The Trade-Off

Tim's day had been hard. The woman of his dreams, Nancy Beardy, had just started going out with Tim's best friend, Gary, Tim's sister Tabby borrowed Tim's car and rear ended someone, and Tim's favourite professor, Doctor Rhian Morgan, told Tim that if his grades didn't improve, he would fail her class.

All in all, he was feeling pretty low.

And so he found himself doing what he often did when he was down: exploring the East End Flea Market. The low ceilings, loud din, and smell of incense enfolded Tim as he explored the hodgepodge of treasures. Hat racks, umbrella stands, old books, and wooden toys all danced across his vision, giving Tim a much needed distraction from his feelings.

It had become a habit lately, hanging out at the Market, which was an indication of how he thought his life was going. In his second year of his undergraduate degree, Tim was beginning to question why he had majored in English. It wasn’t as if a BA in English could actually land him a job to pay off the mounds of debt he was accumulating. He liked the subject, but for some reason couldn’t seem to end up in the good graces of his professors.

His love life was no better. He always picked the wrong girl! Nancy was just the latest of a long line of unobtainable women that he had fallen for. “You’re not my type,” they’d say, or “I like you, but like a brother.” It was brutal.

But then he heard the voice that would change everything. Standing in the East End Flea Market, flipping through of Mad Magazines, the voice on an old woman called to him from the booth behind him.

“It looks like you’ve seen better days,” the woman said with a voice that sounded like a rusty hinge,”I think I have just what you need.”

Curiosity hit Tim, and he left the magazines and crossed the aisle to see the woman. She was short, not much taller than five feet, and old as dirt. Her skin looked more akin to the bark of a tree than the flesh of a human. Tim looked down at her from above, his six-foot frame making him feel as if he were towering above her, and yet the way she measured him with her eyes made him feel small.

Her table held a few trinkets, pocket watches, a couple pendants, and old coins. Not many, spread haphazardly across the plywood. She grinned, showing as many missing teeth as ones that remained.

“Let me see your hands,” she said, holding out her own, palms up, to receive Tim’s. He complied, placing his hands in hers, which then closed with an iron grip. She hummed, then grunted.

“Dealt an unfair hand,” she said, “I’ve seen it before. Happens sometimes, no fault, no blame, just luck.”

“I don’t believe in luck,” Tim laughed, not taken by the fortune teller routine.

“And so you shouldn’t!” She laughed as well, “She’s a bitch, anyway. Cheats at bridge. But you… Only heartache in your future. The course is laid, the table is set. Too bad. Sorry. Wish I could help.”

She released his hands and began to fiddle with the trinkets before her.

“Wait,” Tim was confused, “you called me over for that? No sales pitch? No abracadabra? What’s your game?”

“No game, only business,” she said, crossing her arms over her saggy breasts, “everything has a cost, and you’ve got a bad lot. I don’t think you would be comfortable with the the cost to fix it.”

“You mean my fate?” Tim said, rolling his eyes, “I don’t believe in that either.”

“Of course you don’t,” she echoed his eye roll, “don’t blame you. That whore would suck your cock one minute, then fuck you in the ass the next. She’s terrible at family gatherings.”

Tim was dumbfounded.

“That all doesn’t matter,” the woman waved a thin arm as if batting flies, “you don’t need luck or fate. You need a fair trade. Then you can side-step those cows. They’re out to get you, but if we make it fair, they can’t touch you.”

“Fine, I’ll bite,” Tim was taken by her routine. It was just what he needed to distract from his garbage life, “what is it you want to do?”

“Give you what you need! Want to be wanted rather than rejected? Crave to be craved rather than discarded?”

“Of course I do,” Tim said, being more drawn in than he was willing to admit, “but how could you possibly do that? If you could do that, I’m in, but what would you need from me?”

“Nothing, really,” she said, “just the cash in your wallet and one of your hairs.”

Tim opened his wallet and pulled the lone five dollar bill and placed it on the table. Then he winced as he pulled one brown hair from the top of his head.

The woman grabbed both the money and the hair greedily. She shoved the five down the front of her dress, while she held the hair in front of her like a talisman.

“A fair trade has been offered, and a fair trade will be given,” the fist that held the hair began to smoke, “from today on, you will get what you want, but you will give to get, fair trades. No backsies, no regrets!”

She cackled as she held her fist aloft, smoke pouring from it. Tim was very nervous. He thought the whole thing was a lark, but this? This looked real!

A loud ringing filled the market. The sound of a fire alarm.

“Damnit, Delores!” The Mad Magazine seller shouted, “Why’d you have to do that again! It’s bad business to have to evacuate all the time!”

Tim turned back to the woman, but found that she had already left, leaving Tim standing in front of an empty table.

“There goes my last five bucks,” he said sadly, has he turned to follow the crowd out of the Market.