A Matter of Coincidence

You always hear about people being in the wrong place at the wrong time and then being imprisoned for a crime they didn't commit.

Rape, murder, homocide, et cetera.

Ever since watching Shawshank Redemption, I'd hoped that sort of thing wouldn't happen to me, but I've also never considered that maybe you could be in the right place at the right time.

I don't believe in fate, but if I've learned anything from my parent's stories that involve "God's hand," it's that coincidences aren't just "coincidences" (which, by definition, is 'a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection.')

I don't believe that my partial saving of someone's attempted suicide was an accident. I don't think I just happened to be strolling along the sidewalk at the same time that Isaiah Williams tried to kill himself; it just can't have been that simple. I refuse to believe that.

God's hand aside, I also knew that there was absolutely no way I was clumsy enough to stumble on the same path, in the same damn place, (which was by the second lot of steps that led to the waterfront) two freaking nights in a row.

It was a wide path; wide enough for an average car to sit comfortably on, with enough room to open the driver door without knocking out an unassuming biker - so there; there is zero evidence that I could be capable of winning that clumsy-me cup.

That award rightfully belonged to my little sister Anjelique, who, despite her namesake to be graceful and floaty like an angel, had an alarming tendency to fall down invisible stairs and sprain her ankle.

That being said, I landed a heck of a lot more gracefully than I had the previous night, but that probably had something to do with the fact that I this time, I didn't trip over a human leg. (I'm positively certain it was a human leg because the possessor of the fleshy limb swore at me and then skated off on their loud skateboard before I could scold them for being an imbecile or apologise.)

This time, I trod on a human hand, felt and heard several bones grinding together, and backpedalled so fast I fell backwards onto my behind, all in the span of the time it takes to say 'Oh, snap.'

I groaned, scrambled to my feet, and dusted my Gryffindor sweatpants. At least I didn't land on all fours like I had last night. My grazed palms still stung like a beaver.

Someone cursed, perhaps for the second or third time, and I blinked, eyes flying to the form that sat hunched on the ground.

There wasn't a cloud in the night sky, but still the light from the full moon limited my sight, and it took me a moment to register that the owner of the hand I'd stood on was sitting down and cradling it to their chest. I could make out a pair of headphones resting around his neck, (for I deduced that he was a male because of his low voice, despite the initial not-very-manly squeak that had escaped when my foot assaulted his hand) and it dawned on me that he was listening to very loud music, which had probably obscured my heavy footsteps.

I winced as I heard the stilted music waft in my direction.

Even my three-quarters deaf Gran would have no problem recognising that the song was about someone making a choice about wanting to live life their own way.

His head was bent, like he was saying a prayer over the injured hand. Based on the muttered curses, I doubted he was doing anything of the like.

"Oh my goodness," I exclaimed as quietly as possible, because we were still on a street and it was nighttime and I didn't want someone to come out shaking their fist at me for being inconsiderate.

"I am so sorry!" I said genuinely, and his head snapped up, and despite the craggy shadows cast over his face and the messy fringe that hung over his eyes, I recognised him.

Of course, I didn't know him as well as the Harry Potter books, but I'd seen him around enough to notice when he stopped coming to school.

He'd been in two of my classes last year; Math, and Sociology. I remember because he never talked much, but his laugh was unlike anything I'd ever heard before, and difficult to describe. I don't know why he stopped coming to school, and I didn't particularly care enough to find out. I'd never even talked to him before.

"Wait... You're Isaiah, right?"

He looked both startled and puzzled, like he couldn't remember his own name and couldn't figure out why I was talking to him.

His lack of reply prompted me to babble, "You were in my Math and Sociology class last year."

"Um, yeah... I guess," he said slowly, and I knew instantly that he wanted me to go away, and that I was going to oblige because I could feel my cheeks going warm, and my breath was coming out in short gasps which is what always happened whenever I was uncomfortable.

"Right," I said awkwardly, and hooked a thumb to my left.

"Um, I'm gonna go..." I hesitated while my feet took small steps in that same direction. "I'm so sorry for stepping on your hand!" I added hastily and scurried away, mentally berating myself for once again being distracted by the sparkling of the water, which had ultimately landed me in that situation.

Not even four strides away, I kicked something that clattered half a metre in front of me.

What is with these stupid, bloody... THINGS being in my way?!

As I marched towards the object, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

That's it. I'm returning these mother-flipping trippers tomorrow and demanding a refund.

Mum had insisted that I needed new shoes for uni next year and so I'd reluctantly spent half my birthday money on a pair of classic adidas trainers.

Classic, my behind.

They're only helping me make a classic fool of myself in front of a boy I hardly know. I swear, someone or something is trying to make me lose my cool, and they're only one embarrassing event away from succeeding.

Even as I bent to pick up the small cylinder, I knew it was pills.

Don't know how I knew. I just did.

I didn't bother trying to read the label without my reading glasses, and wondered if they belonged to Isaiah.

They were lying only 10 metres away from him. I glanced back at his defeated form, and a wave of what I could only describe as compassion, washed over me, dispelling my previous thoughts of frustration.

He hadn't moved from his position, which made sense since I'd only talked to him less than twelve seconds ago, but he just looked so... discouraged.

I waddled back over and announced my reappearance with a small, "Hey."

This time, he looked slightly annoyed, which I understood. I'd be slightly annoyed if I showed my face again after stepping on my hand, too.

I swallowed my nervousness and embarrassment, and held out the tiny container.

"Did you drop this?"

He frowned at it before recognition flashed across his face.

"Yes ," he said with an odd gasp, scrambled to his feet, and snatched it from me. The skateboard he'd been sitting on rolled to the side from the force of his movement.

I blinked at his abruptness, and wondered if he was the same dude from last night, but decided not to broach the subject. He looked like he was having a rough night, and I'd hate myself if I made it worse than I already had.

Instead, I offered a polite smile, which he returned with something more of a grimace. He clutched the pills to his chest and it occurred to me that maybe he got migraines or something.

I didn't ask, but I did say brightly, "Well, I guess I might see you around, Isaiah! And I truly am sorry about your hand!"

And I ambled away feeling a lot lighter.

I didn't realise that I'd just changed his mind about literally staying around.

In fact, I didn't find out until a-year-and-a-half of a snarky relationship later.

But then, who ever does?