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February Hummingbird You wake up, your face smushed against a train…

- - - - Help the fruit vendor
        All those carefully-balanced piles of fruit have fallen on the fruit vendor. You leap up and dig through it to pull him out. But it’s as if he has disappeared. You consider just running away, but it’s as if you are stuck in a loop. Your arms just keep digging, tossing fruits behind you. And then you see something—a tiny arm, as if from a Barbie doll. You remove the mango atop it and see the fruit vendor. Except that somehow he is now only about 8 inches tall. You don’t understand, but you scoop him up and carry him away from the spreading fire.
        You stop running a few streets away and raise the tiny vendor in your hand to face level. He is pointing down. You set him on the ground. Before your eyes, he grows back to normal size. He is as silent as ever. He shakes your hand and walks away down an alley. For the rest of your life, you never seem to lose anything—not your keys, your socks, your children.
        
        Blessed with luck
      - Help nearby teenage girl
        A girl with a knit beanie pulled low over her face is lying down, eyes closed. You think she may be unconscious. Still, her phone is clutched tight in her hand. You slide your arms under her back and knees and lift her, surprised at how light she feels—it’s probably the adrenaline. You carry her a safe distance away and set her on the ground, trying to be gentle with her head. There, a paramedic takes over.
        The girl makes a full recovery. Her phone was videotaping the whole time, capturing the rescue.
        
        You go viral as a hero
      - Save yourself
        You scramble up from the ground and run away from the market as the fire spreads from stall to stall. You keep running until you are a few streets away, then fall against a wall, panting. When the report comes on the news that night, saying how many people died in the fire, you turn it off. You can’t face yourself.
        
        Wracked with guilt
      - Help Chihuahua
        One woman, fleeing, dropped your purse, and the Chihuahua trapped inside it. From your vantage point on the ground, you are on eye level with it, and feel that you are communicating across species boundaries. The dog is asking—nay, begging—you to save it. You crawl forward and grab the purse handle, then turn and run from the market.
        You stop a few streets away and unzip the purse, reaching in to comfort the dog. It bites you with its needle-sharp teeth and squirms out of the bag, disappearing down the street.
        
        Unappreciated hero
    - - Demand papaya
        “I don’t want whatever that is,” you say. “Give me a papaya!”
        The vendor holds out his hand for more money. Apparently the papayas cost more than a dollar. You check your pockets. That’s all the money you have on you. You sigh and trudge away. Apparently today is not the day for your papaya curiosity to be cured.
        
        Disappointment
      - Take the paper
        You take the paper. Apparently today is not the day for your papaya curiosity to be cured. It’s thin onionskin paper, with a few words on it in narrow slanted cursive. It lists an address a few streets over.
        You knock on the door, which swings open under even that slight pressure. “Hello?” you call. The carpet smells of stale cat urine. You hear a voice at the end of the hallway, and approach it.
        The old woman is hunched over in the darkness, muttering to herself rhythmically. You creep closer to listen. “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Zamborino. Huckititis. Nianicimide.”
        You realize the old woman has one bright blue eye open, staring directly at you. Do you apologize, or ask if that was a real spell?
        
        Apologize
        “I’m sorry… the door was open…”
        The woman flutters her knobby hands, dispelling your words. “What do you want to know?”
        “Huh?”
        “Any question. I can answer any question for you.”
        “Even like my future?”
        “Any question.”
        You think for a moment.
        
        Ask how you will die
        “You will die in Singapore,” the woman says immediately.
        “What? Singapore? Why would I be there? What if I just don’t go?”
        “Only one question per person,” the old woman says, closing her eyes.
        “Whatever. Fate is just a word,” you say. “I’m just not going to go to Singapore.”
        “Do what you want,” the woman says with a soft chuckle. “That word will find you when the time is right.”
        You turn and storm out of this creepy dark building. As you push through the door you hear the woman laughing hard, saying, “What an unlucky person!”
        You shake your head. Crazy old lady.
        
        Die in Singapore.
        
        Ask for your significant other’s email password
        “Um,” you say, feeling kind of stupid for asking. “You wouldn’t happen to know my S.O.’s email password, do you?”
        “Ah,” the old woman says. “You think they’re cheating, do you.”
        You shift your weight from foot to foot, not meeting her eyes. “Yeah.”
        “Why not just ask that?”
        “Oh, you’re right, that makes more sense. Can I ask that instead?”
        “Too late!” cackles the old woman. “It’s ‘pumpernickel.’”
        You go home and sign into the email account, carefully typing “pumpernickel,”—you usually get confused and spell it “pumpernickle,” but not today. There’s too much riding on this.
        There’s a bunch of emails from Reddit in the inbox, which is already a red flag. But even worse is the terse exchange about having you killed in Singapore so your S.O. can run off with the baker from down the street. Pumpernickel. It all makes sense now.
        
        Die in Singapore.
        
        Ask
        “Was that a real spell?”
        The woman makes a sound that can only be described as a cackle. She just oozes onomatopoeia. “Of course not! That would be ridiculous!” she says.
        You smile. She reminds you of your grandmother, who likes to sit out on the porch smoking cigars and yelling at the neighbors in Russian.
        “So, what do you want?” the woman asks.
        “I want to know the shape of the universe.”
        “That’s how you want to use my Sight? Not for a prediction?”
        You nod enthusiastically.
        “All right, then.” The old woman closes her eyes, nodding to herself. “It’s a paralellopipogram.”
        You nod thoughtfully, not understanding the answer or even really why you asked.
        “It’s a good question,” the woman says as if she’d read your thoughts, which she may well have. “I’m Chrono,” she says, the wrinkles of her face multiplying as she grins. “I think you may have the makings of a clairvoyant. Do you find you can make sense of coincidence?”
        
        Yes
        “All right. I will take you on as my apprentice if you can bring me a plumbus.”
        You narrow your eyes at the old woman, sensing a trick. “That’s a Sisyphean task. There’s no such thing as a plumbus, they’re fictional.”
        The woman laughs, impressed. “Very good. Consider yourself my apprentice.”
        Your heart feels light and quick as a hummingbird. You have never been so excited to learn.
        
        You gain a mentor!
        
        No
        “No?” you say. This day has gotten too weird. You’re not in Kansas anymore, but you sure want to go back.
        The smile falls from the old woman’s face. Actually falls, her teeth clattering on the floor. Her skin starts melting from her face. You scream and jump back, pivoting to run down the hallway. But the door at the end keeps getting further away no matter how fast you run. Behind you, the monster cackles.
        
        Death by cackle
    - - Take a bite
        You take a deep breath to steel yourself and bite into one of the lemon slices, using your teeth to pull the flesh from the peel.
        Ack! It’s more sour than you could have imagined. Your face contorts as you try to swallow. The vendor shakes is head at you, smiling. He ducks under the table again, this time bringing up a jar of Tapatio salsa. You’re bewildered, but he gestures for you to hold out a lemon. You do so, hesitantly, and he pours some salsa on it.
        You’re unsure about this, but you don’t want to look like a wimp, so you take a bite.
        Ack! Even worse than the first time. There’s a sizable chunk of jalapeno in your mouth, in addition to a lemon seed.
        The vendor is doubled over in silent laughter.
        
        Yell at him
        “You’re a lackluster salesman! You’re mediocre at your job!” you shout. “What kind of business owner does that to a customer?”
        A passing teenager is unimpressed by your complaints. “Chill out, Captain Thesaurus!” she shouts, rolling her heavily mascaraed eyes.
        You scour your brain for hipper insults to throw at the fruit man. “You suck! You have no swag!” You glance back at the teenager. For a moment you think she’s having an epileptic fit before realizing she’s just laughing at you so hard she’s losing control of your body. It seems Captain Thesaurus has just exacerbated the situation. The fruit vendor is flabbergasted by your behavior. It was just the classic lemon-salsa prank, and you are totally overreacting. Bogus.
        
        Humiliated by teen
        
        Walk Away
        You’re confused and embarrassed from this situation, but you decide to be the bigger person. “Goodbye,” you say coldly, leaving the rest of the lemon on the table, and stalk off to buy a drink to get that taste out of your mouth.
        A middle-aged, harshly blonde woman buying local honey has a large purse with a Chihuahua sitting in it. It’s staring at you with those bulbous, owl-like eyes. You feel like it’s judging you, and somehow this puts you over the edge.
        “What’s your problem?” you shout at the dog. “What is that? A kitten? A mouse? No, it’s an ugly little alien dog. I bet there isn’t enough meat on you to make one hotdog! I hope you’re happy, smug little… little…”
        You lose steam. Everyone is staring at you now. A teenager is filming you with her cell phone. A short bald man stands frozen with a granola bar halfway to his mouth. The dog’s owner looks terrified, as if you’ll turn on her next.
        “I just… I just wanted justice…” you say weakly.
        The teen tugs at her beanie. “Epic,” she says. “This is gonna get so many hits on Youtube.”
        
        You go viral for yelling at a dog. I hope you’re ashamed of yourself
      - Lose your nerve
        You feel the lemon juice seeping into the little cuts on your fingers, and decide you’re not ready for that to happen to your mouth. You give the vendor his knife back, and leave the market carrying your lemon chunks until you happen upon a street with a fish and chips shop. You purchase a meal and drizzle lemon juice over your fish.
        
        Have a great lunch
    - - You remain silent.
        You sense that this man’s wisdom exceeds your own. His actions may seem cruel, but he is just trying to teach you a lesson. Life is change. Beautiful things are destroyed, and new ones created.A line of T.S. Eliot’s comes to mind. “Do I dare disturb the universe? Do I dare to eat a peach?”
        
        Don’t dare
        You don’t dare to eat a peach, afraid of watching the vendor crush them in front of you one by one. You nod goodbye and leave the farmer’s market behind you. You remember the feeling you’d had earlier, of being chased, but dismiss it. You take your dollar to McDonalds for some fries. McDonalds cashiers never smash the food in front of a patron’s eyes. This is comforting to you, you tell yourself as you watch your fries being funneled into a small white paper sack. This is good. This is safe.
        You wipe sticky crumbs from a plastic chair with a napkin and sit down to munch on your dissatisfying fries. What a normal day you’re having. What a normal, perfectly fine day.
        
        Die of boredom 40 years later
        
        Dare
        You do indeed dare to eat a peach. You point to another one, equally as lovely as the first. The vendor smiles a gentle smile, and gestures for you to pick it up yourself. You do, and raise it to your mouth. There is a soft tickle of peach fuzz against your tongue before your teeth slice through the peachflesh, your mouth full of perfume, tart, sweet. You have learned something today.
        
        Learned something!
    - - Take an apple yourself
        You take an apple yourself, because there’s one that just seems to call out to you, the little gleam on its skin catching your eye like a wink. You remove it from the structure with care as if playing Jenga, using your other hand to brace those around it.
        The pyramid topples. Apples bounce everywhere, making hollow thunks against the concrete, against your bones. You are buried in apples, smothered by apples, simply inundated by apples.
        
        Die by apples
      - Ask the vendor to hand you one
        “One apple, please!” You hand the vendor a dollar. He jabs his hand into the apple pyramid as if ripping out a heart and somehow removes an apple from near the bottom without disturbing any of the others. He holds it in both hands, over his head. A voice speaks, seeming not to come from the vendor but from the air around him.
        “This therefore hath seemed good to me, that a man should eat and drink, and enjoy the fruit of his labour, wherewith he hath labored under the sun, all the days of his life, which God hath given him: and this is his portion.”
        “What?” you ask.
        “Ecclesiastes,” the voice tells you, and after a brief pause starts back up again. “And the woman saw that the tree was good to eat, and fair to the eyes, and delightful to behold: and she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave to her husband who did eat.” Pause. “Genesis.”
        “You know,” you venture, “It probably wasn’t an apple that was being referred to in that chapter of the Bible. Just based on the region and time period.”
        The vendor looks at you appraisingly and hands over the apple.
        You take a bite.
        Instantly you understand everything; all the different paths your life could take. Some endings are scary, some horribly sad, some full of love. Everything is happening all at once everywhere. The knowledge is clear as a trumpet blast in your ear.
        
        Achieve omniscience
    - - See how deep the rabbit hole goes
        Defiantly, you peel the banana and take a bite. You’re staying in Wonderland. You sense him behind you, stepping onto the patio that marks the boundary of the farmer’s market. He does not see you yet, but raises his head to the sky and sniffs. The two of you lock eyes. It’s him. The gorilla.
        
        Fight
        You throw your banana on the ground and crush it under your heel like a cigarette, getting pale yellow mush all over your shoes. You don’t care. You’ve got a fight to fight. You’re gonna get some frickin closure.
        As you walk toward the gorilla with a purposeful stride, you scan for possible weapons. Your eyes bounce from booth to booth. There’s the fruit stand where you got the banana, which you certainly don’t want to return to. Farm-fresh eggs. A burly man dressed in chain mail is hawking…swords.
        
        Eggs
        You grab a carton of eggs, shouting an apology to the young woman with the print dress and long braid at the table. She looks confused, but calls, “Good luck!”
        “Luck is not in my vernacular!” you yell back, throwing eggs as you run, but they are landing wildly off mark, hitting the ground, a tree, a passerby. The gorilla is just standing there, waiting for you.
        You are now only a couple yards away from the gorilla. You throw one more egg, which goes wide, but the gorilla calmly reaches out one hand and grabs it from the air like a fly.
        You are regretting every decision you have made since you woke up this morning. The gorilla strides toward you on its bandy legs, arms swinging loosely. It gives you the egg back, looming over you. You feel the gorilla’s hot breath on your forehead, smell the halitosis. It grabs your jaw with one huge hand and tilts your face up aggressively.
        “Be careful,” the gorilla grunts. “Go meet Jensen. The Lichtenstein Hilton.” And it walks away.
        
        You remember you are a spy embroiled in a worldwide crisis.
        
        Sword
        You dash past the Ren Fair booth, snatching a sword from its scabbard. You don’t need to say anything to the vendor. He knows a quest when he sees one. “Defeat that ne’er-do-well!” he calls after you.
        You can’t read the gorilla’s expression, but judging from the way he is glancing around, he has lost his cool. His long hand closes around a long piece of wood engraved with the phrase “I’d rather be fishing,” and raises it to parry your strike just as you lunge with your sword.
        The gorilla is fighting defensively, just blocking all of your attacks without initiating any of his own.
        Veins pumping with adrenaline, you shout, “Fight me like a man!”
        The gorilla growls, which you somehow understand to mean, “I am a female gorilla.” And then, “It is dishonorable to injure a weakling like you.”
        
        Stop fighting. You can’t hit a girl.
        You let your sword arm fall. “This just feels wrong. I can’t fight a girl.”
        The gorilla makes a low rumbling sound, almost like a purr, which you take to mean she accepts this. She steps closer and reaches out a hand to shake in truce. You lift your own, shifting the sword to your non-dominant hand—and as you do so, the gorilla grabs it from you. You had not imagined such a large creature could move so fast.
        You eye the gorilla warily. She is not attacking you. She is examining the sword’s pulchritudinous pommel. It really is quite something, set with green and blue jewels. The gorilla nods decisively, raises the sword, and plunges it into your chest, catching your arm with her other hand as your knees buckle. She eases you to the ground and sets down the sword so her hands are free for sign language. She calmly signs “misogynist,” at you.
        However, you don’t understand sign language.
        
        Die in confusion
        
        Stop fighting to apologize for assuming the gorilla’s gender.
        You let your sword arm fall. “Listen, I’m sorry,” you say. “I try not to make assumptions about gender, I just was so scared I wasn’t thinking clearly. I know I have a lot of learning left to do.”
        The gorilla nods and reaches out a hand to shake in truce. You lift your own, shifting the sword to your non-dominant hand.
        The gorilla makes a quiet hooting sound.
        “Yes, it is a beautiful sword,” you agree. “It’s not mine, though, I was just borrowing it from that guy for this fight.”
        The gorilla leads you back to the chain-mail-clad man and pays for the sword. She puts a heavy hand on your shoulder and growls kindly, “This is a worthy weapon. But you will need a mentor to teach you about fighting and not making assumptions about masculinity or a gender binary. Would you like to be my apprentice?”
        You kneel down, fist over your heart. “It would be an honor.”
        
        You gain a mentor!
        
        Keep fighting
        “I’m no weakling!” you shout. You swing your sword wildly. The sword salesman runs over to disrupt the fight.
        “I’m sorry, quester, but your form is terrible. You might injure a bystander.”
        The gorilla growls in agreement. Her eyes lock with the swordsman’s and they exchange a look of Mamihalapinatapai. The swordsman breaks the eye contact, looking down at the ground. The gorilla is a powerful warrior. Way out of his league. He just makes the swords, he doesn’t use them.
        The gorilla gives a soft hoot. She is complimenting his handiwork.
        You are not sure either of them remember you are even standing there.
        They are walking toward his booth so he can show her the other weapons he has made, the mace, the stiletto dagger, the unfinished crossbow.
        You stand there, still holding a sword. You are wishing you hadn’t thrown your banana on the ground, as you’re pretty hungry, especially after exerting all that energy in the fight. You sigh and lay the sword on the ground. Might as well head home and eat some cereal.
        
        Eat cereal at home, alone.
        
        Flight
        You drop your banana and run, dodging around Amish farmers in their overalls, past hipsters marveling at homemade jams. The gorilla follows at a casual pace. The pace of a hunter who has already won.
        You are hit by a bus. The gorilla sprints to your side and…pulls off its head. The world spinning around you, you wonder whether this is a pre-death hallucination. Or whether the banana was drugged.
        “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” says the freckled teenager inside the gorilla suit. “This isn’t what was supposed to happen. It was just a prank.” You feel a warm trickle of blood from your head, but no pain. You are just staring up at the teenager’s face as if it holds all the secrets of the world. Each of us does. Every last one of us.
        His hot tears fall on your face. You smile weakly. You want him to know you don’t blame him, and search for words to this effect. Only one comes to mind. “Hello,” you say.
        
        You die with a sense of peace.
        *
      - Return to your boring life
        You throw the banana down on the ground. The story ends.
        You wake up in your bed, furrow your brow, and go back to sleep.
        
        I guess it was all a dream.
        *