Walking to a medical school admissions interview and asking myself why I wanted to be a physician, I was unexpectedly hailed by a man walking counter to me and, I suppose, asking himself if I would stop. I stopped. The man asked me if I was going somewhere.
“Health Sciences for an interview so I can’t really chat. The medical school stressed that attendance is mandatory at inter—” He cut me off.
“What a coincidence! Med school, huh? Coincidence ’cause my dad teaches there: Give me your wallet.”
My brain took a few moments to catch up to his speech and deduce that I was being robbed, but by then the robber had amended his demand to “Actually just go ahead and take your pants off.” Perhaps I complied so readily to his order because I had been raised on a commune, or perhaps I had internalized what police advise, which is that “Things are replaceable but your life isn’t so, give the mugger what they want.” Either way, within seconds I was barelegged. However, instead of snatching my pants and running, the robber doffed his pants and traded his jeans for my trousers.
“So why’d you want to be a doctor?” he asked me as he pointed to my tie.
“Take care of children I guess,” I said, swapping my tie for his Subway.
“So what’re some of your strengths?” He was holding up and admiring his shirt and jacket after I had handed them to him.
“My resistive and resilient nature, for one.” I was donning my T-shirt after he had tossed it to me.
We likewise traded Oxfords for sandals, a wristwatch for a baseball cap, some intangibles. The robber finished by taking my glasses but not before removing his contact lenses and sprinkling them onto my open palm.
“What’s your prescription?” I asked, looking from the contacts to the man as he walked off in the direction he’d come from, but he never answered me. Thus, it’s clear to see that any later attempt to retrieve my possessions from this stranger would have been insurmountably difficult because I lacked his contact information.
Walking now in the direction I’d come from, I was removed from reverie when my cell phone began ringing. I slid the phone from out of my jeans pocket and answered it.
“You’re still coming, right?” a woman’s voice inquired.
“Yea.”
“Okay, see you soon.”
After I’d hung up, I noticed I had a new text message. The message read “Damn dude... I’m sorry.” This text was a response from my best friend Jim to a text I’d sent him this morning. In that earlier text, I’d told Jim that I thought Amanda was going to tell me she was pregnant today. I looked through more messages until I found one sent by Amanda seven months ago which consisted only of her address.
When I arrived at her apartment, Amanda led me into her very blue bedroom.
“What’s wrong with your face?” she asked.
“I was mugged.”
“I see,” she said, patting the spot next to her on the bed. I sat beside her and she held my hands in hers. She told me she was pregnant and keeping the baby, a turn of events I thought about in silence for some time. When it seemed right to speak, I spoke.
“Amanda. I know we haven’t been dating long, but I know that I love you, as simple as song. Do we love at first sight? No: for at first sight there can only be the bang that expands into what we describe as ‘love’ but feel as an everything taking us everywhere. I remember well that bang, and each sight of you triggers that bang anew. Knowing this, I need never fear to break apart (as Alvy did in Annie Hall, a movie I said I hated again and again only so I could see again and again how immensely cute your stares of disbelief were). How, then, can I want anything else but to spend the rest of my life with you? How, then, can I want anything else but to play a major role in the life of our child? How, then, can I refrain from saying what I want to say? Amanda, will you marry me?”
“When did we see Annie Hall together?” she asked.
“That one time,” I replied.
“Oh, I don’t remember that but okay, I’ll marry you,” she said.
So that’s the story, Son. Now you know why you look a lot like your pediatrician and not at all like me.
