Against All Odds

Mo hurriedly put on his wrinkled button-up dress shirt which he buttoned wrongly, and threw on a linty suit. He rubbed some spit in his hair. No time for gel. No time for ironing the shirt and sweeping off the lints off the suit either. He grabbed his backpack, and dashed out the door, with a piece of bread in his mouth and a half-filled coffee cup in his hand.

He checked his phone as he scarfed down his bread and downed the coffee. Thirty minutes until his job interview at 10:00. The problem is that the ride from home to the office takes at least 40 minutes.

Another problem was that his same-age car was barely mobile after a crash that happened a few weeks ago. The 1998 Mitsubishi sedan now parked near a junkyard. Mo thought he would never make it to the interview on time. He sat down, head in his hands, defeated. The company was his only shot to get out of his parent’s basement, and now he would go back to being “the juvenile that had no life”.

Unless…

It had been nearly 13 years since he had last traveled the path, but it had been forever fixed in his mind. He didn’t want to take it, but the trail was his last resort, and if he didn’t use it, he would never land that interview.

He took off faster than a sprinter on the track team. His car was a few yards away. It looked so banged up, resembling a metal wad of mashed potatoes.

He leaped into the car and started the engine. 

Puffs of black smoke escaped from the exhaust pipe and, after a series of struggling roars from the motor, the poor old machine finally revved up.

The car moved as if it was suspended in Jell-O, but miraculously managed to run. However, Mo knew that it wouldn’t last very long, and would barely manage this journey, but he had to try.

He had discovered the path when he was a teenager; an overgrown road that somehow led downtown. It started just around the corner, and was covered by a gate.

Mo took a deep breath, and, willing to give it a bet, stomped on the gas pedal.

This dying old car, maybe having an unexpected return of consciousness, decided to do its owner a final good deed. It blasted away like a deranged bull charged up running. The only problem was that Mo could barely control the steering wheel as the car thundered down the alleyway with a mind of its own, careening wildly into dumpsters and flattening construction cones.

By the time Mo regained control of the steering wheel, the car had overturned nearly ten trash bins, sending garbage and waste in the air like fireworks.

Mo hung his head in his hands. My neighbors are going to commit a hate crime on me, he thought. 

The trail of destruction in the car’s wake was quite spectacular, as if a rabid lion had run through the street. But by some miracle, Mo had managed to arrive at the gate. 

It was covered in vines and tendrils, along with other shrubbery. Its once green paint had now faded to the color of rust and dirt, and the chain was falling apart. It was wide, as if to hold a garbage truck, and seemed as if it wouldn’t even open.

The time was 9:37, and Mo knew that if he didn’t make it there on time, his life would be screwed. He took a deep breath, and stepped on the gas pedal one more time.

The car sputtered and moved barely an inch. Then, out of the blue, it shot forward, breaking the gate and rocketing into a foresty trail. 

For one moment, Mo was in between houses; for the next, he had entered a woodland. Trees were dense, and the walls were so overgrown it looked as if he was in a hallway made out of twisting vines. The ground was also covered in dirt, mud and scattered swamps. 

He had no time to think though. His interview is coming up in less than 20 minutes, and he had to get through this path as fast as he could.

His car raced down the alleyway, bouncing on rocks, tripping on roots, turning sharp corners. Mo could barely control the car; it was too old, and Mo knew that one wrong move would make it crumble.

Suddenly, he saw something moving in the middle of the bushy path. What is it? Mo wondered. The creature slowly revealed itself; the shape of it was so exotic yet so familiar that you can only see from the National Geographic magazine. Mo froze in disbelief. 

It was a lion. 

How on earth would a lion appear in this city, a human habitat, a concrete jungle? The lion looked a bit malnutritioned but nonetheless fierce. It looked hungry. Under its messy mane was a face straight out of a horror movie - its black, cold beady eyes sent Mo the signal that there was no mistake - he had been locked as the prey.  The lion let out a roar and shone its sharp canines that looked like meat cleavers.

Little did people in the town, including Mo, know that this wild animal had been, secretly and illegally, kept as a pet by a drug-dealer before he was jailed a few years ago. The lion must have wandered away and somehow managed to stay alive by hunting small animals in this woodland without arousing attention from its neighbors. 

Mo stomped on the brakes, and, amazingly, the car halted instantly. 

Mo’s fight-or-flight survival mechanism was full on. Lion or not,  I have to get that job interview!   He decided to fight and  revved up the engine and prepared to crash right through the lion. The lion charged at Mo at the same time. It smashed head on into the car, trying to bite at Mo. The car window acted as a temporary protector for Mo which irritated the lion even more. It backed up, growled so loudly Mo’s ears popped, and looked directly at him.

Then Mo had an idea. 

He took a deep breath and gunned the gas pedal, charing at his predator. He then jumped out of the car just before it hit the wild beast. His body sailed through the air and landed hard on his side, knocking the breath out of him. Luckily, he was alive.

But the lion wasn’t so lucky. He hit that car head on with a sickening crunch, and stopped suddenly, before falling over as if it were a domino.

Mo’s head throbbed as if it had been smacked with an iron club, but with some difficulty, got inside the car and started the engine. Amazingly, the car could still operate as usual, even though it had sustained a crash with an angry lion and the doors were flinging open.

Mo glanced at his dashboard clock. 9:42. If the next few paths were just as Mo remembered them, then he should arrive at the office building with maybe two minutes to spare. The universe seems to have helped him on this journey, keeping the minutes long and lasting.

After about don’t-know-how-many turns, a couple of rabid wolf-like dogs, and a lone python, he finally reached what he remembered as the final stretch in the pathway. The time was 9:47. Five minutes felt like a century to Mo. 

Oh, I forgot to mention one small detail which is that Mo lived in Florida. In this southern state of the U.S., it  is common to find alligators in woodlands and rivers. 

An alligator leisurely entered the scene. Its scaly green scales were like the slime from a pond; green and wet. It had a long, stout head and when it yawned, the pale yellow of its maw and carving teeth was enough to make Mo go queasy.

If things couldn’t get more terrible, it was at that moment that his car chose to abruptly die. It was as if the universe got tired of him and decided to go Good luck!

However, the alligator stomps away and Mo breathes a sigh of relief. It seems as if the universe has listened to his pleas after all.

He cautiously exited his car and creeps over to where he last remembered the canoe being. Across the river, the large city glows with light and cars. He said a silent prayer that he still has his phone. At least he had a cell phone so he could still explain things to his mom and dad.

He found the canoe wedged between two palm trees; its faded red paint standing out between the shades of brown and green.

He hauled it out, tugging it by the large rope tied around the end, and shoved it into the water. Grabbing a nearby oar, he leaped into the boat and began to paddle towards town.

At first it was smooth sailing. There were no winds across the surface, and no waves there to bother him.

But all of a sudden the water began to churn and froth like there was a monster under his canoe. The boat also began to rock as if it were on a building made out of straws during an earthquake.

Mo clung to the sides of the boat as it rolled across the water. Suddenly, a large head came out and snapped at him. He screamed and attempted to use his oar to combat the alligator. Hopeless! More kept coming as if he were a lone fish in the middle of a shark gang. Everytime he hit one away with an oar, more kept coming. 

Mo kept fighting off alligator after alligator. The skyline of the downtown city never looked so far away; it seemed to drift farther away with every hit of an alligator. Then he glanced behind him and he realized; he was drifting away. His canoe was nearly touching the edge of the bank, and even worse, it was the crocodiles that were forcing him there.

He checked his watch. 9:54. His interview started in six minutes, and he didn’t want to miss his job offer just because of some lousy alligators.

He raised the paddle and clonked the nearest, biggest, meanest alligator on the head as hard as he could. The gator went cross eyed, and before Mo’s very eyes, went over and collapsed on the edge of the bank.

His confidence growing steadily, Mo dug his oar into the water and paddled furiously. Everytime a alligator came close to the canoe, he would give it a good thump on the head, and it would back off.

However, one lucky alligator managed to evade his defenses and gripped the edge of the canoe in its strong jaws. It began to tug on it, shakily rocking the canoe back and forth. As Mo got closer and closer to shore, the canoe began to rock more violently. The alligator wasn’t giving up, and had managed to tear a chunk of wood out from the boat. No matter how hard Mo hit the alligator, it still wouldn’t let go; it was as if its teeth were implanted into the boat.

When Mo finally reached shore, the alligator decided to strike.

It tugged hard on the edge of the boat; so hard, in fact, that the boat capsized. It turned over violently on its side, sending the boat crashing into the waters. But Mo managed to evade its maneuver; as the boat flipped over, he jumped as far as he could go, and managed to land in the grass on the banks of the river.

The alligator let go of the canoe and glared at Mo with its beady eyes, as if to say I’ll eat you one day.

Mo gulped. “Good luck.”

Then, he ran off towards the office. It was 9:59. Just in time.

As he made his way into the office building, he ducked into the bathroom to check himself. Somehow, he hadn’t managed to get any dirt smudges, river water or dried blood on his shirt. His hair and face was messed up like a Super Saiyan in the Japanese anime, Dragon Ball, but other than that, he was fine. He rinsed off his face, rubbing his eyes and cleansing it of any dirt. Then, with a few brushes of his hair, he donned his suit and strutted off for his interview.  

Finally, it was over. Mo walked out from the interviewer’s office. He was so happy he wanted to dance. He thought about calling his parents about how he did. He was sure he aced it. But he would still have to explain how he lost that car…eh. Would anyone believe what he had gone through in this unusual Monday morning?. He decided he would keep those 30 minutes of his life to tell his grandchildren, one day, maybe. 

He was so tired. After all, dodging a lion, and surviving a gang of hungry gators can do wonders to one’s energy.

I’ll get some sleep on the subway, he thought drowsily, staggering out of the office.

But Mo didn’t have time for that. He had fallen asleep right on the sidewalk.