10/21/12

Living Happily Ever After Is No Accident
By Wayne Scheer


“There are no accidents,” she said emphatically.

“Of course there are,” he replied, just as emphatically. “In fact, everything’s an accident.”

“Nonsense.” Although angry, she still carefully sipped her wine, not spilling a drop. “You don’t think there’s some kind of controlling force, at least setting possibilities in motion?”

“Nope.” The more animated she grew, the calmer he appeared. He got up from the sofa and grabbed another beer. While unscrewing the cap, he continued. “Look, if I cut myself on this bottle cap, let it get infected and die, it’s my doing. If you cut yourself, put antiseptic on it and it heals in a few days, you’re responsible for saving your life just as my negligence led to my death. The only controlling force is our reaction to the accident.”

There was silence for a few moments, which he took as a sign of victory. But she was just waiting for him to take a swig of his beer and sit down next to her. Just as he stretched his long legs and reached for her hand, she countered, “But how many times do we cut ourselves, do nothing and nothing happens? The odds against an infection leading to death are so astronomical, there would almost have to be a mysterious force that made it happen to you at this precise moment.”

“No, there wouldn’t. It would be the very definition of an accident.” Always the scholar, he grabbed a dictionary from a shelf in the room where they were sitting. The room was comfortable, though plain, with an overstuffed, dark brown couch and a burgundy recliner light tan walls and hardwood floor. On the floor next to the recliner lay a pile of newspapers and magazines and books. Lynn and Don Rhamer had obviously spent many hours together in this room, enjoying each other’s company and, occasionally, arguing, as they were doing tonight.

“Accident,” Dan read after furiously turning pages in the dictionary until he came to the intended word. “An unexpected, undesirable event. An unforeseen incident.” He looked at his wife the way he looked at his philosophy students towards the end of class as he made his summary point. “Just because an event is unforeseen doesn’t make it predestined.”

“But the possibility remains.” After years of debating her husband, Lynn learned never to give an inch. “And it’s that possibility that gives life meaning, supplies order--”

Don interrupted. “Why do we need meaning or order? Why can’t you simply accept that sometimes shit happens? The way you deal with it, that’s what gives life meaning.”

“Of course. That’s the beauty of it. An accident,” as you call it, “is allowed to happen and we’re free to deal with it based on our knowledge, our values, our--”

As Lynn searched for the right word, Don rolled his eyes. “Accidents by definition aren’t ALLOWED to happen, they happen. That’s all. And we deal as we see fit.” Don was now the one heating up as Lynn sat back calmly. “Sometimes we do the wrong thing and it works out well; sometimes the right thing causes serious trouble. Most of the time it doesn’t really matter what we do because other accidents happen. We go through life simply responding to accidents.”

“Do you really believe that?” Lynn asked so suddenly and so earnestly that her husband was taken aback. Before he could speak, she asked, “Do you really think we met by accident?”

Don knew instantly the waters around him were filled with sharks and he wasn’t about to dive in. Trying to win an abstract argument is one thing, but calling the happenstance of their meeting an accident is like praising the convenience of pesticides to an organic gardener. There are some places even the most seasoned traveler wouldn’t visit, and this was one of them.

Lynn enjoyed romantic comedies, especially if they starred Julia Roberts, while Don preferred the kind of dark, brooding films that win runner-up at the Sundance Film Festival. Lynn loved losing herself in historical romances, bubble baths and the music of Yanni; Don took quick, hot showers and liked the unpredictability of jazz improvisation. Thirty-five years of a happy marriage was based on each of them accepting the other, knowing where the invisible line was drawn, tiptoeing up to it, perhaps tickling it with a fingertip now and then, but never crossing over to the other side.

Don chose his language carefully as Lynn pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. “There are accidents and there are lucky accidents,” he finally said, seeing the start of a smile on Lynn’s face. “Accidents happen all the time, but lucky accidents are one in a billion. And only a fool would argue against the perfection of a lucky accident.”

Lynn stared at her husband enjoying the way his white hair glistened in the soft lighting. “Nice going there, Professor Rhamer. You deserve high praise for that one.”

Don smiled and squeezed his wife's hand.


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Wayne Scheer has locked himself in a room with his computer and turtle since his retirement. (Wayne's, not the turtle's.) To keep from going back to work, he's published short stories, essays and poems, including Revealing Moments, a collection of flash stories available at http://issuu.com/pearnoir/docs/revealing_moments. He's been nominated for four Pushcart Prizes and a Best of the Net. Wayne lives in Atlanta with his wife and can be contacted at wvscheer@aol.com.