Dark Hearts

If you could read minds, would you want to?

Image created by Midjourney

I dropped a quarter into the vending machine at the corner of Wooster and Broome, pressed the glowing button, and listened for the soda to roll into the hopper. 

“You must be really thirsty to drink that,” Cassie said. “First, what is Six Cola? Second, what kind of soda costs twenty-five cents? There’s got to be something the matter with it if it’s so cheap.”

The unremarkable silver can bore a large, red 6 on one side and below that the words, “Six Cola.” That was all—nothing about the flavor or contents. But the can was cold and that’s what the day required. 

“It’s the only drink left in the machine. Besides, what’s life without trying new things?”

“What’s life without a visit to the ER? But it’s your stomach, Harry.”

I downed the cola in between breaths. The drink tasted like mixed wild berries but left a crunchy sensation on my tongue. Still, it quenched my thirst, which I needed to battle the ninety-five degrees August sun. 

Cassie’s next words unnerved me. “That black guy over there, watching. He’s going to mug us.” Cassie clutched her handbag. “I want out of here.” Her mouth was closed, and her lips didn’t move.

We strolled along Mercer Street for a block when out of the blue, Cassie stopped and yanked my arm like it was a dog’s leash. “I don’t like the look of that man.” An African American in his twenties, wearing a tight, dark green t-shirt with his right hand in his pocket, was walking toward us. “He’s got a gun.” Cassie’s lips remained motionless. 

How strange to discover at the same time that I can read minds and my girlfriend is a racist. Nothing she’d ever said hinted at that. Liberal, raised in New York City, New England college—Cassie possessed all the ingredients of open-mindedness.  

Six Cola’s power only lasted twenty-four hours, but that was all I needed. I canceled Saturday’s proposal dinner. I canceled my life with Cassie. Instead of telling her I couldn’t marry a racist, I made up a lame excuse about needing time to explore the world and myself. 

I visited that vending machine every day, hoping that whoever minded it refreshed the Six Cola so I could read minds again. Who wouldn’t want that power? After a month I gave up, and resigned myself to reading people the old-fashioned way, through talking. 

A year later, I started dating Lou, an architect I met in my veterinarian's waiting room. 

We were wandering through lower Manhattan on a typical summer day, when the sun reflecting off office building windows intersected with the streets’ black asphalt to turn the city into an inferno. 

“Sec. I’m thirsty,” Lou said. She slipped her hand out of mine and turned toward the vending machine while I watched the always-fascinating New York streetscape. When I heard the sound of a can drop into the pickup hopper, I spun around and saw Lou with a Six Cola tilted at a forty-five-degree angle, her throat rippling as the can emptied. 

She glared at me, and her lips tightened. 

I reached for Lou’s hand, but she slapped it away. “Stay away from me!”

“What?”

“No, Chinese people don’t carry diseases.” When I tried to take her hand again, she scurried backward.

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“Goodbye, Harry. Have a nice, racist life all by yourself.” She dropped the empty can in the trash bin next to the machine, pivoted, and walked away.

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If you enjoyed Dark Hearts, I think you’ll also like my story, The Bleeper.