We have just put the children to bed, and now we sit watching a TV show that neither of us cares about, with the volume down low just like the lights. Suddenly he turns to me.
“Do you believe in chance?” He asks, eyes sparkling with active thoughts, and my mind is pulled back a few years to the day we met.
My life was in danger of becoming boring, and I felt the need to wake myself up from the sleep walk of routine, so I picked a new place for lunch. It was a small sandwich shop that I assumed was good, since it was always fairly busy.
Today it was even more packed than usual, but I decided that the crowd would be good for me. I soon found that it was so occupied that many who wished to stay to eat were force out of their comfort zone to sit by a stranger. Today I was comfortable with that. It didn’t take long for a dark haired boy with a permanent grin to appear to share my table. As we ate we talked, because he was the talking sort, and made a handful of discoveries about each other and finding the common thread of a love for the mandolin.
By the time the lunch hour was over we had exchanged numbers and promised to look into having a jam session with each other. The fact that we actually remembered to follow through a few weeks later was half a miracle.
And now I am back on the couch, looking at him, the screen reflecting on our faces. Do you believe in chance?
“No,” I say.
He smiles.
No comments:
Post a Comment