Posted by: Christine L. | February 15, 2010


I lie awake some mornings and think about the strange connections in my life.  How many of them are genuine coincidences and how many did I engineer for myself?

For example, let’s talk about Virgil, the guy I was romantically involved with before I met Luke, the man I married.  Virgil lives just a few blocks from Luke.  I didn’t realize that until shortly after Luke and I started dating and he invited me back to his house.  As we drove past some increasingly familiar landmarks, I realized I knew exactly where we were, and wondered if it was going to turn out that they lived on the same block.

Fortunately for my sanity and my ego, Luke turned left a few blocks before Virgil’s street.  Still, uncannily enough, Luke’s house was in almost the identical position on the block that Virgil’s house is in on his block.  And the floor plan, the layout of the house and the yard, are very similar.  Not identical but close enough to give me the willies.

On our wedding day, my gal pal April, my cousin Lucie and I had to make a quick run to JoAnn’s for some last-minute lace and ribbon fixes.  This was the same JoAnn’s store that was right across the street from Virgil’s house.  I’d been there a thousand times before, when I’d spent my weekends at Virgil’s, sleeping on his sofa (because he had a waterbed, and I couldn’t sleep on the waterbed).

And here I was, getting married to a guy who lived just a few blocks away, and shopping at that same JoAnn’s, and looking across the street at my old boyfriend’s house.  My old boyfriend who, as far as I knew, had no idea I was there, no idea I was getting married, and no idea that I even still existed.

A weirder coincidence than that is that when I first moved to California, my very first True Love lived in this very same neighborhood.  I sometimes wonder if perhaps this is my own personal Bermuda Triangle, where very special relationships lurk in the breakers, just waiting to make me disappear.

For what it’s worth, the marriage seems to be holding up nicely.  I’ve only actually seen Virgil once.  He’s in a wheelchair – rumor from mutual friends is that he became embarrassed about his increasing weight, had his stomach stapled, and became one of the many victims of “complications”.

I saw him from a distance, from the end of the block, and wondered if I should move closer and say hello.  But so much water has gone under that particular bridge I realized it wouldn’t be a good idea.  So I just looked at him, across that vast distance, and wished him well.


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