ser·en·dip·i·ty (s[ebreve]r[lprime][schwa]n-d[ibreve]p[prime][ibreve]-t[emacr])
n. pl. ser·en·dip·i·ties
1. The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident.
2. The fact or occurrence of such discoveries.
3. An instance of making such a discovery.
Bitter teeth chattering snow, it's cold,
And the weather man predicts more on the Morrow.
Morrow is just another day to get through.
It's really just my luck,
No way to get out to York if all the roads are blocked.
This was just a stop.
A nice city, sure, but too big for my tastes
Too many people.
And what if I had to save them?
Given, York's not any better
But still, no way to get out
At least until spring.
I sigh. tap my fingers on my chair.
Chin in my hand.
Watch the weatherman make a joke
And hear automated laughter.
"The sky may be monochrome," He grins
"That doesn't mean you should stay-at-home!"
Terrible, really,
Because where else are you supposed to go?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
My jaw is starting to hurt
And I think my hand is cramped.
It's too numb and jittery to tell.
I hate book signings.
To be honest, I never wanted my books published.
But I needed the money, and. . .
I wrote a book
I contacted a publisher
I was made famous.
At least in libraries.
And I guess I'm a bit proud
But mostly numb.
And jittery.
Book signing's almost over
And I can head to York, if I'm lucky.
Which I'm not
If I leave before nightfall.
Which I can't.
While my thoughts revolve around despair and bad luck
The last person comes up
Places two books on the table
'A study In Pink' and 'The Great Game'.
Of all the mystery novels I wrote
Those might be my favourites.
"John? John Watson?" the man asks me
The man is a bit pudgy, with glasses
And mousy brown hair.
I nod.
"Not an imposter," I assure him,
Because that happened once before.
"It's me, Mike Stamford
You know the one,
We used to go to college together!"
I look at him closer, although I thought Mike and college had long since passed
I could see my old friend in the wide grin and smiling eyes
But he's put on a few pounds, so it's hard to tell.
"I know, I've gotten fat," He laughs.
I shake my head a bit to argue politely (Did he read my mind or something?)
If I wasn't as pleased as I should have been,
I blame it on cold and weariness
Both settled bone deep my soul.
I made a list.
All I needed to do was;
Smile
Ask him how life's been
Then move on
And leave for warmer climates.
Somehow I screwed that up
Twenty minutes later we were sipping coffee
And he's telling me how great my books were
They're alright, I suppose
Nothing to ramble on about for fifteen minutes, surely.
My leg throbs with frost and imagined pain
My hand twitches like a small animal
I just want to go to my room at the inn.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"So what brings you to London?"
I told him about my book signings and my meeting with a publisher
That I'd probably stay a month or two
Longer if this weather kept on
Permanently if I found I liked London
"You'll need a flat share, then,
Much cheaper than an inn
Especially for long periods."
True enough.
"I'd be a difficult man to find a flatmate, for though."
I pointed out.
And I really didn't want to share a flat with anyone.
To have them hear my screams at night.
To have them pity my limp
And the rest of me, too.
He chuckled.
I wondered which bit was funny.
"You're the second person to tell me that today," He explained
"Who was the first?"