Random Acts of Unkindness
Today your friend will be run over by a truck. You’ll think it tragic, and a waste of life, and random. It is not random. Last year, exactly one year ago today, your uncle died from a medication allergy. They said it was an accident. It was not an accident. It was not random. It was me. Have you recognized the pattern yet? Every year, on exactly this day, someone you love dies. Exactly this day. Do you remember what you did on this exact day 17 years ago? Do you remember pushing me onto those train tracks? Was high school that long ago? I get to watch you now. I know you never speak about me. Not to anyone: your shrink, your wife, your mistress. I don’t know your thoughts, so I don’t know if you ever think about me. But once a year, I get to communicate with you. And I know you’ve noticed the method I do so, if not the message. Maybe this year you’ll understand it. I’m not asking for much. Just two little words. “I’m sorry.” Just that. I don’t expect to hear it tonight. Why should this night be any different? I’ll stay here, watching you, day after day, night after night, waiting. If another year goes by without those two little words, then you’ll get another message from me next year. And I’ll have to decide who you love more, your wife or your mistress.