Pascale Hervé brought the big twin to a halt and flicked down the side stand. She pulled off her helmet and placed it on the ground next to the machine as the cooling engine tick, tick, ticked in the still summer air. Dropping her gloves next to the helmet, she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a sachet of tobacco. Folding her long legs easily beneath her, she sat on the grass verge and watched the traffic rumble past as she idly rolled a cigarette. The smoke flickered into the air twisting and turning as the breeze caught it and dallied with it like a cat with a mouse before it dissipated into oblivion – like life, she thought, as she watched it with nothing more than the moment on her mind. The bike did this – cleared the travails of the day and left her with the satisfaction of an enjoyable ride. Too bad that reality would kick in sooner or later. Sooner more likely, she thought bitterly as the memories started to nudge at her unwilling consciousness.
She narrowed her eyes as another machine cleared the brow of the low rise and indicated to pull into the same lay-by. Taking a puff on the cigarette to keep it going, she watched as the rider pulled up behind her own machine. Curious she cast an eye over it, this must be a new model, she thought, not seen one of those before.
“Got some baccy to spare?” Asked the stranger as she walked across to Pascale, pausing briefly to glance at her watch. “My, is that the time?”
Pascale reached into her pocket and tossed the packet into the waiting hands. “In a hurry?”
The woman shook her head. She was probably about twenty years older than Pascale, with greying hair pulled back into a plait. She sat down and proceeded to roll the tobacco. Silently she licked the paper and Pascale, leaning back on one elbow watched, saying nothing as nothing seemed to be necessary.
“You know,” the stranger said, “There’s this tale about a man who once gave a colleague a lift to work, have you heard that one?”
Pascale shook her head, wondering where this was going. Idle chit chat among two strangers sharing a moment on the highway. Nothing comprehensive, nothing intellectually stimulating, just chatter. A joke possibly, but she didn’t sound as if she was joking.
“Mm, well, it’s interesting in its own way.” The woman continued apparently not needing a response.
“Is it?” Pascale gave every indication of being disinterested and made no attempt to hide the fact. The woman smiled. It was one of those smiles that indicated knowledge to which the other wasn’t privy . “One day,” she said, “you will understand.”
“So what is so special about this guy giving someone a lift, then?” Pascale took another drag, the orange glow bright in the fading light. Might as well show some interest, she thought. Get it over with. Then I can get on my way.
“They set out for work and as they approached a major junction, the man pulled into the side of the road and stopped. “Why are you stopping here?” his passenger asked.” The woman paused and sucked on the little stick of tobacco and watched it glow before blowing the smoke into the air. “You would think it odd, wouldn’t you?”
“Would I?” Pascale asked glancing at her watch. Time to get moving again. Places to be, people to see, and this woman had already delayed her longer than she had planned.
“Stopping like that.”
Pascale said nothing. There was something about this woman. She couldn’t place it, but it sent a chill down her spine. And what was she on about?
“The man had an explanation,” the woman continued, oblivious to Pascale’s impatience. ““It’s really, quite simple,” he said. “If I wait here for a couple of minutes, fate will be two minutes ahead when we get to the junction.” What do you think of that, Pascale?”
Pascale started. “How…?”
“Oh, I know you, I’ve always known you.”
“Who are you?”
“That doesn’t matter, so much as the question.”
“What question?” Pascale was irritated and confused.”
“Fate, being two minutes ahead.”
“But it can’t,” Pascale stubbed her cigarette brusquely on the tarmac at her feet FFS! She thought, why do I always get the nutters? “Don’t be silly, Fate is when it is.” She snapped.
“Indeed. Our hero misses one fate and catches another one two minutes later, because that was his fate all along, his decision to stop and avoid it is doomed from the start. You’re right, of course. It is when it is”
“That’s it, is it?”
“Pretty much. And thanks for the smoke.”
“Well, thanks for the chat,” Pascale said flatly as she stood and reached down for her helmet. The older woman smiled and stood as well. “You are at a crossroads, Pascale and you have to make a decision. The wrong one will cause you lifelong regret.”
“And the other?”
The woman looked at her watch. “Never mind, you just made it,” she smiled enigmatically.
Pascale buckled up her helmet and muttered a low “pah!” as she straddled her bike. Thumbing the starter she turned and nodded a curt acknowledgement before steering the bike out into the road. Accelerating briskly she was soon lost to sight, and shortly after that, the sound of the exhaust faded to nothing. Silence descended on the empty road.
***
Pascale Hervé pulled her bike into the lay-by and killed the engine. In the quiet twilight, the motor ticked as it cooled. The scented late summer air was still and heady as the day entered its dying throes. She breathed deeply, savouring the moment. Guillaume pulled up alongside her and rested his own machine on its side stand and dismounted. “Well?” he asked. Pascale smiled. “I remember that conversation as if it was yesterday. All that nonsense about fate. Yet, I wondered if it really happened.”
She sighed and pulled her helmet from her head, revealing her greying hair tied in a single plait that fell below her shoulders. Traffic thrummed past as she walked with Guillaume to the grass verge. “Got any tobacco?” She asked. Wordlessly Guillaume fished in a jacket pocket and handed over a pouch. “I thought you had given up?”
Pascale shrugged. “Maybe tomorrow”. They sat for a moment or two in companionable silence as they rolled the tobacco into thin sticks inside the papers. Once the papers were lit, they lay back and watched the evening sky as the stars started to show though the purple haze of twilight. “It didn’t happen,” she said. “It couldn’t have. Impossible.”
“Be a paradox if it had,” Guillaume replied easily.
“But…”
“But?”
“But, if I hadn’t delayed that two minutes or so listening to that silly story, I’d have probably killed that kiddie at the crossroads…”
Nice story. Makes you think: what if the Titanic had averaged maybe a tenth of a knot faster or slower, by how many miles would it have missed the iceberg? Or would it have hit a different one and sunk anyway?
That was what I was exploring. And if you could go back and change things, what would you remember? And would fate catch us anyway?
Certainly provoked the intended thoughts here.