Nudging
By Michael Shimek
“I never meant to hurt anyone. Well, at least not at first. It’s hard to get what you want, though, when there are people standing in your way of success.”
The homeless man--I assume this, looking at his ratty, dirty, smelly clothes, his scraggly, knotted beard and hair, and the bags around him that were most certainly his belongings--is sitting upright on the bench next to me, snoring slightly with his hands folded in his lap. I can see each breath in the cool, autumn morning, as well as my own. He continues his sleeping as I continue my talking.
“That was my problem, my downfall. Ever since I was a little boy, succeeding in anything and everything dominated my thoughts. The thing is, I was never any good at anything and everything, just average. I was never the smartest in my classes, but I always managed to be in the top twenty-five percent. Athleticism had skipped my thin body from building much muscle, but I still played basketball, football, golf, and lacrosse through high school and my freshman year at Princeton. My mother made me take music lessons in junior high, both piano and violin, but that didn’t last too long. I wasn’t average when it came to playing music; I was just plain bad. Despite lacking any great skills, I still managed to succeed in life thanks to one little, hidden talent.
“You see,” I said, looking at the unmoving man, “I nudge things.” Somewhere in my mind I want him to react to this, but he never awakes. A little disappointed, I carry on with my story.
“The discovery came to me when I was only eight-years old. It could have happened before that age, but it’s the first memory I have of the power coming forth.
“Hanging out with a few neighbor friends, we all decided to see who could run the fastest. Each of us threw a dollar bill into a baseball cap, and the first person to run around the house and cross the finish line would win and get to keep the four dollars. By the time we rounded the last corner of my neighbor’s house I was in last place. Jimmy was leading, with Randy and Henry close behind, while I was lagging several paces behind everyone. There was no hope at winning. I could see the hat, with the earnings sticking out and mocking me. I imagined Jimmy’s right foot tripping over his left. To my surprise, that’s exactly what happened. He flew headfirst into the ground, and because Randy and Henry were so close behind him, they couldn’t avoid tripping over him and falling as well. I bounded over them with ease, claiming my prize as I crossed the finish line.
“I didn’t realize what I had done at the time, categorizing the event under strange luck. Years would pass by before this odd talent would manifest again. Thankfully, it showed up just in time to escape getting arrested for drinking and driving.
“God, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Maybe I just need to tell someone. Anyone. You know? I’ve been holding onto this secret, and I think I just need to speak it. To get it out there. And it’s not like you’re going to go blabbing about this.” The reason escapes me, but I feel compelled to tell this passed out bum my whole story. “Anyway, let me go on.”
“It was late at night, probably just after midnight, and I was on my way home from a party. Several of my football buddies decided to celebrate a win against our high school’s biggest rival, Pendleton High Seahawks, by throwing a party. After a few keg stands and drunkenly making out with my high school crush, the party began dying down. Instead of choosing to sleep on the floor, I thought driving home to sleep in my comfy bed would be a good idea. The drive was a couple of miles through back roads, so I figured it would be a piece of cake getting home without causing any accidents. And I was right. Sort of.
“It was one of the few times I foolishly got behind the wheel of a car to drive after feeling inebriated. It was stupid, I know, but I figured I could make it without any trouble. I was doing fine, and probably only had a mile left, when the flashing lights of red and blue appeared in my mirrors. I knew I was too drunk to be let off with just a warning, so I started panicking. I almost ran for it, thinking if I just made it home I would be safe. Knowing that running from the police would make matters worse, I focused all of my attention on the lights behind me, wishing they would disappear.
“The feeling that went through my body when I focused on that cop car was intense. I had never had sex before that moment, but it was better than any orgasm my hands had ever given me. It was like my brain had opened up to a whole new wonderful world. Power and happiness washed over me. There was nothing in the world that could be compared to this feeling, and it only lasted for a second or two.
“I get this feeling every time the moment before I nudge. It is heaven.”
The sound of an early morning jogger approaching makes me pause my story. Taking a sip from my cup--I drink a large caramel latte every morning, with an extra shot or two of espresso to help wake me up--I look out into the park, pretending to enjoy the view. Actually, the green grass and changing leaves swaying in the gentle, cool breeze is quite nice, so there is no need to pretend. A younger, in-shape man strolls by as he nods to the music in his headphones. Huge clouds of breath vapor can be seen with each puff of air. I wait for the jogger to disappear before speaking again.
“Where was I? Oh, yes! Moving the cop car. I don’t know how, but suddenly I could feel myself push the car and its obnoxious flashing lights away from my own Jeep Cherokee. Watching the lights in my mirror, they disappeared as the cop swerved on the road and into the ditch, flipping several times before coming to a halt.
“Slowing my vehicle down, I weighed the options in my head. I could pretend as if nothing had happened, ignore the police officer, and then head home. This option almost won me over, but I knew that I had caused the accident. As impossible as it was, my mind had pushed the car into that ditch. I didn’t want to hurt the person; I just didn’t want the car behind me anymore. My conscience got the better of me, so I turned around to see if help was needed.
“The car was upside down, and the officer behind the wheel was passed out. Knowing first aid from a lifeguarding class I had taken the previous semester in the school year, I pulled him out and offered the best help I could. He was unhurt, but he was also unconscious. Since cell phones weren’t really around at the time--shit, you look older than me, no offense, you remember how rough that was--I got back into the officer’s cruiser and radioed for some help. When he finally came to, he was so relieved to be safe that he let me go with a warning and had another officer drive me home, while another drove my car home. They were even quiet enough to make sure my parents wouldn’t wake up. That probably would have been worse than being arrested; my parents were very strict when I was younger.”
I stop to take a few more sips of my beverage, savoring the warm pick-me-up. It hits the spot.
“So,” I say, turning back to the snoring man, “the next day, after a very rough night of drunken sleep, I wake up thinking it was all my imagination. How wrong I was! I immediately try my skeptical ability and nudge my alarm clock right off my nightstand and onto the floor. You wouldn’t believe my amazement! It was impossible, but it was happening. I spent the whole day locked in my bedroom moving things around with my mind.”
“Let me explain something. It’s not telekinesis; understand. Yes, I can move things with my mind, but only slightly. Which is why I call it nudging. I ‘nudge’ things the way I want them to go.
“You wouldn’t believe how excited I was! Finally, I could make things go my way.
“I couldn’t really do much with it, at first. I mostly just played around with my new power and toyed around with minor things. The ability came in handy to change the channels on the television or play practical jokes on my friends. It really wasn’t until I turned eighteen that my life really got interesting. You see, in Minnesota, once a person turns eighteen it is legal for them to gamble. And wouldn’t you believe it that a large casino happened to be right in my hometown. Craps and roulette, those were my games. I was never any good at card games, but it was easy to make the dice roll my way or make the little, white ball land on my number. So as to not draw any unwanted attention, I traveled the state to different casinos, winning money left and right. In the following six months before deciding to attend college, I had racked up over fifty thousand dollars. I couldn’t believe it! Success was racing through my mind.
“After a while, I began to experiment a bit more with my newfound secret. I knew I could move physical things, but I had wondered if I could nudge someone’s mind. Testing it out on my father, I asked him if I could borrow twenty bucks from him. I didn’t need the money, but the second I asked the question, I could feel him thinking about it in his head. Everyone thinks about a question they are asked. Everyone. Even if their answer seems automatic, there is always the slightest hint of what they are choosing to say. I can feel this, almost like time slows down to a complete stop. Then I use this to nudge the person’s choice into my favor. This is how I persuaded Princeton into accepting me into their university. Oh, and of course I got the twenty from my father.”
A few more joggers run by and I stop again, waiting for them to pass. Soon this park will be a bit more crowded with people, enjoying the perfect autumn day. My story will have to speed up if I want to get it completely off my chest.
“Skipping ahead through a few years of studying heavily, and earning money while gambling on the side, I finally became a millionaire on my twenty-first birthday.
“A few buddies and I thought it would be a blast to travel on over to Las Vegas and have a couple nights of fun. I footed the bill for plane tickets and a hotel room; it was my idea in the first place. After casino hopping through the night, we ended up staying in a suite at Caesars Palace, fully compensated for being a high roller. The rest of the trip was basically free, and by the end of the trip I was two million dollars richer.
“Once again, success was on my mind. I poured a good amount of money into my studying and school degree--it’s quite expensive getting a B.A.S from Princeton; they gouge you for your money while having the nerve to ask for more in donations after graduating--and then I spent a fair amount investing in different business opportunities. I was getting richer and richer every year. I could have retired by twenty-five, but I just couldn’t stop wanting more success.
“Then I wanted power.
“You see, the money was great, but I was missing something. I was having fun buying houses and boats while throwing extravagant parties to entice some lovely lady friends into spending some quality time with me, if you catch my drift. But soon I found you could have all the money in the world and still be nothing if no one respected you. Once you have that, you’re golden.
“Earning respect from others is a type of power. When people respect you, they listen to you.
“So, what do I do next? I start to give away millions of dollars to all sorts of different kinds of charities. I donated money to hospitals, schools, and homeless people, like yourself. I gave money to foundations that research and study different diseases in hopes of a cure. I also look into businesses that try to develop new, more affordable, and energy efficient technology. I still give to these charities, and I’m always looking for more to donate to. By doing all of this, I’ve earned a very positive reputation, not only in the United States but in several other countries as well. In fact, maybe you’ve heard of me? Anthony McWeather?”
The homeless man never makes even the slightest move from his snoring perch in reference to my name. I frown but keep talking.
“No? Well, everyone will eventually. Anyway, while donating all of this money, I also went back to school and earned a degree in accountancy and finance so I could understand the business world a little more. The degrees helped immensely. Through knowing people, I was able to obtain a job working for one of the most successful companies in history. While climbing up the ranks, I quickly became close friends with the founder and CEO, Mr. Mitchell Robinson--who is currently ranked as the thirty-fifth richest person in the world, mind you--along with most of the board of directors, the vice president, and many other people within the company. I’ve been with the company for several years now, and they all love me. And, you’ll never get this, they even have me in their succession plan! You know what that means, right? When Mr. Mitchell Robinson dies, I become the new CEO!
“You wouldn’t believe how excited I was when I first found this out a year ago. Imagine, me, pretty much running a whole company. I would be rich, while becoming richer, and have power. There’s only one problem with this; I’m a very impatient man.
“I’m currently in my early thirties. I’m not old by any means, but I’m also not getting any younger. Mr. Mitchell Robinson is a fit, healthy man in his mid-fifties with plenty of time on this planet before nature would take its course. The only thing I could hope for would be a fatal disease, like cancer, or possibly some sort of accident…”
Trailing off into my own thoughts, I see the homeless man finally stir. Hacking up some nasty phlegm, he yawns several times before turning to see me sitting next to him.
He stares at me with drowsy, bloodshot eyes. His face is full of confusion, trying to understand why a dressed up businessman is sitting on a bench next to him while he wakes up. I give him a warm, friendly smile, which seems to only add more confusion to his face.
“What’re you doin’ here?” he asks, slurring his speech.
“I was just looking for someone to talk to, someone to confide in. Can I trust you to keep my secret?”
“Huh? What?” He gives me a queer look and then gazes down into his hands that are resting in his lap. “Crazy birds stealin’ my food again. Damn birds. Don’t know what they’re doin’. They tryin’ to arrest me. I aint done nothin’ wrong! Money. Gonna need me some money. Find me some bitches. Cigarettes and matches. Booze. Gonna need all that.”
The man’s insane ramblings go on about nothing. Standing up, I contemplate giving him a hemorrhage in his brain. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve nudged someone into dying this way. Instead, I take out several coins from one of the pockets of my brown, wool topcoat and toss them into his lap. His hands catch them, and then he looks up at me smiling a wide, toothless grin.
“I think I can trust you,” I say as I walk down the paved path that brought me to the comforting bench.
The leaves are just beginning to fall and pepper the land, which is one of my favorite times of the year. Finding a nearby trashcan, I finish the last few sips of my beverage and throw it in. Looking at my wrist, my Rolex tells me I have twenty minutes to get to my destination on time. That is, if I still want to adhere to my plan.
As I walk a brisk pace, I can feel nerves begin to travel through my body. Whether they are nerves of fear or excitement, I’m not sure. I try to take my mind away from the subject, but it’s the only thing I can think about. I weigh out the pros and cons. I go through every possible reason why I should do it and every possible reason why I shouldn’t do it. I feel like my mind is trying to back out of something it has already decided.
Reaching the edge of the park, I cross the street into the busy city. People are hustling and bustling about, making their morning commute to work or wherever they need to be. Taxis, buses, bicyclists, and other vehicles rev, squeal, ding, and break in the packed streets. I blend in with the crowd, walking along with the traffic that moves in waves at the obedience of the traffic lights. It doesn’t take me too long to traverse the two blocks, making my timing perfect.
Standing outside the Time Warner Center, I don’t have to wait long before Mr. Mitchell Robinson walks out of the building after an early morning meeting. Being the prompt, punctual, on-the-dot kind of man, he looks around the crowd of people for me. We are supposed to meet at exactly nine o’clock to make a meeting across the city. Not seeing my face among the many people, he pulls out his phone and begins to call me as he strolls to the curb to wait for his limo.
There are two things I’ve noticed about the salt and pepper haired man when he travels. First, he always steps right on the curb, dangerously close to the street, so his limo driver can see him clearly. Second, I’ve noticed the limo driver always drives a little too fast when pulling up to his boss. The two in combination is an accident waiting to happen.
Today is no different.
As soon as Mr. Mitchell Robinson steps onto the curb, I call out his name and wave at him. Turning towards the call of his name, he is momentarily distracted from his limo that I can already see driving in his direction. He sees me and puts his phone back in his pocket as he gives a small wave back. His limo is only seconds away from driving up next to him, once again driving way too fast
One little nudge. That’s all it will take to continue on my way to success.
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