Mermaid Pirate Dispatch

It seems my parents only had a limited pool of luck to pass on to their children. My youngest brother has all the luck. Sure, things don’t always go great for him, but every roll of the dice seems to land in his favor. Lotteries and “random” drawings always go his way. He thinks it’s a karma thing, but the reality is that my inhumanely bad luck balances out his wildly favorable luck.

There can be a dozen doors lined up. One unlabeled door is locked, the others are unlocked. I will invariably smash right into the locked one. I don’t win lotteries, dice hate me, and even strangers are often shocked at how abysmal my luck can be.

On my morning walk one day I decided I had finally had enough. I purposefully passed under a ladder that was leaned up against my apartment building. My heart was pounding. It felt good in an exhilarating, defiant kind of way. I went past my door and to the other side of the parking lot just to cross paths with my neighbor’s black cat.

“You like this?” I yelled at Lady Luck, storming through the living room into the bathroom to shatter the mirror with a hammer.

I went on a bad luck rampage, doing everything I could imagine that might invite more bad luck.

Huffing and sweating in a pile of spilled salt and shattered mirrors, I looked down at my hand. A large gash was burning in my palm, blood pouring out and running down my fingers. I cried out in pain and ran to the kitchen sink to rinse the salt out of the wound. I blotted at the injury with the kitchen towel, and it was dark and heavy with blood by the time I admitted to myself that I needed stitches.

“Great,” I muttered to myself.

Driving to the nearby emergency clinic with one good hand wasn’t easy, but it was made harder by my distracted mind. I pondered the many years of bad luck I’d already endured. A bad marriage, layoffs, and fluke accidents. I would have cut my hand without smashing mirrors. “I hope you’re having a good laugh,” I said to Lady Luck.

A car honked at me as I pulled into the parking lot. I must not have seen them backing out. I sighed.

At the clinic a nurse gave me a tetanus shot and poured Satan’s tears mixed with rubbing alcohol and battery acid into the wound. I yelled and scowled at the poor young man.

“Hold this gauze tightly against the wound until we can get you stitched up,” he said, putting a wad in my palm.

I had just taken a seat in the waiting room when my name was called. A young lady holding a clipboard stood just inside the door leading back into the bowels of the clinic. As I approached I saw smile lines at the corners of her lips and eyes. She was closer to my age than I had thought. She grinned at me and nodded her head toward the hand where I pressed gauze tightly into the palm.

“Bad luck,” she noted.

I shrugged. “Par for the course.”

“Let’s get you sewn up and on your way,” she said, leading me to one of the many exam rooms.

I followed in a daze. She was gorgeous, and somehow I felt as though I already knew her. As she ushered me into the room I tried to catch a glimpse of her name badge. No luck. It was behind the veil of her glossy blonde ponytail, which flowed over her shoulder like a river of fine gold thread. My mouth hung slightly ajar as she pointed out the chair where I should sit.

She laughed and I forced myself to look away from her glowing smile and vibrant eyes, instead turning my attention to the injured hand.

“Do you cut yourself often, Brad?” She said my first name with a familiarity that gave me goosebumps.

I chuckled nervously. “No, and this is my first time getting stitches.”

“Well you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m told my skill with the needle is unmatched.” She pulled a rolling table loaded with supplies over and sat across from me on a stool.

Our eyes locked briefly before I looked down again.

“Go ahead and hold your hand out so I can take a look.”

I extended my hand and watched as she gently pulled the gauze away and rubbed down the surrounding skin with a fresh wipe. I looked back at where her name badge should be. She had pulled her hair back, but now the badge was hiding behind a fold in her white coat.

Her eyes met mine again and she smiled. “You must not remember me,” she laughed. “We went to school together.”

I looked up at her face again and squinted. “I thought you looked familiar,” I said, “but I couldn’t place your face. What is your name?”

“Kelly,” she said. “I sat next to you in math class..” She paused, then added, “We also had chemistry together one year.”

Her cheeks reddened a little. A little bolt of lightning shot through my brain and into my heart.

I looked down and gasped. She was already sewing me up.

“Wow,” I said. “You really are good at this.”

She smiled and definitely blushed. “Thank you. It’s not every day I get to help an old…” she hesitated. Her eyes darted up to my face then back down to the stitches. “Well, I’m glad I got to see you again.”

“We should catch up sometime,” I blurted. Immediately I felt stupid. She was at work. We hadn’t spoken in over a decade. I barely remembered her from school. And everyone knew ‘we should catch up sometime’ was dismissive and polite but not serious.

She was quiet for an eternity while I regretted ever opening my stupid mouth. She took in a sharp breath, opened her mouth, then closed it again. Finally, she pulled the last stitch through, tied a knot in it, trimmed the loose ends, and took my hand in hers to examine her work. Her fingers were soft and gentle on my hot, throbbing hand.

Then she looked up at me and smiled. “It would be unprofessional to give you my number while I’m working,” she said, and her countenance fell.

My heart sank and a pang of embarrassment made my skin crawl. “Yeah,” I began. “Sorry, I probably…”

“But,” she said quickly, “My shift is over at six tonight. If you meet me here I’d love to get dinner with you.” She smiled through a look of terror.

I gasped. The moment froze in time. She was more nervous than I was. Her fingers were clammy and trembling. Her eyes darted around my face, searching for a reaction. Just when I thought she might pull her hands away from mine, I cupped one of her hands with my good hand and pressed her cool fingers into the back of my injured hand. The trembling stopped.

“That would be really nice.” I was almost too breathless to speak. I struggled to my feet. She got up with me, pushing the rolling table to the side with her thigh. She was still holding my hand. “I’ll see you at six,” I said, smiling.

“Yeah,” she sighed. Her grin was enchanting. I stared at her face, wondering why I hadn’t noticed her in school all those years ago. “See you at six,” she repeated.

I hesitated, laughing internally at myself. Then I looked past her at the door. “So, do I pay out at the front counter?”

She blinked and looked around as though seeing the room for the first time. “Oh, right, yeah.” She looked down at our hands and chuckled nervously. “I should probably let you go.” She pulled her hands back quickly.

I laughed. There was so much I wanted to say at that moment, but my flustered mind could only look down at the stitches and say, “great job, thanks.”

“Any time,” she said wistfully.

“See you later,” I said, moving toward the door.

She smiled and made a little waving gesture, sliding her other hand’s fingers behind her ear as though tucking an invisible strand of hair back. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. I grinned.

As I turned the corner she called out, “It was lucky running into you today!”

I laughed. “Yes,” I said. “It was.”

[Reddit Post]