Sheila didn’t remember why she took the drink offered by the bartender at Pirate’s Cove. She didn’t normally drink alcohol. She was out with co-workers who indulged in cocktails with names like Fuzzy Navel, Cannon Ball Express, Fluffy Duck, and Margara-Mai Tai. Sheila typically steered clear of the social scene. However, she was becoming friends with a new hire at the library, Twyla, the children’s librarian. On two other occasions, Twyla had urged her to join the lively group at the bar.  Somewhat reluctantly, she was getting to know Jon from IT, Sandy the media specialist, James the archivist, and Twyla. They were a friendly group of coworkers. Sheila always ordered a Coke. She decided to take a sip of the drink offered to see what it tasted like. Roman was his name, the bartender.

Next thing she knew, she was at her desk in the library. The book in front of her was a copy of the Odyssey by Homer, in GREEK. She looked around. Everyone and everything seemed to be as usual.  She turned several pages in the book, and sure enough, she could read it. She called her colleague, Sandy, over to her desk and read aloud a few paragraphs from the book – in Greek. Sandy looked stunned and went back to her office, shaking her head. Sheila searched WebMD for the answer to “sudden ability to read ancient Greek”. It was not helpful. She slammed the book closed and took it to James.

“Did I ask for this book?” she questioned.

“Yes, early this morning. You were the first here today, and when I came in, you asked me to find a copy of the Odyssey in Greek in our archives. You looked a little out of it. Maybe a bit of a hangover from last night?”

“Okay. Well…”

“Are you doing research for something in Greece?”

“Not exactly.” Sheila paused, bewildered. “You can reshelve it now. Thanks.”

A tourist stopped her outside the library as she left for the day. He asked for directions – in Mandarin. Sheila answered in Mandarin. The words escaped her mouth like a ribbon of sound. It was like she could see it float through the air.

I’ve got to see somebody about this, she thought. I wonder if HR can help?

On the subway across town after work, she heard conversations in multiple languages as usual. What wasn’t usual, she could understand them. She heard a couple wrangling away in Portuguese, another woman oversharing with her seatmate about her boyfriend in vivid and unnecessary detail – in Japanese, and a man mumbled to himself in Russian as he analyzed other passengers on the subway – he was not very complimentary, she thought, although she agreed with most of his assessments. His reaction to the thirty-something lady with tattoos covering all her exposed skin except her face was spot on.  He grumbled that she looked like a walking billboard for Dharma’s Eightfold Path. Sheila giggled but turned quickly away.

She thought, I really don’t want to know all this stuff. I can’t ignore them anymore. I can’t look people in the face when they think I don’t understand them. It’s almost like reading minds. Maybe this is a gift. I don’t want to seem ungrateful. Maybe it will lead to other job opportunities. But, she argued with herself, I don’t want other jobs, I like working in the quiet atmosphere of the library. It is what I was made for.

The next day, Twyla asked Sheila if she wanted to go to the racetrack. She said she knew one of the grooms, and they could get entrance into the paddock before one of the races.  Twyla had been trying to interest Sheila in the races for months. Never one to challenge the odds, Sheila preferred to stay home and read books. Her occasional attempts at social interaction had fallen flat. She didn’t fit in. It risked her peaceful equanimity and anonymity to try.

With her new powers of language, she was now curious about the outside world. She was uncomfortable being home alone. Her mind kept spinning, trying to reason how she could understand other languages. She needed company to take her mind off her problem. The racetrack seemed to be as good a place as any. She promised to go on Saturday.

That night, Sheila flipped through TV channels, searching for foreign language movies. She challenged herself to find out what languages she could understand. She found a French-language film that she enjoyed. She came across a German-language gameshow and she couldn’t understand it. Wow, good. I’m poly-lingual, but not a pantoglot. THAT would be scary, she thought, somewhat relieved.

In the morning, she watched the news as she got ready for work. There was a major shakeup in the stock market. That was the big news of the day. She glanced at the TV and, lo and behold, all the stocks listed were in technicolor! The stocks the analysts said were “buys” blossomed on the screen as various shades of green, from bright to pale. The stocks he claimed were on the downslide showed in browns from tan to deep chocolate. Other stocks mentioned were in a variety of colors. She didn’t see any dollar amounts, just colors. She was mesmerized by the rainbow of stocks.

Sheila heard the analyst name one corporation as a “dump this” stock, but she saw it in brilliant green. When she went to work, she asked Clarence in HR about stock options through the library savings plan. He said it was one of the benefits. She was beginning to appreciate the craziness in her head. What if?

“I want to put all my 401K into Salton Claremont Industries.”

“We can’t do that, Sheila. You are limited to moving only 20% of your savings at any one time. I can put 20% of your savings into that stock if you like, but not the whole thing.”

“Okay, do that.”

“Did you get a hot tip?”

“No, it sounded good this morning on the stock review part of the news.”

“In the ten years you’ve worked for the library, you’ve never seemed interested in the savings plans, but I’m happy to make the buy for you through our investment plan supervisor.”

On Friday morning, Sheila attentively watched the stock market review on TV. Sure enough, Salton Claremont Industries made an unheard of gain – up 50% overnight. The analyst was gobsmacked. There was no sound reason for the uptick. But there it was. Sheila appreciated the intense green aura around the stock name.

She went to Clarence and told him to sell the stock right away. Again, he was puzzled by her seeming expertise. He looked up the price of the stock on the internet and was in total surprise at the change in it.

“What did you know?”

“It just looked good to me. No insider info. Can you sell immediately? I want to take the win.” Sheila surprised herself with her certainty.

“Sure, I’ll do it now. The gain will be locked up at today’s price. Funds clear Monday. That’s a tidy sum you just banked – $15,000.”

“Great!”

She went to see Twyla at her break. “I’d love to go to the races tomorrow.”

“I’ll meet you there about 11:00. We’ll watch the races and have lunch. Bring $100 if you can, so you can bet ten bucks on each race,” Twyla said.

“Do you ever bet more?”

“No. I bet for fun and rarely win. I choose the winners by the color of the jockey silks or by their name, not by what shows in the racing form. It’s just a fun way to spend the afternoon.”

“I recently came into a little money. I might bring a bit more and see how it goes.”

“Your money, your chances. Gotta go. I have kiddies coming for story time in fifteen minutes. See you tomorrow.”

Saturday morning dawned bright, but there was a chance of rain in the afternoon. Sheila went down to the newsstand to get a copy of the racing form. She studied it while she ate breakfast, without understanding much of it. She decided she would bet on names. Papa’s Hunch was in the sixth race and sounded good.

Sheila met Twyla at the track, and they went to their seats.

“Herm said we could go down to the paddock just before the fifth race. That’s the one his horse is in.”

“Does he own it?”

“No, he works for the trainer. He thinks it’s a good horse, though. Its name is Butter Buster.”

“Is that the one you’re betting on? I saw one called Papa’s Hunch in the sixth. I like that name.”

“As good a way to bet as any,” Twyla said. “Let’s order lunch.”

The horses came onto the track for the first race. Sheila noticed right away that one of them had a bright aura around it.

“I’m betting ten dollars on number three,” she told Twyla.

“Ah, you like the name?”

“What is its name? I like how it looks.”

“It’s Camel Ott. I’m going for number two, Simpleman”.

They went to bet.

Camel Ott came in first, Simpleman came in fourth.

For the next three races, Sheila bet on the horse with the aura and won. After her first win, Sheila bet more than the ten dollars per race – considerably more.

“First time luck, I guess,” Twyla said. “You have a knack. What are you betting next? I think I’ll do what you do.”

Before the fifth race, they went down to the paddock and met Herm. He let them in but told them to stay way back from the horses because the high-strung beasts were sensitive to strangers. They stayed in the center of the circular paddock parade path, away from the stable area. Again, Sheila noticed one of the horses had a special light around it.

“I’m choosing that one,” she said, pointing to the dappled grey horse.

“They say, bet a grey horse on a grey day,” Twyla said, looking at clouds gathering overhead. “Herm’s horse is the one next to it. I’m betting his horse, number six.”

After riders up and the paddock parade, the women placed their bets at the betting windows.

Sure enough, number seven won the race – the grey horse with the aura. Twyla’s horse came in second.

“You’re making a killing. How are you doing it?” Twyla asked.

“Don’t know. Lucky, I guess.”

Then came the sixth, and Papa’s Hunch was warming up on the track.

“There’s your horse,” Twyla said, pointing to the big bay sporting purple and yellow jockey colors.

Sheila didn’t see any aura around Papa, but she did see a glow around Sissy’s Crime.

“I changed my mind. I’m betting on Sissy instead.”

“He’s a long shot, but whatever you do, I’ll follow.”

Sissy’s Crime won. Papa’s Hunch came in last.

“Let’s go,” Sheila said. By that time, she was ahead by $4,000.

“You’re doing so good, why don’t you stay for the last four races?”

“It’s just getting a bit much for me.”  Sheila was beginning to be uncomfortable. At first the winning was a heady experience, but she feared being swallowed by expectation, following the signs, no longer in control.

“I never considered winning to be exhausting,” Twyla said.

“I know it sounds strange, but I’m getting a headache. I’m leaving.”

“Okay, see you Monday. Thanks for the wins.”

On Monday, Jon showed up at Sheila’s desk with a legal pad and hungry eyes asking for advice on stock picks. Clarence had told him about her lucky strike. Her supervisor called her into the office to ask about a biotech stock. James asked her to help him organize some unpublished Polish documents pertaining to WWII in the archives. Word had gotten out. A fellow named Ted, who said he worked in IT with Jon, wanted a tip on the next big race coming up. She was no longer the quiet research librarian whose name nobody could remember; she was now the most interesting person in the library. She was pushed beyond her comfort zone. It had stopped being a gift and felt more like a curse. Was this what it was like to win the lottery? All the expectations from other people?

That evening, Sheila went to Pirate’s Cove. Roman was behind the bar and managing the boisterous crowd. In the bustling swarm, he noticed Sheila and immediately went to her.

“What was in that drink you gave me last week?” Sheila asked

“Hmmm. Don’t know what you mean. When were you in here?” He asked, but she could see a knowing twinkle in his dark eyes.

“I came with my friends from the library. I know they are regulars. You called them by name. I’ve come a time or two, but never had a cocktail before. You offered me a special drink. I want to know what you gave me. Why me?”

Roman smiled, a deep dimple creasing the left cheek in his deeply tanned face. “Did you like it? Want another? A good bartender knows what his customers require.”

“No, I want the antidote. I want to go back to my old quiet life. I’m afraid of the next thing that might happen to me. I don’t want that much responsibility. Just give me my old life back, please. I’ve climbed to the top of the roller coaster, and the ride ahead looks terrifying – probably more than I can handle.”

Roman tipped his head in mild acquiescence and put two glasses on the bar in front of her. In one, he poured a blue-tinted concoction; in the other, he poured a clear beverage.

“Are you sure? It’s up to you now,” he said. “Choose carefully. It is your destiny.”

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