Sold Yesterday

During one month, I found four used cars I genuinely wanted to see.

Each one was sold the day before I arrived.

The first time was ordinary bad luck. The second was annoying. By the third, coincidence had begun to look organized. After the fourth, I was prepared to accuse the universe of taking an active interest in my transportation.

Around the same period, there was someone I had met through friends. I liked her, delayed doing anything useful about it, and eventually decided that the next time we met I would actually talk to her.

Then I did not see her for five months.

This seemed like supporting evidence.

The two problems had nothing practical in common. A used car listing and a person in a social circle do not belong to the same system. But desire has a way of making unrelated delays look coordinated.

Before I wanted the cars, sold listings meant nothing.

Before I decided to speak, not seeing someone meant nothing.

Once I wanted the next step, timing became personal.

That is how coincidence acquires a face.

You begin imagining the car before buying it. The price works, the color works, perhaps this is finally the one. Then the phone call comes: sold yesterday.

You tell yourself the next one will be better.

Sold yesterday.

Again.

By the fourth time, probability has become rude.

The romantic version was even simpler. I had spent enough time postponing a conversation to assume the opportunity would remain available. The moment I decided to use it, the person disappeared from my normal routes.

Nothing mystical had to be happening.

But “bad timing” was much less satisfying than believing somebody, somewhere, was enjoying the joke.

Four days after writing that complaint, I had bought a car.

The universe, apparently, had a very short attention span.