there are people that you are friends with because you are sharing life with them, and then there are people that you are friends with because they allow you to share your life with them. do you see the difference?
the first one is out of convenience. we share the same school, workplace, yoga class. so we become friends through the things we have in common. but the second one supercedes these petty commonalities. you don't have to eat at the same restaurant.
every time i think about that party, i laugh when i think about what he said about looking around while i talked with people. it makes me wonder if there is some characteristic deep inside of us that has brought us together. a petty commonality? i don't think so.
horace is the second kind of person.
i always have plenty of time to wonder that because the month to the next meeting can sometimes drag on. many things can happen in a month, and in time i start to find that i don't want to discuss the deeper issues in my life with the first kind of person, but the second kind. and there are so many firsts that the seconds get lost in the crowd. i close my eyes and search through the multitudes of faces, but so many of them read first that i cannot find second. there is horace.
you see, lately i discovered a problem. there's this girl that i met that...
"a girl eh? so who's the lucky lady, victor?"
even interrupted in my thoughts expected in a world of firsts. spare me, subconscious.
anyway, i just met this girl, but we seemed to hit it off quite well. but i don't know whether i should go for it. horace is a studier of human behaviour, so i thought i'd ask him for his opinion, but i'm worried that by the end of the month, i'll run out of courage.
the coffee shop. i entered, and he's already there. he always beats me there, some other obsession of his.
"horace."
he reaches into his jacket pocket, a simple black jacket showing off no flair.
"can i ask you about something? it's about a girl."
"you don't have to. here." he hands me the letter. he picks up his coffee and heads for the exit.
i signal to him in silent protest but i could think of no words that would have kept him. a bit of resignation on my face, i open the letter.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
dear victor,
this is my second letter to you. i dedicate my time exploring the mysteries of the world, but never do i get the rewards for my discoveries. i will take advantage of the world by exploiting its needs and weaknesses. the world will fight back, but you must stand against him with no weaknesses.
does anyone have no weaknesses? i am not conceited enough to claim that i have no weaknesses. but i do know who knows how to hide their weaknesses. illusionists. illusionists have the ability to veil their weakness with their power. and i have that power.
part of that is understanding humans. people never bother to observe themselves. they miss out on a wealth of knowledge about our species. how we can exploit. but people are sensitive. they defend when they discover they are exploited. maybe it is the despondent path to defense that leads them not to observe.
what do humans desire? look around and it is obvious. what is a movie, what is a book, what is a relationship? what is student or a worker? very simply, humans desire a good story. we all look for an opportunity to write our own story with the happy ending. every moment is the happy ending. the illusionist won't tell you, "reality check, not every moment is going to be amazing". the illusionist will agree with you. why shouldn't every moment be the happy ending? why else would you watch a movie, read a book? it is your right to grasp that happy moment for yourself.
the human is addicted to the story. and when you understand what characteristics in a person makes for a good story, then you can massage your way to creating the perfect story for the people around you. not yourself, the people around you. you cannot create your own perfect story. but you can charge the people a premium for what you give them.
the perfect illusion.
horace.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i can't decide whether this idea was genius or diabolic. i also can't decide whether it was a fluke or his premonition that the letter did answer my question about the girl. what is the good story to her? a question more complicated than it seemed. i began to see my mind forming and reforming known stories, overlapping with more stories, creating new stories for myself and for other people. it is the magic of story that life moves forward. the magic of story that makes the illusionist.
but i sure don't want to charge her money for it all.
