One Subway Ride to Anywhere

"The key to being happy is knowing you have the power to choose what to accept and what to let go." -Dodinsky

Gemma didn’t like being a criminal. Does anyone, really? She could get rich from dirty money and stolen goods, maybe fly to somewhere in South America and disappear forever. But what would that accomplish? She’d still have that aching pain in her stomach each time she spent a dime that wasn’t really hers. Limits. Yeah, that was it. She needed to set her own limits.

“No, not today Manuel. I want a break.”

“Gemma! You should have seen the men that came into Machiavelli’s last week! Rich as they come.” There was a pause on her end of the line, followed by a loud sigh that was exaggerated for Manuel’s sake. This little argument had become more of a routine than a random occurrence. He would say that some corner store had just come in to a load of cash and suggest that it was a once-in-a-lifetime steal. And Gemma would always begrudgingly agree to tag along. They would get a fair amount for sure, but it was never enough to live comfortably. But no one ever did this side of the Bronx anyway.

“Fine. But you better be careful about running your mouth. The cops can hear these little conversations, you know. Movies don’t lie.” Gemma smiled. Manuel laughed convincingly and hung up, but not before he gave her the location and time of action. She glanced at her watch, which she had stolen a few months back, and gasped. Forty minutes. Forty minutes to get out the door, onto the Subway, and find wherever Machiavelli’s was. She dressed herself for warm weather and walked down the hall of her crowded apartment. It hadn’t cost much, which was why she received jealous looks by passersby. A place like this wasn’t all that common. It was air conditioned and boasted a heater in every room. The bathrooms had warm water and were relatively clean. Really, aside from the smell of weed and the moldy ceiling, she couldn’t have asked for a better place.

The Subway came into view before the sun had peaked up above the low-lying buildings, and Gemma suddenly regretted leaving her jacket behind. Other people shivered around her as well but they had good reason for it. They must envy her warm leggings and grey beanie over the soaked rags and peeling shoes. How tired they must be. Tired of never having enough. Tired of losing hope. Maybe even tired of living. Gemma felt sorry for them but knew that it was pointless to show pity. It wasn’t as though there was much she could do. Pity is more of an insult than a consolation when accompanied with nothing but meaningless words and half-hearted actions. Still, she felt the need to help. Maybe if her own life got better and she could afford to give away her earnings then these suffering people could share in her wealth. That, though, was quite the If.

She hopped on the train when the doors opened without looking behind her. They were basically the same, her and those figures on the cold pavement a few feet away. Both of us are miserable, she thought. Only, I choose to be miserable. She had it easy when put that way. The doors closed behind her to block the only gateway between a lonely girl and her siblings in poverty.

“You’re right, Gemma. You do choose to be miserable. Might I ask why?” She spun around on her heels to face whomever it was and was met with not some sneering attacker but a man who could only be described as a king. He wore no gold crown atop his head nor a robe of purple or red. Nonetheless, he would stand out like a berry in a bowl of mush. No sensible monarch would reside in a place like this. Why, then, did she take him for nobility? Instead a white suit brought a blinding light across Gemma’s eyes, forcing her to turn away. When her eyes adjusted to the strange light, she could see him in full.

“Who are you?”

“Oh, I am many things. A traveler. A king. Right now, though? For now I am a messenger.” He was smiling at her from a seat on the right side of the subway with his arms folded in his lap.

“Please, sit. I have a gift for you.” Gemma wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t about to go take candy from a stranger, even if he was more handsome than Mark Wahlberg. But she found out the hard way that the door was locked and found no other option than to sit and confront him face to face. The Subway car was empty so there was no use in yelling for help. She chose a seat across from the man and gingerly did what he asked.

“Wonderful. Now, what if I told you that at the end of this conversation you will receive twenty thousand dollars. That should be more than enough to move to South America?” That was the second time he had read her mind and she really didn’t know what to think.

“I would say you were lying,” she said. Inside, though, she was shaking with guilty excitement.

“Ah, this is where you will have to trust me.” That was the last thing she wanted to do, but what choice did she have? “All I want to know is what you will do with twenty thousand dollars.”

“Spend it.”

“Could you please be more specific?” Manuel was expecting her soon. What would he say if she was late? Surely nothing pleasant could come from it. She had a job that she had promised to do.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll move somewhere nice. Get a job. Bask in useless riches.” Twenty thousand dollars could mean the world, no, the universe to the people in her neighborhood. Half of that could change a life for good.

“That does sound nice. Do you think those people at the last stop would say the same?” He asked. Gemma thought about that for a second. No. They would spend it on more practical things, like food and basic shelter. “Amazing, isn’t it? The impact it would make differs from person to person, though it’s still the same thing.” Gemma looked around at the other people in the car. Although they seemed to be the only ones there, She was starting to freak out.

“Okay. I get your point, creep. Selflessness and all that crap.” The king just laughed.

“I understand your skepticism. But please answer truthfully.”

“I guess I’d give it to those people back there in the Subway, right? I mean, they need it more than I do.”

“Good! How happy they would be to get all of that money. They would have basic needs, and excess money to enjoy. But then what? What would they do with what’s left?” Gemma tilted her head to one side. She supposed that they would just spend it on the luxury they never had. And then after that… she didn’t know.

“What happens then? What happens when it’s all gone?” She asked the king.

“That’s that. The money’s spent.” She was puzzled. Her task with Manuel seemed distant now; a second, less superior thought muffled in the back of her head.

“The person just goes back to where they were before. No more riches. That, that… isn’t right.” The king smiled. Everyone got here eventually. Although Gemma had done so in great time.

“They wouldn’t run out of happiness. Money, yes. Never happiness, for do you remember where they got the money?”

“From me. Out of… kindness.” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. “It isn’t them who spends the money. The money spends them.”

“But-” The King began.

“But that love will stay with them forever.” Gemma was shocked by her own profound words. It was as if the king had put them into her mouth and they had just forced their way out. The situation was odd enough, what with a king promising her money and a life away from here. Odder still was that she found herself weary of wealth and exploration.

“So I will ask you one more time. What will you do with twenty thousand dollars?” There was a pause. It wasn’t that she wasn’t sure of an answer, Gemma just hadn’t really wanted to share it.

“I don’t want it. Give it to those people at the Subway station, but only in necessities.”

“You have my word.” Gemma smiled widely, aware that she will still have to rob her way to success but was positive that she had made the right decision. The king smiled as well. He pulled out a small black notebook from the pocket of his white khakis. It smelled of leather and looked to be older than any book she had ever seen. He reached for a pen behind his ear (which had not been noticed by Gemma) and drew a line through one of the words. She looked over his shoulder, and before the king could close the book Gemma managed to make out her own name scribbled neatly in cursive. It was crossed out. This signified completion.

“Who are you?”

“Oh, I am many things. A traveler. A king. Right now, though? For now I am your friend.”

Gemma was no longer worried, no longer nervous about this strange man and his strange talents. She was however worried what Manuel might do if she missed the deadline by even five minutes.

“There is a passport on your bed and enough money for you to live as you wish. Unless, of course, you would rather go to Machiavelli’s?”