Fate Or A Mere Coincidence

Locking my car, I contemplate what I would be doing for the next thirty minutes before meeting my brother, Jake and his wife, Sam. I have been looking forward to see them, since we decided to meet two days ago; it has been more than two months since our last meeting.

However, after the exhausting day I have spent at work and the amount of things I have to do tomorrow, I am really considering calling them to reschedule our meeting. With that intention in mind, I reach for my phone, ready to dial his number to cancel our meeting, but then, I put the phone back in my pocket abd I run my hand through my hair, exasperatedly.

I am sure Jake would talk to me about my decision to move out of the house –just like my sister did yesterday, but I am not going to change my mind because I understand their concern and a part of me knows that they are right, which is why I do not want to face them; however, I have lived the past few years, walking on egg shells, for fear that my heart would lose the fight and bail on me, and I am definitely not ready to waste whatever remains of my life, being a liability on anyone. I just wish my family could see things from my point of view: A thirty-two years old man, who simply wants to put his heart disease aside and live.

Pushing these thoughts to the back of my mind, I let my eyes wander through the area until they fell on a bakery shop, which I have become accustomed to love throughout the years; I discovered it back in my university days with my friends, and ever since I tasted the sweet heavens that they make, I made sure to pass by every once in a while.

Once inside the shop, without even glancing at the menu, I order my usual, which consists of a vanilla cupcake and an éclair, and then I head straight to the coffee shop next door, in which I buy a cup of cappuccino.

It is a beautiful day, thus, I choose an outdoor table, facing the road, which allows me to subtly study people’s interactions and their body language without coming off as total pervert.

I mean, who would want a stranger to stare at the them while scribbling notes?

Nonetheless, as creepy as it may seem, it is something that has been my secret pleasure for years; I have been constantly intrigued by people’s behaviors and their backgrounds. By trying to read strangers, I get to have a deep and strange connection with them that wouldn't matter to me after few minutes. I like to imagine who they are, what they do, and where they come from, for nothing in particular but my own delight. Sometimes, when I find someone interesting, I might write my observations, but in most cases, I simply gaze, imagine then forget; that is how it mostly goes.

I grab my notebook to write my observations of the only two persons that caught my attention among the people in the crowd. One of them seems to be in his late forties; the ring on his finger indicates that he is married; he is sitting across the streets, going through a stack of papers with a red pen so it means that maybe he is a teacher; I cannot tell where he comes from but I’d like to imagine that he’s a foreigner –which is a wild guess.

The other person is a woman who is sitting a table away from mine; she seems in her late twenties or couple years after; she is reading a medical book as if she is reading a romance novel so I would say that she is doctor because a medical student would be more frantic about the amount of information that needs to be memorized; she is gorgeous to say the least…

Before I could finish my observation of the woman, the beautiful one may I add, I suddenly start feeling an unbearable, yet familiar, pain piercing through my ribcage. I try to ease the pain by massaging my chest as I keep exhaling and inhaling long deep breaths, however, the pain does not even subside; it is only aggravating.

With shaky hands, I dial Jake’s number, but he does not pick up. I try with Sam’s number, though it is to no avail so I give up and gesture at a waiter, who is at my table in no time, holding a small notebook, obviously ready to take my next order. “What can I get for you?”