It was a chance meeting they thought although the Fates knew otherwise. Theirs was a subtly planned world, leave no fingerprints, always have an alibi, better still never get caught.
It was a short meeting, a brief conversation and an ill-meant promise to stay in touch, numbers exchanged and as soon forgotten.
He never imagined calling, nor did she, but he did call and they did meet again, and the Fates smiled as the couple celebrated their golden anniversary, both still certain it was all a simple matter of chance.
It would be an anathema to him if he were a Pope or held deeply felt opinions about anything, but he does not. He denies being vacillating, rather, he says, he is just open to a multitude of views, never mind, she replies, that he can never make any important decision except by mere chance or luck. He says he prefers life this way, for he is disinclined to alienate anyone. She says his unwillingness to take and hold a position has alienated her, and she points out that he has no friends and few who would call him a true acquaintance. He debates arguing with her, but he knows she is possibly right and arguing would do nothing, and so she walks away and he can only imagine what might have been.
Consider them very carefully for you will have only this chance and you don’t want to add those which ought not be included or be forever burdened by those you overlooked or misassumed you wanted to retain. When you are quite certain you are finished, that your list is exactly as you wish it, that all your dislikes and regrets are properly delineated, then walk slowly to the river, pen at the ready, and write them with a precise hand upon the water.
If you ask, she says, you take away the chance of ever getting a miracle. If you ask and it happens you reduce it to a simple prayer answered, no matter how surprising the outcome. You don’t see, he said it’s not the final act that is the miracle, it’s that it actually happens to someone presumptuous enough to believe themselves deserving.