Coincidences
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Abigail thought of the argument she’d had with Henry the previous day. He’d made fun of her for scheduling the appointment with their financial planner on the day of her sixtieth birthday. But clearly everyone knows it’s important to make sure your final retirement goal is on track at age sixty. Just as important as your five-year plan when you turn eighteen. She’d finished college earlier than any of her high school graduating class, thanks to forethought.
Henry wasn’t the first to mock her for being detailed oriented. Her own colleagues commented that she was almost as obsessive/compulsive are her patients. Her siblings had said the only reason she majored in psychology was to diagnose her own neurosis. Of course, they didn’t express it as articulately but rather saying something to the effect hey sis now you can find out why you’re nuts. Abigail never questioned her own sanity. She had a firm grip on reality, and there was nothing wrong with being organized and prepared.
She thought of her last patient who was definitely suffering from delusions. The young woman, Bridgette, was in her early twenties. Abigail recalled the tense body language as the woman was escorted into the office by the orderly.
“Don’t touch me,” Bridgette barked, and the orderly had immediately put his hands up as if to indicate he had no intention of making physical contact.
“Bridgette, do you know why you’re here?” Abigail asked after the woman reluctantly took a seat.
“Because my parents think I’m crazy, and they have enough money to lock me up,” the young woman answered staring at the floor. Then she added, “But that’s not why I should be behind bars.”
“And why do you think you should be behind bars,” Abigail said using her active listening technique of repeating back the patient’s words, so they feel heard. At the same time Abigail causally glanced at her watch. The previous patient had run over, and she was behind schedule.
Bridgette paused several seconds before she answered. Then she looked up and stared at Abigail with tired bloodshot eyes and said, “Because I killed my roommate.” The conviction in the woman’s voice sent an involuntary shiver down Abigail’s spine.
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Flipping through her notes Abigail tried to hide her annoyance. She hadn’t scanned the file as thoroughly as she had wanted but found the portion regarding the incident with the roommate.
“My understanding is that your roommate choked to death on an ice cube at her place of employment. Is that correct?” Abigail reread the notes again. Choking on an ice cube didn’t seem possible. She was sure she’d read somewhere that because of the speed at which ice melted…
“Yes, and it’s weird right. Totally not possible.” Bridgette said.
“It does seem highly unlikely, but according to the records your family provided that is what the official police report stated. Now, were you there with this choking happened? At your roommate office?”
“No.”
“Did you provide the ice? Or put something in it that would have caused an allegoric reaction?”
“No. It was just ice out of their office frig.”
“Then how could you possibly have in any way killed your roommate,” Abigail asked, although she knew what the basic delusion was, she wanted to hear the girl say it.
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“Because I touched her before she left for work. I didn’t mean to, but I slipped when were passing in the hall and my arm touched …” Bridgette stopped and burst into tears. After a moment of crying, she nearly shouted, “It was her fault for getting rid of the mirror. I told her it was important. It was an antique. If the mirror had been there, I could have done my thing and nothing would have happened.”
“What do you mean by do-your-thing?”
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“The ritual, the one my aunt taught me. Spritz lavender water on my wrist, hands and fingers. Then touch the mirror and say – you are cleansed today. Then the curse is kept at bay.” Bridgette said.
Abigail handed the young woman a box of tissues and waited for her to dry her eyes. She made a few notes.
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“Terri junked the mirror, my mirror. She said it was gaudy. The one she replaced it with didn’t work. That’s why the pizza delivery guy got killed by the coke machine. Our hands touched when I paid for the pizza. I thought it was okay cause I did the ritual with the new mirror. But then I saw the story in the news, and I knew the curse was back.”
Strangely enough Abigail knew what story Bridgette was referring to. Henry had found it hysterical that a coke fell on a person. Witnesses say a young man, wearing a pizza delivery uniform, was trying to pull a soda out of the slot. The can was stuck and when the guy pulled on it the entire machine fell forward on top of him. He was alive when the paramedics arrived but died on route to the hospital. How her husband found that funny, Abigail wasn’t sure.
“I tried to find the mirror,” Bridgette said as if trying to convince either Abigail or herself that she’d done all she could. “I went through the dumpster, but it wasn’t there. So now anyone who I come into physical contact with is going to die. And not just die but in a really weird way. It’s always been that way. Like choking on an ice cube. But you don’t believe me. Nobody does, except my aunt. She had the same curse.”
“I think you’ve suffered a tragic loss of a friend,” Abigail said. “You’re trying to make sense of a freak accident, even if that means blaming yourself.”
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“And everything is just a coincidence,” Bridgette said as if reciting something she’d been forced to hear over and over.
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“Yes. Not only am I going to tell you that, but I’m going to prove it,” Abigail said coming out from behind her desk. Before Bridgette could pull away, Abigail gently put her hand on the woman’s shoulder.
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“What the hell,” Bridgette said looking at the other woman as if she were a lunatic. Then her toned saddened as she shook her head and said, “It’s your funeral. Just remember. You did this.”
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“We will talk tomorrow,” Abigail said and called for an orderly.
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All these thoughts flashed before Abigail’s eyes as the bay rose above her car window. Eyes, she thought, like the bottle green eyes of the ferryman as he watched in shook one too many cars driven onto the transport. Probably never happened before in his entire career. She wondered if things had seemed to go into slow motion with the domino effect of that extra car hitting the one in front of it, and that hitting the next, and the next. The bump Abigail felt hadn’t seemed so extreme. Yet it had been just enough to push her Toyota, which had been pulled up a little too far against the old worn safety rail. The part of the rail that lifted was probably not secured properly.
Someone might lose their job, Abigail had thought as her car plunged off the bow of the boat. Thought her last thought as the car sank completely beneath the water was, what a bizarre coincidence.
