Making a Fortune

Everyone loved Mei-Xing, with the possible exception of Mei-Xing. This is not to say she disliked herself; only that she failed to see herself in the light that others did. She could not recognize the Mei-Xing who shone brightly through the veil of self-criticism and unnecessary apologies. Both of them - the Mei everyone loved and the one that Mei did not - kept a small rented room in a neighborhood where stuttering neon signs were never fixed and the family circle was never broken.

To her co-workers at the fortune cookie factory, young Mei was kind and respectful. She was also the swiftest worker they had ever seen. Many of the older women's hands were callused from repeated burns as they peeled thin cookies from a hot press. Mei's hands were flawless. A great number of cookies had to be destroyed if the dough hardened before being properly folded, or because they had been poorly folded and misshapen. Each of Mei's cookies was an exact replica of the masterpiece before it.

This is probably why no one noticed whenever Mei pocketed a fortune for herself and sent an otherwise perfect cookie down the line. Thousands of these tiny messages slipped through her fingers every day. Most of them said pretty much the same thing. She would sometimes laugh quietly to herself to imagine Confucius and Socrates finishing a meal together, breaking open a cookie, and the great Master Kong bragging, "I wrote that!" But, every once-in-a-while a bright turn of phrase or a glimmer of truth would catch Mei's eye and these would be the words alone by which she wanted to live.

Back in her room, Mei had a small vanity at which she would sit and tape her borrowed fortunes to the mirror. She could no longer see a reflection, only the lines and sayings in which she hoped to find meaning; to catch a glimpse of the life of the world to come. Something at hand. Something within. Mei did not know what this hidden life was, but she was becoming more sure of all it was not.

* * * * *

"So, you see, it's a win-win."

Howard smiled as the gentleman closed his laptop and leaned back. He had been on the other side of the table often enough to recognize that it had been a dazzling presentation. Confident but not cavalier; well-informed but not a know-it-all; this young buck earned Howard's respect for style, but something was missing. And, if Howard had learned anything in the thirty years it took him to reestablish his father's business, it was that there is truth to the old saying, "Not all that glitters is gold."

"How about the 300 positions that will be eliminated," Howard asked. "How would you explain to those workers that the loss of their jobs is a 'win'?"

Something tightened at the corners of the young suit's eyes. He sat up straight and leaned in a little toward Howard. "With all due respect, I'd call losing a dead-end job at a rundown factory in a long-forgotten industry a division championship! It'll give folks a fresh start. And, we're offering a generous severance --"

"By eliminating pension and benefits," interrupted Howard.

"They'll have first crack at applying --"

"-- for their old jobs?"

"No, for the twenty new positions we're creating."

"For which none of them is qualified?"

The young gun took a deep breath before answering. "There's paid training. We covered that."

"I know we did, son." Howard nodded slowly, "I know we did."

They sat in silence for several moments while the waitress brought the check. "Xie xie," Howard offered her, and waved off his would-be partner, "No. No, I'll get this." As he handed over a credit card, Howard pushed a small plate forward with two fortune cookies on it. "Go ahead. Maybe there'll be some guidance for us in one of these."

The young Turk declined to read his fortune out loud; laughing it off as stupid and superstitious. Howard suspected he may have felt convicted by what it actually said. This was a suspicion confirmed by what Howard had discovered in his own cookie. Stopping in the men's room on the way out, Howard crumbled the pieces in his fist and dropped them into the trash. He held out his hand, looking it over carefully. There had been no fortune in his cookie. As he washed at the sink, Howard searched the reflection in the mirror. Instead of a line or two of timeless wisdom to go on, he had been left with only the lines of his face to read for meaning; to catch a glimpse of the life of the world to come. Something at hand. Something within. Howard knew exactly what he was trying to avoid having to face, but he suddenly became unsure of what it might find as it turned its face to him.