The Duck Pond

It was a sunny Tuesday morning. Warm, for March. A little early for ducklings, but they chirped and splashed anyway, three small yellow-brown fuzzy balls who resided in the small pond in the park. They were Cole’s favourite thing, at the moment, the best part of his week as he walked to his appointment with Dr. Lassiter, feet heavier than his head.

Tuesdays were a cup of tea. Sweet sugar ducklings floating on the surface, and, eventually, the acrid mouthful at the bottom of the cup. Silt from the pond floor.

Dr Lassiter would probably tell him to frame his thoughts more productively. Think forward. But sometimes all he wanted to do was go back.

Cole slowed, stopped, rested his arm on the pond fence for a moment. The ducklings played in ripples and dipped their heads into the water, cheeping with what Cole fancied to be pride as they reemerged. The ripples moved slowly outwards, small expanding rings on the surface, moving and twisting as they collided with each other. It felt like a mirror of his mind, and he could see himself, distorted and wavering. The slight frown on his face looked like anguish in the rolling water, his movements confused and jagged.

The reflection was shattered as the mother duck broke through the surface, and Cole looked to the ducklings again. They were pecking something, a gleam of gold catching the light.

Cole leant closer - it was some kind of paper, a little muddy - he sat and pushed his arm through the fence, stretching his fingertips and they caught, just barely, and he slowly pulled it back through the fence, the ducklings fleeing to their mother, who quacked angrily at him. 
“Sorry, guys,” he apologised, wiping the paper on the grass. 
It was a scratch card - the gold glimmer had been one scratched-off symbol, a crown, flashing at him in the sunlight. The rest were still concealed.

Cole stood, and looked around for someone who might have lost it - perhaps a gust of wind having torn it from their hands - but the park was almost empty. Just him and a dog-walker on the far side of the field.

Cole checked his watch; he would be a little late to his appointment if he stopped any longer, but he fished in his pocket for a coin. There was a shop on the way there - maybe he’d win enough to cover lunch, at least.

He set the scratch card against the fence and rubbed along the first row. A crown, a coin, a cherry.

The second row, with the crown already exposed - he scratched the first symbol. Another crown. He scratched the third, strangely nervous. A hint of gold shone out from underneath - a third crown.

He froze, and looked at the card for a long moment.

Holy shit.

Three crowns was $20, 000.

This could change my life, was the first thought that steamrolled through Cole’s mind - he could move, get a car, pay for more therapy - he could go anywhere he wanted. He could start again, anywhere.

But he looked out at the pond, and heard the ducklings chirp, just like he did the year before.

The grass around the pond was muddy, and there was no real vegetation, only weeds and a few cattails. The pond had been neglected for some years now, and the surrounding park. It was overgrown, the sunbathing spots all overcast now - where there was once a proud statue of Neptune, there was only a cracked plinth, scattered with ivy.

And when he would walk out, on the uneven gravel path, he would walk out onto grey, busy streets of uninterested people and cold, fluorescent-lit buildings.

Just like the year before.

Perhaps it was just a sunny Tuesday, after all.

Cole put the scratch card in his pocket, and kept walking. His thumb traced the frayed edge in his coat, and he moved slowly, pensive. He looked down as he walked, head low, as if the money in his pocket was in gold, carried around his neck and dragging, heavy, toward the floor.

It was why, when a huge, panting dog barrelled around the corner and into his stomach, he didn’t see it coming -

He flew backward, landing on the verge, and he stared up from the ground at the black hound slathering above him - it opened its mouth, showing the rows of sharp teeth in its jaws, and immediately began licking him enthusiastically.

“Poppy! Come here!”

The dog’s head disappeared from view, replaced by a girl, and an outstretched hand. He took it, and hauled himself to his feet. Even now that Cole was standing, the dog was massive - a great dane, the size of a small horse, jet black and menacing in every way, bar the pink tongue flopping from its mouth as it panted vigorously and its tail whipping back and forth in barely-contained excitement.

At its shoulder was the girl, an impressive several heads taller than her pet. She smiled, a little red in the cheeks, hair windswept.

“I’m really sorry. Poppy is still pretty young, believe it or not. She gets a little carried away sometimes, and if she takes me by surprise, with her strength…we’re working on it, though!”

“It’s okay. No harm done.” Cole smiled, and reached out to scratch behind Poppy’s ears. “You live round here too?”

“Yeah. I walk Poppy every day, though - I’m surprised. I’ve never seen you before.”
Cole laughed then. “I don’t go out all that much. And I’m late today - usually I would have already been through here by now. So I must just miss you by a few minutes every day.”

“Oh!” She looked up at him, eyes bright. Her smile made small dimples in her cheeks. Like ripples in a pond.

“Wow. So this is, like, kismet then.” She grinned.

Cole raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You know, it’s fate.”

“No, I know what kismet is. But, uh, why?”

“You were late today. And because you happened to be late today, you turned this corner at this exact time. And today just so happened to be the day that Poppy was super excited and went tearing off up the road when I least expected it, and ran right into you.”

She paused. “And…today is my birthday. That’s a lot of coincidences for it to be…well, coincidence. Don’t you think?” She made a mock-thinking face, resting chipped, electric blue nails against her cheek.

Cole looked at her for a moment before responding, wondering if she was somehow joking. If someone could really believe something like that. But he still had the scratch card in his pocket, and he saw again in the corner of his eye that tiny golden gleam in the grass.

Yeah. That’s a lot of coincidences.

“Maybe.” He said. “But I think, at first, I should at least know your name.”

“Clara. You?”

He couldn’t see any reservations in her face, like so many others. There was an openness, a welcoming that lingered in her words and in her smile.

“Cole.”

“Okay, Cole. You said you were late, so… I should let you go. But…” She paused. “Maybe you could be late again next time?”

He was about to agree - Dr. Lassiter was waiting. He should go.
But it was like he could see the gold in her eyes, too. Something bright. Something he’d been waiting for.

“I’m too late now, anyway. I’ll have to reschedule. Besides, who am I to say no to kismet? Or birthdays?” He smiled at her.

“It’s nice to meet you, Clara.”

She beamed at him, and it was like someone woke up the sun.

———————————————

3 - 3 - 20. Tuesday. 11:36pm.

I think today was the most important day of my life.

Cole tapped the page with his pen, the small, black notebook in front of him thick with pages, filled with scrawled writing and stuffed with photographs.

It’s enough money to change everything - it’s enough money to start building a real life for myself.

But it wasn’t enough for me to want to. As it turns out, money really can’t buy happiness.

But when I found that today, a part of me that had stopped believing in luck, or fortune, or hope was unfurled - and I thought that maybe good things could start happening to me. That maybe I could deserve them.

Cole had called the number on the scratch card and told them he’d won. They would send a cheque in the mail. There wasn’t really anything he wanted to buy just yet. But maybe soon.

I’m not ‘lucky’. Tomorrow might be bad again. Life will still throw everything it can think of against me.

But there’s coincidence, or fortune, or random good things with no reason at all. I just have to be ready for all of it. And I think I am.

I think Clara is a good thing.

I think I’m ready to be happy.

—————————————————

Next Tuesday, Cole stood at the pond again.

He was, early this time. Clara would be meeting him soon.

The ducklings were a little bigger than before, a little more loud. He’d come almost every day since, and they were used to him - they flocked to his feet as he sprinkled crumbs on the floor.

He looked down at the surface of the pond. With the ducks at his feet, it was suddenly completely still. His reflection settled.

The ripples were always ephemeral. He looked at himself, and realised he was smiling.