Any Coincidence Is | Page 5

But I don't throw you against
the wall and call the universe evil, do I?" Cecil snorted a tiny snort
through his nostrils.
"But as far as making trying to make sense of everything... I can see

that. That's why I wonder sometimes. Like about Uncle Justin," she
continued, aware that Cecil was now standing, arching his back, and
attempting to find a comfortable position on her stomach, "who was a
science teacher for twenty-two years, who gave up everything, just
because... you know..."
Julia shook her head and returned the book to its level reading
elevation.
As a matter of interest, Cecil did not know, but was content enough to
curl up again, feeling Julia's hand press against his fur, causing his
throat to vibrate with greater volume. That is, until the book slipped
and roundly thumped Cecil on the head.
"I'm sorry!" apologized Julia, but too late, and Cecil was off her lap,
shaking his the pain out of his head, galloping into the bedroom to find
his favorite orthopedic pillow. "Maybe I should read a shorter book,"
said Julia to herself. She waited for some cosmic act of synchronicity to
follow, to confirm her judgment on some level beyond interpretation.
Yet the moment of truth that had evaded her since childhood continued
to remain conspicuous by its absence. In lieu of enlightenment, a
muffled argument began to emanate from the college students next
door. The plaster made it all to easy to hear, in terms of volume, but
reduced everything to disconcerting roars due to the lack of clarity. As
far as Julia could tell, the argument, which was building to the
"throwing objects to accentuate one's point" phase, concerned the
doctrine of predestination versus free will as well as whose turn it was
to run the dishwasher.
"Well," she said, tossing the hulking tome next to the library's copies of
Cat's Cradle and Waiting for Godot, "I wasn't getting much from that
anyway."

6. Unidentified floating objects "Sucks to be you." - Traditional
Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at
the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an
invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His
state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted
air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his
route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked
through his mail and then began watching the sky.

"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.
Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to
offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a
beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes
he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought
made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck
might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into
the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the
house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the...
"What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that
weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low.
Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army."
"Oh," muttered Justin "Be seeing ya, Zeke." He turned back to the
porch.
Damn, thought Zeke, plodding back to the truck, if I told him it was a
flying saucer I might have got a beer after all. Coincidentally, a gust of
wind took the balloon higher into the sky.

7. Fallout "This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a
beauteous flower when next we meet." - Shakespeare
Alona ran out of the elevator, trying to hide her face in one hand and
hold her overstuffed bag in the other. She kept wiping away the tears
just to get through the already crowded lobby, where young
gossip-mongers waiting vigilantly for fresh news.
The tears had started when Prof. Sigger had snuck out after he agreed

to help her. How anyone that old and lazy could have slipped out
without a sound was a mystery to be considered after the wave of
rejection