A Birthday Omen

About 14 percent of people die on their birthday. That's a pretty staggering statistic for an occasion that is meant to be celebratory. The phenomenon has got a name, it's called the 'birthday effect'. But, what accounts for such a significant uptick in deaths? A quick search will reveal that for both men and women, the cause is different. For women, it's heart attack and stroke. But for men, it's suicide and accidents.

There’s this café I pop into on occasion, where there's a quote by Virginia Woolf up on the board by the front door. Woolf had titled a novel about a lighthouse; and I suppose I’m rather drawn to them, as a sort of indefatigable place of refuge. No wave too mighty, no wind too powerful…you get the drift. The beacon from the lighthouse pierces through the dark, fog, mist, and clouds — providing an unwavering signal for the sailor. The lighthouse is an undisputed sign of hope. But, what, if, shadows from the seventh dimension (I'm being comical as most everyone has perhaps heard of the fourth dimension?), came out on a wayward vessel like something straight out of Moby Dick? What if these shadows now haunt you, beyond the reach of the lighthouse, in real life?

I enjoy taking a stroll from here to another café, mostly because I walk along the river and get to see the clear blue water along the way. I cross by hordes of Canadian geese that rest in these parts too. They shit all over the sidewalks and sometimes they hiss at me too, for no reason at all. You wouldn’t even believe it. You’d think that they’d go out over to the bank, or the water’s edge to do that sort of thing, but no… that would be far too pleasant.

In reality, they find a spot right under the walking bridge that you're on (where there’s a bit of shade from the sun), and they go right ahead and drop a deuce dead-centre on the path below. That’s riiiight. You'd think that I’m kidding — of course, you would — but, I’m not. It’s one of those things that you’d really need to see with your own eyes, but I'll spare you with these words instead. So, we’ll just say these geese have got a little bit of the teenage wasteland sort of spirit.

Now, if you keep your distance there's a good chance that they’ll avoid attacking you, unprovoked of course. But, you just never know — especially if they’re protecting their goslings. I wouldn’t be too surprised if they tried to gorge my eyes out whilst passing through, one of these days. Yet, I still saunter on by them; I just tend to ignore them like I would ignore (the rather annoying) bees and horseflies. But the bees are vital. Bees are so damn industrious, and they’re disappearing! The unfortunate plight of the bees, however, is a topic of discussion for some other time...

So, I pop into this second café along the river and order a beverage from the counter before I get to work writing. And I’m sitting down in a seat by the great big windows where I can see people passing on by, and I’m typing up a story as one would without too much distraction. And it happens to be my birthday too — and, in walks a fellow that has the same regalia as me. Yes, I'm giving myself some airs. And it’s not like this chap had a random baseball cap or a jacket that vaguely resembled my own, but he could’ve easily passed for someone who'd just left my house after having ransacked my wardrobe... except he didn’t. I had my ball cap flipped back on my noggin the same way as him, so I knew nobody broke into my home. But, the ball cap had the same logo in the same spot — he literally copied my style.

So, you know, I had to tell my friends; otherwise who would believe me, right? I thus took a picture and sent it over to a couple of them. A photo doesn't lie. Now, one of these friends dares to text me back, to suggest that my style isn’t that original; but I’ve honestly never seen anyone wearing the hat (together with the regalia) the same way I was: so, in my mind, it IS that original.

And then guess what happens?

This fella comes and sits down at the same table as me. He doesn’t even realize that he’s dressed just like me, yet with all the tables available, he chooses to sit at mine. I almost start believing this is some elaborate prank and I’m about to get Punk'd, like on television or something. It’s my birthday, after all. But, whoever this chap is, he's distracted and chatting with the girlfriend that he brought along with him — until he does a double glance my way and discovers the … coincidence. He starts to smile and mumbles something — at which point the girlfriend looks over my way, and smiles. And now I’m smiling too! — we’re all smiling like a bunch of eggheads. I use the occasion to go on a rampage (on my phone's notepad) to get these details down for my story, which I’m not even sure needs to be told… but I feel like there might be something there, and I’m texting my brother at the same time about coming down to this café to witness this phenomenon; he and I had arranged to meet up, for a bushfire.

So, what does it all mean?

Would you call this, my wardrobe doppelgänger? Apart from the attire, he didn't look much like me, at all. Does it, therefore, still qualify as an omen of death? Or is this just my cue to avoid frolicking on the bank of the river with all these darn geese nearby? The lighthouse author, Woolf, filled her pockets with rocks and walked straight into the damn thing. What shadows was she haunted by?

I honestly don’t know what to make of it, but I think I’ll take it as a sign from another dimension. I thought I would wait a couple of months before posting this story though, you never know...