WHAT ARE THE ODDS

“You look a bit familiar.” The doctor holds Carman’s face up. “Do I know you? I can’t remember clearly… maybe just a deja vu.” She sits the tweezer inside his throat. He can’t really answer her with a tweezer and fishbone that can slit his throat open any second and she doesn’t seem to care if he answers or not. So he just stares into the wrinkles on her too-closed-up face to distract himself from the steel’s coldness. “Ah, got it.” She pulls out and shows him the fishbone. The cut still irritates. She rolls back to her computer and jogs down his information. “Carman, fishbone in the throat on Feb 28th, and you are all set.” Carman thanks the doctor. Just when he’s about to walk out. She stops him “I know why you look familiar now,” he turns back “Isn’t that strange? You walked in on the exact date, at the exact time for the exact reason last year. What are the odds?” “Ok, doc, I promise I won’t even stand within a 10-feet radius near a fish on the 28th, next year.” He walks out. Carman autopilots his way back home. He follows the silent moon mindlessly. He doesn’t put the doctor’s words in mind at the moment but now the more he thinks about the coincidences… he starts fidgeting on the wheel as waiting for the redlight. What are the chances that a series of indie mangas on the shelf is put in the exact order as his profile name? Then his friend met a person with the same name, same birthday as his on the other side of the globe? Then find out that his all time favorite game made a film twenty years ago starring his favorite childhood star who died young and quietly? Then he got a fishbone stuck in his throat at the same time, same date, treated by the same doctor just one year later? All these things happening within three days is too much for him to explain with statistics. He stares into the green light not realizing the approaching glaring spot in his rearview mirror. By the time he figures the drunk driver hasn’t seen him stopping in the middle of the road, he already flies out along with his car.

Closer and closer, he’s blinded by the glazing cold light, he can hear his brain screaming “hit the pedal and steer away!” his body freezes. Carman just sits there, watching the show. The millisecond before the light disappears, he catches a curious whisper that speaks in his voice and yet so unfamiliar, “don’t move. I want to see what happens next.” He sees himself pull his hand away from the wheel and relax, then he’s in midair. All of the sudden, he’s back in his body, the blinding light in the mirror is now above him. The rhythmic sounds from the monitor are nowhere near the pacing of his racing heartbeat. He’s disturbed by the self-destruction thought. It’s a dream. The reality was that he zoned out and had no time to react, he talks to himself. “Carman, how are you feeling?” he jumps a bit by the question. A doctor is standing near the door. “Been better. I walked out of a clinic and entered another one” he smiles wearily. “You should be in a bliss that you are in the mood to joke” the doctor quickly glances at the report. “Hit by a 4 tons GT at 70mph, your car spinned out and hit the shoulder and flipped. And here you are, unharmed, not even having a concussion.” His inquisitive scrutiny makes Carman a bit uncomfortable. “Well, bless whoever invented the seat-belt. So my car is a piece of junk now?” “Be glad that you are not the junk. Also, you can check out tomorrow.”