FATE

I expected it for a long time and my imagination drew her and
painted her every detail from head to foot. I knew her body.
I divined her soul.

I purchased my pillowcases in two sets (blood red with small
motifs in blue) because I was certain they would match her playful
character.

I enrolled myself in an evening class of Esperanto.
It was necessary to learn a universal language because I wanted
her to be a foreigner: a graceful Russian, or a real blonde
with a charming little English accent, or perhaps Spanish...
which would really make my friends squirm!

I changed my wardrobe entirely. I wore black for a whole year,
one ebony silk shirt with red buttonholes in particular.
If my future wife would be at all like the woman my imagination
had revealed to me, she could not help but be attracted to this
style of clothing.

I imagined us meeting on a street corner.
She would be walking ahead of me, but would suddenly turn as if
in response to an impulse, and her glistening gaze would lock
with mine. She would instantly understand who I am and how long
I have been waiting for her, for she would have waited for me
as well.

Several weeks ago, I stocked the bathroom with ointments,
salts, and jars of cream for her milky skin. I hoped she would
therein find everything her fragile beauty requires. She would
then know that I care deeply for her and that we are definitely
made for each other.

I would amused myself by imitating her handwriting and signing
her name as "Helena", "Enza", or "Jessica"... (her name ended
with "A", I was sure of that). I liked going to video stores in
our area and searching the racks for films that she would choose.

I set the table for two: I laid the plates on the table and I
served her favorite Italian wine (a Lacrima Cristi, which is also
my favorite). I smiled to myself as I imagined her relating
stories of the people she'd encountered that day: the foolish
cafe owner and the silly girl who'd kept everyone waiting at
the photocopy machine.

I played this game of mad virtual love for one year with the
conviction of those who naively believe that life is essentially
logical, and that if one applies a plan consistently, the results
will come just as one imagines.

Eventually, when my dream woman failed to appear, I began to
despair. In my moments of darkest uncertainty, I asked myself:
what if I remain single forever, what if I never find love? Is
lonely solitude to be my destiny?

I refused to allow myself to probe further. I held onto my faith
and trusted my fate to luck.

One morning, on my way to buy cigarettes, I crossed the street
without looking. I did not hear the car coming. It screeched to
a halt mere centimeters from my knee.

The door opened and the lady from my dream got out. She opened
her mouth to scold me for my carelessness, but when she saw my
dumbfounded expression, she smiled.

The smile was so frank, so natural, that I understood in a flash
that she knew what had just happened to the both of us.

..................................................................

Today, I am 54 years old. Emilia, the lady in the car, is now my
life companion. She is from Portugal, loves antics, and hates
chianti. We have two children and we believe strongly in the
wisdom of luck.

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