Consequences Of Coincidence
“Accept the consequences of coincidence.”
On the outside chance that you happen to have the time to consider the possibilities of the above proposition—which someone grafitti’d, in purple marker, on the inside of the bathroom stall, at the Happy Accident Massage Parlor—I give you this true story:
Those two on the bench were obviously A Couple. You could tell by the way he sprinkled breadcrumbs on her shoulder and how she lovingly kept popping large red grapes out of her mouth at him. She’d reach into her bag for yet another and another and another and another until his lap was full, and more were scattered on the grass near his feet.
A wren flew down from the nearby tree, landed on her shoulder, executed a half dozen quick pecks, and zoomed off — all during the brief duration between her expulsion of two moist red grapes.
A truck had stopped at the corner light and the driver was gazing into the park, wondering what was popping out of that woman’s mouth.
In response to the sudden flutter of wings in the cabin, he responded by stepping on the gas and swerving left—then, in response to the sound of glass breaking in the back of the truck, he wildly swung to the right. Luckily the streets were empty and he came to a standstill in front of St. Francis Church. Disoriented, he got out, and proceeded through the heavy wooden doors, into the petrified silence. He hung up his shadow, which had gone astray, inside a confessional; he then said a prayer for the wellbeing of the bird, and figuring why not? stepped in line for some Wine & Wafer.
A woman near him was doused in lavender oil—his nose took him for a flash visit to his old aunt in Philadelphia.
The fresh wet paint must be mentioned here because those two didn’t notice it before they sat down on the bench. The lilacs all around didn’t give their noses a chance to catch the pigment-essence—and there was no sign—and of course there were stars in their eyes.
Nearby, two small children on a picnic blanket, next to a sleeping adult, watched with chocolate mouths agape, applauding gently when it was obvious the show was over—the grapes and crumbs had indeed run out.
In a minute the lovers would stand up and to discover that they were tacky—and striped.
Gotta sit and watch, proceed out on a limb, and then take off. Best to plant your beak into food that is stationary—because some of it tries to crawl away. With breadcrumbs and carpe diem on its breath the bird had almost flown into the driver’s head before engaging his reverse feathers.
Now it was sitting on a lamp post, looking forward to the feast awaiting on the ground by the bench, as the couple wanders away.
It was more noisy shattering than any real damage—just a few broken glasses. He carefully readjusted the goods that he was transporting from Oblong, Illinois and reset his GPS towards Upsidetown, New York.
And that’s his truck pulling away from the church and heading towards the highway.
Fade to black, roll credits.
(Among the scrolling credits is mentioned that The Couple were the actual two people who had posed for René Magritte’s painting “The Lovers”.)
© AleXander Hirka 2020. All Rights Reserved.
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