Of course I’m late and of course my boss is fine with it. I’m never late, so he’s more concerned than anything. My word is enough for him, but I show the phone picture and the report just the same.

“Jesus, Thad! That could have been you. I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The rest of the day goes like normal. I love my work and I’m good at it, so it’s easy to get caught up while the hours pass.

But I can’t get it off my mind; their words.

If it’s not your time then it’s just not your time.

That could have been you.

It could have been me. It nearly was me. If it were me — if fate decided it was my time to go —would I look back on my life feeling like it was complete?

Of course not.

I mean, I’m financially stable, have a wonderful career that makes more money than I need really, but that’s it. I’ve only had one relationship that ended after four months because I’m basically a shut in. I don’t live life as much as watch it happen for those around me. I have the money, so I don’t know why I don’t travel or do more with my free time. I mostly just sit around, reading and wishing I were trying the things I read about in books.

I’d love to travel, but I don’t want to do it alone. I wish I was even brave enough to put myself back out there and date. It’s just not who I am. I’m the guy that goes home every evening, waters my one plant, does a short work out, showers, has dinner that’s ordered because heavens knows I can’t cook for shit, and then goes to bed. That’s my routine. That’s what works for me.

Maybe that’s good enough.

When I get home at the end of the day, I water Phil, the philodendron plant that I share my home with. He’s a good roommate. He never makes noise, doesn’t take up too much room, and is always forgiving if I forget to water him on schedule.

Today is Monday, so it’s watering time. I make it a point to pet several of his leaves gently and to breathe over him while I talk.

“How was your day, Phil? Did you have a successful day of photosynthesizing?”

In my head, I justify talking to my plant. If it makes him happier then he’ll grow healthier and eat up more carbon dioxide, leaving me with fresh, clean oxygen. I don’t know if it actually makes a difference, but it can’t hurt. I mean, plants might get lonely too for all we know.

“Hmm, do you get lonely, Phil?”

Jeez, this is the kind of behavior that gets people locked up in a nut house, isn’t it?

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

I brush aside my own joke to hide how pathetic I must be to hold a conversation half aloud and half in my head with a plant.

Those words come crashing back down on me.

If it’s not your time then it’s just not your time.

That could have been you.

Is this what I want my life to be?

No. I’m in my thirties. If I keep this up, I’ll end up alone forever.

My phone buzzes.

Great, my mom.

“Hi, mom.”

‘Hey there, Thad Thad. So, St. Patrick’s Day is coming up. Are you going to visit home to celebrate with us? Are you bringing anyone special?’

That’s a double no. Being an only child means my parents are harping on me to settle down and make a baby. If they had any clue …

“Actually, I already have plans,” I lie. “Too bad I didn’t know sooner or I could have fit you in.”

‘Thad, are you going to one of those Atlanta parties where everyone ends up naked but no one remembers other peoples’ names? I hear they run rancid with diseases, those people.’

Wow. My own mother knows more about the under-workings of Atlanta than I do. That’s pretty sad.

“Well, I had planned on attending an underwear party and snorting my share of cocaine, but now that you’ve warned me against it, I’ll adjust accordingly.”

‘Just be sure to get the name of whoever you sleep with so you can be sure to bring her home when you have a chance.’

“Yeah, I’ll make a note to always know the name of my underwear party lovers. Don’t you worry. So, how are you and dad?”

‘Oh, you know us. Your father is always hanging out at the golf course now that he’s partially retired. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. I warned him of that mess when he sat down with the financial advisor who told him he could retire early. He’s driving me crazy! I wish he had a second golf course to keep him occupied. He goes on and on about one hole or the other and how the new course manager is a fool that doesn’t know his right from left …’

It only makes sense to pass on the buck by talking my ear off with her complaints.

I let her babble about her trifles for several minutes before I cut her off.

“Oh, mom. I hate to do it, but I have to go. I have company.”

‘Alright, Thad Thad. You have fun this weekend and stay out of jail. That cocaine is a felony after all.’

The fact that she’s playing off as if she knows drug crime sentencing is comical in itself.

“Actually, it’s a misdemeanor if it’s in powder form. It’s only a felony in small amounts if it’s in rock form.”

‘Do I even want to know how you know that? Should I be concerned?’

“I read it in a book recently about the disenfranchisement of felons or something like that.”

‘Alright, baby. Well stay off the drugs and make me a grandparent soon, okay?’

She doesn’t even question whether I’m lying and could have secretly picked up the habit. That’s how pathetically boring I am.

“I’ll get right on that, mom.”

Ugh.

I give Phil the evil eye.

“Don’t judge me. You wouldn’t want to tell your overly eager, endearing parents either if you were in my shoes. I mean, how do you say ‘guess what? You’ll never be grandparents because I like the Twinkie over the taco?’ You don’t; that’s how! You keep your damn mouth shut and live in the closet. And that’s where you’ll end up if you start blabbing.”

I’m perfectly aware he’ll keep my secrets. He always has before. I have no reason to doubt him.

I laugh aloud at myself and move into my workout.

If it’s not your time then it’s just not your time.

That could have been you.

What if it had been me?

Fuck it!

I’m going out this weekend. I need to expand my horizons a little. I can’t talk to plants more than I do people. That’s where I draw the line.

Alright, so what’s going on in Atlanta this weekend? I can get a hotel with one of our chains. The discounts I receive are great.

Hmm, maybe Hotel Indigold? It’s not far from midtown which is always a happening spot.

A phone scroll later and I find that there’s no room available. A quick search proves that there isn’t really a room available anywhere on Saturday. I guess that makes sense. It is Atlanta on St. Patrick’s Day which happens to fall on a weekend this year.

Maybe I’ll go and cut off my drinking early so I can drive home afterwards. It’s only like a forty-minute drive anyway.

Scrolling the events calendar, I map out a plan to park early in the day near the bar scene and catch a cab over to the parade. Otherwise, I’ll never find parking that evening. I can enjoy the parade and then hop back over for the Atlanta Green Mile block party. It’s a bunch of bars that dye their beer green. It looks promising. I’ll sign up.