It depends on if you believe in luck…
Her father’s favorite stories to tell at dinner were a series of unfortunate events:
The donkey at the Grand Canyon, who, fur matted and eyes glazed, had decided on his 197th return trip up the steep canyon walls to take his rider on a much shorter suicide mission off the path, plunging to the depths of the canyon floor.
And then,
A med student in his final year of residency at Chicago’s Rush Presbyterian St. Luke’s Hospital, driving his BMW Z3 convertible, bought with the promise of money he’ll surely soon be making, who drives under a highway underpass at the precise moment a slab of rough concrete looses itself from the bridge above.
And then,
A first time skydiver, too terrified to jump solo, who dives tandem with an instructor who has a heart attack.
And then,
His colleague’s brother, backpacking in Europe, drinking in a pub with a group of friends in Berlin, who steps off the curb of an almost deserted street at 2:17am and is hit and killed by a taxi cab.
He tells the stories to demonstrate how random the world is, how wild. She has so many questions, at first. What if the resident had slept at the hospital that night? What if the brother had stayed for another drink? What if the tourist had chosen a different, less suicidal donkey?
That’s not the point, her father had said. It’s just luck. Bad luck, good luck.
She’s not even sure if he really believes that-to this day, she can’t drive over a bridge without thinking about what she’d do if it collapsed. Her father had drilled her with preparation for these extreme scenarios since she was a child. Try to roll the windows down. Expand your lungs by taking deep breaths. Take off your shoes.
It wasn’t just collapsing bridges-what should she do if there was a shooter at school? A stranger at the door? An assailant in a parking garage?
20 Minute Timed Prompt-Anonymous Submission
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