The Tortoise and the Hare

Grace was always fast—at everything. Quick-witted and sharp, she lived her life fast. Her work, social, and home lives were never static for long. Living on as little sleep as possible, she jammed everything she could into her day: a run, coffee shops, work, shopping, social events, all of it. At 25, Grace never slowed down. Grace liked to live fast, always had, and always will.

Lucky was always slow—at everything. Sarcastic and calm, he lived his life slowly. His work, social, and home lives stayed the same. He took cat naps when the sun was at its peak and only did what he had to. At 26, he never felt rushed. Lucky was slow; he always has been, and always will be.

When these two lives collided, their trajectories changed. They met at a coffee shop around noon on a Saturday, Lucky’s typical nap time and Grace’s typical jog time. Grace was feeling oddly tired that day from a party on the beach the night before. Lucky was oddly awake because he fell asleep watching a movie earlier than usual. 

Grace saw the back of Lucky’s head, not yet knowing his name. It was nothing remarkable. Just some guy ordering a coffee. He wore a simple linen t-shirt, perfect for the weather, with sunglasses sitting atop his head. He ordered some version of a macchiato that sounded better than whatever she had planned on ordering. 

After ordering, Lucky stepped aside, waiting patiently for his order. He watched a car out the window. A dog was poking it’s nose out the passenger side. He overheard Grace, not knowing who she was yet, order, “Whatever it was he just ordered.” He turned his head, seeing the woman the voice belonged to. Nothing remarkable. She was wearing running shorts and a too-big T-shirt, with headphones around her neck. 

The two stood side by side, waiting for their drinks. His came first, and as he went to pick it up, she spoke, “Thanks for the inspiration.” 

“Anytime,” lifting the coffee in a mock ‘cheers’ and turned for the door. When he didn’t look back, Grace was surprisingly sad. She was curious about the stranger. So, when handed her coffee, she walked briskly out the front door and toward the back of the man. 

When she caught up to him, which only took her three wide paces, she took the first sip of the coffee: “Hey, not bad.” 

Lucky continued to look forward and walk at his leisurely pace. Grace slowed her walk to meet him, struggling to match his slow, careful steps. “I’m Grace,” the words tumbled out of her mouth as if they spilled before she decided what should come next, “I would love to know the name of a coffee connoisseur, such as yourself.” 

“Lucky,” his head tilted slightly upwards, his voice almost tired, bored, like it was an effort to say more. “It’s nice to meet you.” He was watching the sky now, trying to spot a familiar shape in the clouds. 

“It’s lovely to meet you, Lucky,” Grace held her hand out, and finally, Lucky turned to look at her. 

Lucky looked down, but not far, into brown eyes. In the sun, they shined. It would be a few weeks until Lucky learned that Grace's eyes always shined, full of life. Grace looked up into deep blue eyes. They weren’t open wide, as if the sun was rising, not at its apex. It would be a few weeks until Grace learned that Lucky’s eyes always held that lazy haze. 

Lucky’s hand grabbed hold of Grace’s, their feet never stopping, but Lucky finally picked up speed to meet Grace’s. When their hands fell, neither spoke for a moment. Grace was elated at the idea of a new friend, desperate to hear everything he had to say. Lucky took a long sip of his coffee. 

Their minds were akin to their lives. Grace’s was quick-moving, with millions of thoughts a day. Lucky’s was slow, observing what was around him, and never hung up on anything. 

“So, Lucky,” Grace had a bounce in her step now, “what are you up to today?”

Lucky took a slow, deep breath, letting it out in entirety before answering, “I was going to sit in the park.” Grace blinked. The simplicity of his answer piqued her curiosity even more. 

“Okay…” She waited for him to go on, but he didn’t. Lucky didn’t ask her any questions back either. Grace’s mind slowed for only a moment, stalling at the lack of information. “Then what?” Her legs were itching now, begging for more speed. The coffee certainly didn’t help that. 

“Maybe the market,” Lucky looked at this bouncing woman beside him. She was someone he would watch in a crowd, if only because she couldn’t stand still. She was fascinating. Her ponytail swung back and forth behind her, moving with the momentum she had but refused to use, keeping speed with him. 

“Well, I was planning on going for a run,” Grace looked pointedly at Lucky, “just in case you were wondering.” 

“A run.” 

“Yes, a run.” Grace waited again for more, but when nothing came, she added, “I would love to do a marathon, maybe just a half, but I think it still counts.” 

Lucky repeated, “A marathon.” 

“Yes, a marathon.” 

Their conversation, if you can call it that, continued on like that until they arrived at a park bench. Grace asking a question, and Lucky answering with no more than ten words. But Grace liked to talk, and Lucky didn’t mind the prodding. So they sat. When Grace spotted a group of people around their age playing frisbee, she said, “I think I want to join them.”

“Them?” Lucky pointed, then turned to face her, resting one leg on the bench between them. 

“Yeah,” she was beaming now, “come with me. It will be fun.” 

Lucky looked back and forth between her and the game, unsure of what to say. He would have never considered joining strangers in a game at the park, but the woman's excitement was tempting, especially now that she was standing with her hand out reached to him. With another deep breath, he took her hand for a second time. 

Hand in hand, they approached the group, and Grace asked to join in their casual tossing of the disc. The group was more than welcoming, and when they parted ways, Grace got several phone numbers and invitations to casual game nights. 

Before the two parted ways, she handed him her phone. “Put your number in.” 

Without question, Lucky took her phone and typed in the ten digits. 

And so, they carried on like that. 

Grace would reach out to Lucky, suggesting something that he would never think to do. He would wait at least an hour before finally giving in. Karaoke, beach days, and some of the game nights she was invited to. 

After some time, Lucky began to reach out, too, but only when he was thoroughly exhausted from Grace's constant plans. So, she started going to his apartment.

Clean, organized, “This looks like a model home.” Grace was usually blunt, and with Lucky, it was no different.

To no surprise, Lucky shrugged and went to the cupboard, fishing out two boxes of popcorn: plain and buttered. 

“Wow, such choices.” Grace breezed past him and began rummaging through his cabinets. 

“What are you doing?” Lucky’s voice was never angry. The only thing Grace ever saw him express was confusion. 

“Hoping to find something better than that!” After a few more seconds, Grace came up with nothing. She sighed and turned to look at him. “Next movie night is at my house,” she huffed. 

Lucky still stood, holding the popcorn boxes. His eyes narrowed slightly in challenge, but Grace blinked, and his usual calm took back over. 

“Buttered, please,” she finally gave in, and Lucky opened the box and started making the popcorn.

She walked the three steps from the kitchen to the couch, plopped down, and curled her feet under her. 

Without halting his movements, Lucky called, “Make yourself at home.” He smiled to himself, hoping—and knowing—that the comment would incline her to say something snarky.

“I would feel at home if I had better snacks,” she shouted, even though he could have heard her if she had whispered. 

Slowly, Lucky picked up some of Grace's snark and openness. But early on, Grace had adopted Lucky’s calmness. 

After just a few weeks, they were seeing each other almost every day. They would do what Grace wanted one weekend, then what Lucky wanted the next. 

Their rhythm became a perceivably perfect ebb and flow.

One Saturday afternoon, they were getting coffee at the same cafe where they had met just weeks before. Just like that first day, Grace copied Lucky’s coffee order, and they walked to the park. 

Grace wanted to climb a tree. Lucky watched the clouds. His eyes barely moved until that curly blonde head of hair popped into his vision above him, perched on a tree branch. When she shifted, he slammed his eyes shut. The bark was falling out from under her. 

“Come up here!” Grace was always loud. Not loud - confident. Lucky kept his eyes shut so she wouldn’t carry on pestering him. 

Grace laid back on the tree branch, her hair dangling beneath her. She sighed. They could see the clouds from here; she was closer to them, after all. As she lay, she heard dogs and people and the wind. Lucky had told her why he said so little, why he was careful with his words, why he listened. She listened now. Grace was used to jumping in, not second-guessing her desire to participate. Now, she listened.

Lucky tipped his head down, averting his eyes from the sky. A dog sniffed his sneaker, and he reached down to pat it on the head. It was a Grace-like action, he thought. He wouldn’t have petted that dog a few weeks ago, wouldn’t have smiled at the owner, wouldn’t have laughed as the dog got distracted by a stick. He looked up at the tree again. Grace had barely moved. When she did, she was tilting her head to listen to a sound. 

Grace looked down; she saw Lucky waving at someone they had seen last weekend. She huffed a laugh at how they had rubbed off on one another. He echoed it as if thinking the same.

They carried on like this. Becoming more and more the same. Grace didn’t mind the slow mornings, and Lucky liked the busy nights. They balanced one another. Until, the scale tipped. 

One quiet morning after a late night, the pair sat on Lucky’s balcony overlooking a busy street. Lucky was twirling Grace's hair between his fingers, and Grace was pouring syrup on the pancakes Lucky had made. 

“I could do this forever,” his voice was quiet, dull as if he was talking about the weather. 

“What?” Grace turned away from the balcony. Lucky shrugged in the way he did. “Words this time, Lucky.” Grace’s voice rose. She was almost as calm as Lucky now. She had been staying with him for a few months now, longer than she had stayed anywhere since she was 16. They hadn’t even gone on a road trip. Grace was happy, though. She didn’t mind the quiet. She didn’t mind the slow afternoons. But now, she wondered when she last went on a run. 

“I like you like this,” Lucky mused, “I like the peace, the mornings like this—just you and I.”

“What if I want more than this?” Her voice wasn’t harsh, but Grace wanted to go places, and she didn’t want the peace. She thrived in chaos.

“What more could you want? Just two of us, here in this apartment.” Lucky’s calm demeanour began to slip, his voice nearly cracking.

“I appreciate the time I spend with you, but I love the world. I need to see more, meet more people, and do everything possible.” She sighed, forking a bite of pancake into her mouth. Her hands were sticky with syrup, and his had dropped from her hair. 

They sat in the quiet Lucky thrived on. Then, Lucky sat alone. Grace couldn’t take the wall of silence. She grabbed her small bag, the one she had practically lived out of when she was at Lucky’s, and walked to the park. 

They lived like that. Lucky went back to his quiet, reliable life and Saturday afternoon naps. Grace went back to acting rather than just listening.

They were a blip in each other's lives—a few months of a new pattern and new people. Grace liked to live fast, always had, and always will. Lucky was slow; he always has been, and always will be. Not much changed in their lives, but Grace doesn’t order macchiatos anymore and Lucky stopped buying popcorn.