A Chance Meeting

Author's Note:

This is a submission in an 'Author's Challenge'; the challenge is to

write a story using exactly 750 words

. Under the constraints of this Author's Challenge; may you find it short and sweet - just as I intended. No less, no more.

***

She sat in the shade of a bottlebrush plant with its voluptuous, red cylindrical blossoms hanging over the bench. I love bottlebrush plants; they always have lots of butterflies sipping on the nectar of those red blossoms. I imagine butterflies are attracted by the chance to suckle at the red cylindrical nipples being displayed by the bottlebrush.

She must've watched me walking this direction before, knowing I'd pass by the library on my way back to my place after botany class. In hindsight, she must've positioned herself on the bench, under the bottlebrush plant, with expectations. In hindsight, she must have been pleased that those expectations were met when I noticed her sitting in the shade.

"Hi," I offered in greeting, mostly out of common courtesy, but partly out of surprise at recognizing an attractive face seated along my usual path. She smiled. It was a small smile, but it was a warm smile that I saw in her brown eyes.

She waited in the shade, which was made warm by the smile in her eyes. She did not speak, brushing her long, dark hair off her shoulder, parting her lips in a genuine, broad smile.

"I was surprised to see you and your friend at the play last night," I said to engage her, mostly because she had an attractive face, but partly out of common courtesy. "It was good to see a familiar face in the small crowd. You know I went alone, just curious to see it performed. I had to read '

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead'

in Freshman English. I kind of enjoyed the play's existential absurdist dialog, despite it being assigned reading. Thought, I was never sure that I fully understood it. I'd hoped I might better understand the absurdity in its scenes after seeing it performed on stage last night."

"So... Do you have a better understanding of absurdity now?" She asked as she moved her purse and tote to the concrete in front of the bench. I sat next to her in the shaded space she had made under our bottlebrush plant.

I mused, "It was a reminder that things are only absurd because they can't be understood; by definition. For me, seeing is understanding."

She beamed at me, "It's good it was one of the Theater Department's free productions. It'd be a shame to pay to see a performance that you didn't understand or didn't give you anything in return. A free look is always welcome, right?"

I studied her eyes, speaking in a soft voice, "Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the play. I'd also say I got something out of attending."

Catching my meaning, she averted her gaze and dropped her head in a shy dip, letting her hair come off her shoulders and hang in front of her face like the descending curtain at the end of Act One.

"Tell me, did you enjoy the play?"

She brought her eyes back to mine; "I did," she said in a low voice.

I probed her thoughts, "Were there any scenes that you found humorously absurd or enjoyable?"

"I'm intrigued by the opening scene where Rosencrantz bets heads on every coin flip, and he wins ninety-two times in a row. Then, because of the improbable winning streak, Guildenstern suggests something like, 'We may be within unnatural or supernatural forces.'"

She turned her head away from me, acting shy once again.

I kept silent for a moment. "What do you think, did Rosencrantz just beat the law of averages; or was he onto something, understanding that his life was controlled by more than improbable chances? Perhaps like our chance meeting here?"

She was quick to respond, "I don't believe we're ruled by probabilities, I believe things happen for a reason." With a cute flip of her head, her hair flew back over her shoulder and her breasts swung under her low-cut top in a distinctive, unfettered motion like jostling cantaloupe. She threw her shoulders back in an upright posture that drew attention to her breasts, if one were to look in that direction -- and I did.

"Do you wanna grab a bite?" I suggested.

She smiled a small, warm smile. She stooped to pick up her purse and tote, her loose blouse hung low as she paused a moment to gather her belongings.

I loved seeing her dark red cylindrical nipples. They reminded me of bottlebrush blossoms; blossoms which attract butterflies that enjoy suckling the nectar out of those red, voluptuous nipples.