bump into the guy on his phone this time. I stood and looked around, noticing an attractive woman entering a cab. It was the same street, but nothing was happening the way it had before. Then the scene switched, and I recognized it as something I’d seen before. Now it was something that was about to happen today, but yesterday it was something that was going to happen tomorrow.

As I continued watching, everything played out exactly as it had before. Exactly, except all a day sooner. On the eighth day, we landed the money-making contract; on the ninth day, Erin knocked her mug off the table and left me. Also on the ninth day, I swerved and crashed. There was no tenth day for me this time.

I lifted the goggles from my head. “This is impossible,” I said. “I don’t believe it.”

He turned his good eye to me. “Did you see a future that disturbs you?”

“Disturbs me? According to you, I’m going to die a week from Friday!”

He shrugged. “It has nothing to do with me. It’s your future, not mine.”

“But is it true? I mean really? Is it really going to happen?”

“Whatever you saw is going to happen exactly as you saw it… unless…”

“What? For chrissake what? What do I have to do?”

He sucked on his cigarette and blew some smoke. “Hard to say. Everything you do creates your future. Anything you do differently creates a new one. The problem is knowing which thing to change to get to the future you want.”

With that unhelpful answer, I left. I stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked around. There was the attractive woman entering the cab. The rest of my day followed the script exactly as I had now twice seen it down to the tiniest detail.

I was at his door at an ungodly early hour the next morning. That was something I hadn’t seen in my future! There wasn’t a shop on the street that was open, but when I turned his knob the door swung right open, and there he was, sitting, smoking, and reading the paper. He looked up, puffing smoke. “Four dollars,” he said.

I slipped on the goggles and soon saw myself leaving in the slanting morning light. That was something new. The morning continued with one surprise after another. A different cup of coffee, a different conversation at lunch, a different day altogether. I had changed my future!

But then the evening started to look more familiar, and by the next morning it was almost identical to what I’d seen before. The only noticeable difference was that I was returning to the old man’s shop twice a day. By the seventh day, we were awarded that contract, and on the eighth day, Erin broke her mug and our engagement. Then, a few hours later, I swerved. I no longer had a ninth day.

I left in the early morning light and had exactly the day I’d seen. I was so distracted that people were noticing, and Becker pulled me aside to ask what was going on. I told him I’d had a premonition that something bad was going to happen. You can imagine how well that went over. He reminded me that I was already falling behind on the work for that contract and I should cut the crap and get to work.

Instead, I left work early and returned to the shop. “Eight dollars,” he said. The next morning he said sixteen, and that afternoon he said thirty-two, and then sixty-four when I returned again. The future I saw was starting to change, growing more tense as my colleagues and even Erin began to question my mood and my odd behavior.

Late in the evening, the evening of the fourth day, I handed him my $1,024 and he handed me the goggles. “Help me,” I said. “I’m going to die and nothing I do changes that. Help me, please!”

He lowered his paper, blowing a long, exasperated stream of smoke. He stared at me like I was an unusual bug he’d found on his table. “How are you going to die?”

“A car crash. I swerve to miss a bus and hit one of those concrete things under a bridge.”

He puffed and lifted his paper, turning his eye away from me. “Don’t get in the car.”

I was stunned. I sat down and put on the goggles. My heart was racing as I watched the days pass, more or less the same, but with more arguments and more visits to the shop. We were awarded the contract but apparently no thanks to me. On the sixth day, Erin and I were arguing, and I thought, “That’s such a nice mug. It’s a shame it has to break.” I knew when she was going to swing her arm. I knew where the mug was heading. I just reached my hand out before it got there. I caught it and set it gently back on the table. Erin was so amazed she laughed out loud. Instead of walking out the door, she walked around the table and wrapped her arms around my head, hugging me to her chest. “You are a pain in the butt sometimes,” she said, “but I just can’t live without you.”

And then the scene shifted. I was leaving the shop, about to get in my car, about to drive down the road, about to die. I held my keys in my hand, standing beside my car, and I heard the old man’s words. I felt like the weight of the world was lifted from my shoulders. With a simple flick of my wrist, I tossed the keys into the sidewalk trashcan, and then I called for an Uber to take me home.

I was elated! I sat in the shop watching the scenes unfold, the scenes of a future I didn’t have until just a moment ago. And then I watched as Erin and I sipped wine while watching the local news. The lead story described a horrific crash, a school bus that veered out of its lane and collided with a semi-truck. The driver and all of the children were killed.

I felt the floor fall out from under me and woke up in Erin’s arms. She was frightened, calling my name. I told her it was my fault those kids had died. I told her I have to kill myself so they can live. She left me lying on a pillow while she called a friend for help. I heard her say “psychotic break.”

But that hadn’t actually happened yet. I was in the shop, seeing the future. The goggles continued to show my days, a full set of ten, each worse than the one before as I fell into a hopeless depression. The news was full of stories about those children, their beautiful lives and their tragic deaths. No one would ever blame me, but I knew better.

The next day, Day 5, I called in sick and stayed in bed. I could give no explanation, and Becker was furious. Day 6 came and went the same way, and Erin was losing her patience. By Tuesday, Day 7, I had made my decision. I dressed and returned to the old man’s shop. He didn’t seem the least surprised to see me and made no comment on my previous absence. All he said was, “$2,048.”

I watched my miserable self wade through the rest of Tuesday, and then Wednesday. On Thursday, Becker called me in to tell me that, as a direct result of my poor performance, we’d lost the contract and would have to declare bankruptcy. On Friday, Erin and I fought. She swung her arm, hitting her mug, but I caught it. I looked at it in my hand and then threw it at the wall, smashing it into a thousand pieces. Later, I saw myself leave the shop, prepared to die. I got into my car but got stuck at a red light. That was new. That was different. I drove on as quickly as I could, trailing a semi as I approached the spot where the bus would lose control. I watched in horror as it happened right before my eyes.

I removed the goggles and returned home.

On Wednesday, I handed him $4,096 and sat down with a plan. When I watched myself get into my car on that Friday, I knew what I had to do. I was stopped at the red light, behind a GT Supersport. I cut around him, right into the oncoming traffic. Horns blaring, I ran the light. Sirens began a second later, but I gunned it. I got stuck behind the semi, and two highway patrol cars easily boxed me in.

I returned the goggles and went home.

On Thursday, I stopped at the bank for a withdrawal. I paid $8,192 and sat, watching but ignoring my angry partner and my ugly breakup with Erin. When I saw myself leaving the shop on Friday, I went right past my car and walked over to the line of cars waiting at the light. I opened the door of the GT Supersport and dragged the shocked driver onto the ground. I jumped in and gunned it, running the light and drawing the attention of the highway patrol. I easily passed the semi-truck, but I wasn’t used to driving so fast. I slowed at the curves, and the patrol cars boxed me in a quarter mile before the bridge. The semi shot past us, and I sat in my stolen car watching helplessly as the bus and truck collided.

Friday morning, the day that had been the tenth day when all this began, finally dawned. One way or another, this would be the day that changes my life. I didn’t really feel like fighting with Erin, but I wanted to save her a little pain, so I caught the mug and smashed it against the wall, ensuring our breakup. I went to the shop with a shoebox full of cash totaling $16,384. It was a very short session. The first view in the goggles was me stepping out of the shop and up to the Supersport. The last was just a few minutes later as my car smashed into the bridge, and then blackness.

I removed the VR goggles, tears spilling from my eyes. I turned to the wrinkled old man reading today’s paper. “Thank you,” I said.

“Same time tomorrow?”

“No,” I said. “I’m done.”

I walked out the door and into the street, up to the driver’s door of the GT Supersport that I knew would be idling there at the stop light. I pulled open the door, dragged the driver out and jumped in. I revved the engine, popped the clutch, and ran the red. The first siren started just a second later, and the chase was on. This time, I would be fast enough to die.

I drove like a madman with a death-wish, not slowing for curves or intersections. In the back of my mind, I appreciated this car, so much faster and more stable than any I’d ever driven, but maybe not fast enough. The patrol cars were gaining on me. In another few seconds they would have me, boxed in and slowed to a halt.

But there’s the bridge and there’s the bus! The cop sees the oncoming bus and drops back. The bus veers and I swerve, and in that split second I realize I am still in control of the car. I dodge the bridge abutment and swing back onto the road, now over-correcting. For a sickening moment I feel the car tilt, rocking up onto two wheels, and then all hell breaks loose as the car tumbles and flips, tearing metal and breaking glass.

I open my eyes. I’m upside down and backwards, facing back the way I had come. A patrolman is approaching. The bus has pulled off the road and stopped, completely safe.

I’m not dead.

It takes a moment for that to sink in. I’m not dead and the bus is safe. I start crying and then laughing. I’ve lost my job. I’ve lost my girl. I’ve committed a felony. And I think my leg is broken. But I’m not dead. I’ve done it. I have a future again, and I have no idea what it will be. It’s a mystery, a blank page waiting to be written. I close my eyes and smile. I wonder what will happen next.