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While watching the countdown clock to midnight, I couldn't help but marvel at how our lives revolve around numbers. We equate everything with numbers. We assign numbers to weights and measures and time and distance but, more importantly, we attach ourselves to the numbers we have assigned. We do this to such an extent that these numbers become a definition of who we are.
At midnight, more than 300,000 people stood shoulder to shoulder on the Las Vegas Strip. They gathered to celebrate reaching a number that had been reached millions of times prior to that moment. People in cities all over the world, gathered to celebrate reaching that number. And I was one of them. Who am I? Names aren’t important. Just call me The Writer and settle in for the story of what happened during, what would become, the year of my life.
I hadn’t planned to be on the Las Vegas Strip during the most crowded moment of the year. I had been talked into it by a friend who had promised that we would both have a great time. He was half right. He had met “the girl of his dreams.” I’m pretty sure that he will reconsider that description in the morning. To be honest, with all the alcohol that they had managed to consume within a relatively short period of time, I can say with a high degree of confidence that they will both reconsider a lot of things in the morning.
So there I was, sitting at the Centra bar inside the Luxor hotel. I didn’t want to be there for two reasons. One, I didn’t know anyone. And two, which was probably more important, I don’t drink. I was sitting there because we had arrived before the crowds. With less than an hour to go before midnight, every seat not attached to a slot machine was occupied. And then I saw her. She was African American in her mid-twenties. She was about 5 feet 7 inches tall, with a slim build that was hidden by an unflattering jumpsuit. What was unusual and probably not apparent to the crowd of revelers surrounding her, was that she was barefoot!
The jumpsuit was bright orange which might have made her stand out on any other night, but not tonight. The other thing that helped her blend in with her surroundings was that it was emblazoned with the Luxor logo. How she acquired the jumpsuit is anyone’s guess. One thing was certain, the Luxor prefers that their employees wear shoes while on duty. Maybe she picked it up in the gift shop or maybe it just fell out of the sky. Did it matter much? No. But when you put that together with being barefooted in the middle of a casino floor, well, that’s slightly offbeat. But then this is Las Vegas, a place where normality is something that you leave behind as soon as you board a plane and depart from your normal life.
She seemed to be looking for someone; perhaps a soulmate who was now staring into someone else’s soul. She started walking around the room as I turned back to the bar and the open Facebook page on my phone. It took me a moment to realize that she was standing next to me. I said hello but, instead of a response, all I got was a confused stare.
“Would you like a drink?” I asked. Still nothing. I decided to lighten the mood.
“So I say something and then you say something. It’s called a conversation but, I’ll admit, I haven’t had much success with it tonight. Years from now, when you talk about this, and you will, be kind.” Still nothing.
“And the streak continues.”
She still had that faraway look in her eyes, when she said, “You have an interesting mind.”
Not exactly the caliber of you could be George Clooney’s twin brother, but it was a start.
"I didn't know that I was being particularly brilliant, but let's go with that." Still nothing, so I kept going.
"What exactly do you like about my mind?"
She closed her eyes as if she was fighting back a headache.
"Are you okay?”
I figured that she had imbibed in one drink too many. I’ve known enough people who’ve made a career out of drinking to realize that her situation could take a terrible turn at any moment. I was concerned because it wouldn't help if she passed out in the middle of a crowd of people twenty minutes before midnight. Paramedics would have a hard time getting through the mess of mostly inebriated humanity. My damsel in distress mode must have kicked in because I found myself making an unusual gesture, at least for me.
“You seem as if you need to lie down. My buddy and I have a room here, but I’m pretty sure he’s not going to use it. Let me take you up there and you can rest for a while.”
At that moment, I thought about when and where we were. I added “No strings attached.” I also figured that it would be easier to summon help to the room if the need arose. I grabbed my phone and shoved it into my pocket. Then I got up and started moving towards the room elevators. My seat immediately filled with a paying customer.
She followed behind me as if we were tied together. We entered the crowded elevator and had to squeeze in to allow the doors to close. I noticed a few furtive glances from some of the other riders. I guess that was a natural response to seeing a short guy on crutches and an attractive woman heading up to a hotel room on New Year’s Eve. Yes, it did resemble a business deal. That thought had crossed my mind, but I really wasn’t interested in pay for play. If that was her game, then it would be game over very quickly.
After forty years as a writer, a large portion of that time as a magazine feature profile writer, I had become very good at sizing up people. This whole situation was unusual, but it wasn’t setting off any alarms. Maybe it was just my curiosity getting the better of me. Then again, it could have been that sixth sense that every reporter has when there’s the possibility of a story just around the corner, even a human-interest story.
When we reached the room, I pulled the key card out of my pocket. I inserted it into the lock slot, but nothing happened. I tried again but the indicator light never changed.
“They must have coded this thing wrong. It was pretty hectic when we checked in.
I’ll just go downstairs and get...”
Before I could finish, she took the card from my hand and inserted it into the slot.
The access light blinked.
“I guess you have the magic touch.” I said as we entered the room.
The door closed behind us and I turned to make sure that it was securely locked.
As I turned back, the lights went out. I expected that my biological lights would follow, the result of a blunt object contacting my skull. But instead, the unexpected happened. The room filled with an eerie blue glow. I watched as figures took shape in the center of the room. It was a holographic projection. She was standing rigid and motionless and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The source of the projection was coming from her eyes.
My head was reeling. Had she somehow managed to drug me? With no other light in the room, I was too disoriented to let go of my crutches in order to find the door handle. I needed to sit down and the only furniture I could make out was the bed. I sat down on the edge as I tried to make sense out of what was happening. That was probably a good thing because what I saw next would have knocked me down if I hadn’t already been seated. The image was of a twelve-year-old me!
I was sitting on the edge of a hospital bed. My mother was sitting in a chair alongside the bed. There were three old men in the other corners of the room. My mother was clearly distraught but putting on a brave face for my benefit. My father walked in. He had come straight from work and I could tell that he wasn’t pleased with what he saw.
"It’s been five hours. Why is he still here? Why isn't he in the children's ward?" He asked my mother.
After being brought up to speed about the lack of available beds in the children’s ward, he turned and quickly walked out of the room and down the hall to the nurse's station.
I heard a loud, angry voice filter down the hall.
"Is that dad?" I asked my mom. She said no, but I knew that it was.
A few million dollars’ worth of fireworks were shooting into the night sky. Loud music was blaring. People were screaming and shouting in celebration. I just sat there, staring at home movies that had never been made.
"Who or what are you?"