Harold Crick Monologue Redux

I've had a lot of time to think. To mull over the recent happenings in my life, since the last time you heard from me. Of course, think is the only thing I can do, when my arms are broken, my ribs are fractured, and the only part of me not limited by a cast is my face. Time and time again, my eyes would land on the wrist that used to have my watch on it. That watch... Over a decade, it had not lead me wrong once, until that fateful day which lead to my injuries. It was three minutes early, so I had arrived at the bus stop early. There was a boy on a bicycle who had fallen off his bike, right in front of the bus. He was young, he had so much to live for, so much ahead of him. I was just an IRS agent, I had been for twelve years, and I was going to be an IRS agent until I retire. But that didn't matter at the time. I dove in front of the bus, shoving the boy to safety, in turn being struck myself. It was one of many things that happened, when I learned I was going to die, supposed to die, scripted to die. That bit of knowledge unnerved me, but in a way, I owe it my life. I imagined my life before as a spiral. *cue image* There is only one direction a spiral can go, inward. My life was a spiral, shaped by my watch. I had organized and sorted my life so well that there was only one path that it could take, the rut I had gotten myself into. This spiral would coil inward with time, becoming tighter and tighter. The same would have happened to me. My life would have gone by, the more time had passed. My life would have gotten shorter and shorter, with less opportunity to break out of the rut before the inevitable. If I had not known the inevitable was coming sooner than I expected, I would have continued down my ever-coiling path, until my life would've been cut short. I didn't want that. I had spent my life counting, calculating, organizing and crunching numbers. I was so consumed by my pursuit for orderly living that I never actually lived. I didn't want to die before I even lived my life. I owe Karen Eiffel my life, in more ways than one. She broke the spiral, she changed my life for the better, by informing me of my impending death, rather ironically.

Irony, a concept I had not bothered with, not until recently. While determining whether my life was a tragedy or comedy at Professor Hilbert's suggestion, I picked up some literature terminology. I digress. While I'm here, and here to stay for a while, I may as well elaborate on the changes that I have experienced in my life in the past two weeks or so. I can't remember. The old me would have recorded the time down to the lowest necessary time value. I was reading through library books. I had quite a lot of free time, I had taken a vacation from work, which was possible from all the vacation days I've accumulated. I learned to play the guitar, I developed my friendship with my co-worker, Dave. Most of all, I started meeting Ana on a regular basis. My relationship with Ana was the most significantly changed part of my life. I've gotten off topic again, but I saw a poem in the book I was holding, if you could call it that. It was four lines long, and contained eight words, it could have been used as a stanza for a poem, but there it was by itself on that one page. No other poem interested me, but this one spoke to me, captivated me and reminded me of her, myself, and the twists and turns the line of my life has taken me after breaking out of its inward spiral. The title escapes me, but I remember it described my circumstances well. *cue poem* "Hi, I hate you." was the first half. First two lines, first four words, first part of my relationship with Ana, before I knew of my impending death. My job as an IRS agent took me to a small bakery, to audit a tax-dodger who turned out to be Ana. She wasn't outstandingly cordial at the time. Alright, she threw the dough at the wall and got all the customers at the bakery to jeer at me. To say she disliked me would be a euphemism. She didn't take too well to my... "observations of her assets", either. Our meeting was under tense, unfavourable circumstances, and my first impression wasn't adequate as well. That didn't stop me from attempting to audit her, however. From there, Ana would make it as difficult as possible for me. Late one night, while sorting through her deliberately disorganized tax files, she offered me a cookie and some milk. I thought it was a bribe, greasing the wheels to let the tax evasion slip. She angrily sent me out, before I realized that she was doing it out of kindness. I was such a fool. After I learned of my impending death, I decided, with some encouragement from Professor Hilbert to live life to the fullest before I died.

I approached Ana, holding a pallet of flour. Because that's what girls like, right? Flours? Anyway, she invited me into her apartment, where we consummated our relationship. "Bye, I love you." was the second half of the poem. Last two lines. Last four words. I'm not going to say that is the last part of our relationship. The last part of our relationship hasn't happened yet, but I was scared. Scared of many things. First I was scared of dying early, scared of not getting a chance to live life. Then, I accepted my scripted death. I was scared of a different thing, then. I was frightened to tell you that I was going to die, and that our relationship would end prematurely. I was frightened to say good bye to you, Ana. We had just started our relationship, only for you and I to face it being taken away from us. Yet, I'm lying here, fractured skull, broken limbs and all, but alive. My life is now mine to live to its fullest, and no one to take away from me. I remember the title of that poem, now. Those four lines and eight words bound together by the single word that makes up the title: Serendipity