Meeting you was a choice. What came next? That was destiny.
I could have walked through any other door. I could have slammed it. Nailed it shut. I could have run my Chevy through the cheap and shoddy frame of the facade. I could have killed a dozen people. It's not that I'm morbid, the idea just struck me on the way in. It was kind of funny.
After all, my therapist said that I should be spontaneous. I'm getting to that.
When I saw you, I could have escaped from the strings of fate. I even thought about it for a second. A second's a long time for a talented social deflector like myself. I could have caressed you with my eyes, sliding away in just the right way to jiujutsu right over my shoulder. I could have bumped on, bumped you, and bumped through. I could have started talking to a very awkward stranger, loud and unconvincing. If I was really being honest, I could have withered in a sweat right then and there.
After all, I have a history of anxiety and difficulties communicating, or so they say. I'm getting there.
Instead, I said 'Hi.' You said, "Huh?" I said, "Hi" again at a human-audible volume and threw my name in after. I came off as clumsy, dialed in, and so over-committed to the small talk.
Apparently, you liked that. That's fate. That's destiny. That's doom.
You have every choice in the world, except for what's in someone else's head. Watch your ass.
It didn't work out, by the way. Spontaneous isn't sustainable and no one cures me, but me.
Just thought you'd like to know.
Prompt: An auspicious Anonymous asked you:
Write about fate
A bit of a delightful wander through my unusual head. Not bad for out of town.
(c) 2013 Lawerence Hawkins