ೃ⁀➷ In the year 1994,
Maya Bennet travels to New York to attend a famous music festival, Woodstock. After stumbling into the wrong tent when searching for her lost boyfriend, she has an odd interaction with a handsome mysterious stranger. A year l...
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You hear plenty of songs about coincidences. Purely by Coincidence, by Sweet Sensation. The band came out with that song in nineteen seventy-five. It was an upbeat love song about coincidentally falling in love with someone who fits you like a glove.
These kinds of coincidences we're experiencing today are, however, far less enjoyable to listen to. The kind of coincidence you'd turn off or fast forward through like a bad song on a homemade mixtape. But unfortunately, you can't. You've got to live with it. There's no fast forward button on life. You've got to roll with it.
Last year on this exact day I drove home from Woodstock after losing Elliot in a crowd of people. I came home to share the news about our unforgettable trip, that for some odd reason left me uneasy. But the moment I walked through the door, I found out the terrible news of my mom's disappearance.
I was in shock, I was sick, I was confused. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to hear in my life. I kept asking myself, what would've happened if I had just stayed home?
A day I once wished to never forget turned into a bad memory I want nothing more than to erase.
I went to bed last night tossing and turning over the service. My blank sheet of what was supposed to be an honest goodbye laid on my dresser while I pretended it didn't exist.
My mind was everything but what it needed to be, tired. It was moving at a fast speed, going in a bunch of different directions, and wouldn't give me the satisfaction of slowing down. And as much as it would be helpful to have an energized brain during a time like this, where I could be writing my speech, I just couldn't. I barely got any rest.
I woke up this morning in a panic, staring at my clock that was blinking the number twelve. I pulled myself out of bed so quickly I pushed Rizzo out onto the ground on accident as I hurried out of my room and rushed downstairs to find Dean.
We had to be at the church at nine this morning. I told him a million times to wake me up as early as possible. When I saw how late it was I was worried he had gotten drunk and slept through it.
Turns out he was wide awake, holding a sheet of paper, that just so happened to contain information about that unsettling coincidence I was referring to before.
Crime is rare in Crossville.
The most intense thing you hear about in this town is robbery. And most of the time those robbers are twelve-year-old kids stealing beers out of the gas station fridge up the road; the one Rizzo and I were at yesterday. Even then, whoever's working at the front counter just pretends they didn't see it. We were all kids once.
