The Peculiar Thing About Fate

The peculiar thing about fate is that it can strike in an instant after you spend your whole life waiting for it to arrive. It can also do so in the most unorthodox of ways.

More often than not, there are no grand arrivals nor signs of change to come. One day, all is ordinary, and the recurring, comfortable machinations of your life surround you. Next, you are Alice in Wonderland or beginning a hero’s journey with a sword in one hand and a quest in the other.

I never thought I would be a target of fate’s fascination. I thought it had woven a straight and narrow path for me on its tapestry. But then I found the door, and turning that knob changed everything.

It was a regular Saturday morning in September. I remember the leaves were on the edge of crisp, and the breeze tasted like autumn. Clad in a ratty t-shirt and running shorts that were a tad too tight (call it optimism), I had set out on my weekly jog. There was peace in the air, interrupted only by the nuisance of having to readjust my wired earbuds as each pounding step jostled them out of place.

Determined to embrace the beautiful weather while it lasted, I pressed on, heading toward the familiar path into the Tolerra forest.

I remembered a time when they said it was a haunted forest, once teeming with faeries and other magical creatures.

Now, it was a popular camping spot for local families and wilderness explorer groups. It was a pretty forest, with dense, tall trees that dappled the ground using the golden rays of the Sun above. Not too far from the path, a large river, the Calcurian River, wound itself through the trees and underbrush. The waters were calm and dark, even on the windiest of days. That was about the strangest thing found in the Tolerra forest, however.

It was ordinary, besides. Or at least, that’s what I had once believed.

Because of its quiet nature, it was not the sound of a rustling current, but instinct and memory that told me the Calcurian River was near. I made a point of stopping and taking in its peaceful waters during each run. It was a lovely place to stop and catch my breath before taking on the rest of the run, which tipped its way uphill before coming to an established campsite. There you could find the normal barely-clean bathrooms, but also a surprisingly delicious cafe which sold the best scones, each slathered in honey butter.

I wish I could say the air shifted somehow, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I wish I could tell you my instincts kicked in once the river was in my sights, and I knew something was different. As I said before, sometimes there are no grand entrances nor sign that your life is about to change. For me, it was a complete accident. It was an unfamiliar root in a path I’d run every week for the last six years. It was a stumble into an ancient tree and an outstretched hand to catch myself.

Fate, the finicky thing, let me fall face first into my destiny, literally. The tree beneath my palm gave way, and past the trunk, I plummeted.

It didn’t feel like falling necessarily; it felt like waking up. One moment there was nothing, and then life seemed to blossom throughout my body, and whether my eyes had been closed or not, I couldn’t tell, but suddenly light met them.

My first thought was that I must have hit my head when I tripped. The sky above me looked the same brilliant blue.

The ground felt solid, if a bit sodden from a just finished rainstorm. The hair at my temples clung to my skin from a mix of sweat and humidity. It was a humidity that hadn’t been there before. Had I been out long enough for it to rain? Why had no one found me? It was a fairly popular trail.

I moved to a sitting position, the palms of my hands sinking into the moist dirt below. I felt fairly spry as I rose to my feet, shaking out any weariness my fall had caused.

Looking around, it was immediately obvious I was not in the Tolerra forest anymore. The ancient tree still stood proud on my left, and a broad river cut the earth ahead, but nearly everything else had changed.

The surrounding trees gave way, and beyond the river was a field with rolling waves of golden grain. The color of the wheat was so vibrant, it almost glowed like the Sun.

I took a step forward. I must be concussed, still sleeping, and my mind was painting a beautiful painting to keep me occupied until someone found me and either woke me up or took me to the hospital.

A stone, cobblestoned bridge stood before me, spanning across the length of the Calcurian, or this strange approximation of it, and led into the field. I followed it, as if my feet were carrying my body without my mind’s permission.

My eyes fixed on what was ahead; beyond the golden wheat sea, there was a large stone castle, but instead of grey, the stones shone a glimmering white in the mid-day Sun.

Now, I can’t be sure of what I was thinking when I saw white castle, certainly nothing about fate or destiny. I look back now and all I can remember is a dazed confusion and strange sense of euphoria. It was like getting high while reading The Lord of the Rings, or depending on your poison, one of those erotic romantasies.

Had I known what was in store, perhaps I would have walked on to the castle, prompted fate to paint me a happy ending with a dashing Fae prince in a gleaming storybook home, and popped out three kids with delicately pointed ears, and a complex that could only be brought about by being half-magical creature and half-human.

But, I didn’t. I don’t even think, when I walked back across the bridge to the shadowy forest, I was looking for my way back home.

Back in the real world, there was work and sadness and the mundane. But, any place could have that if you stayed there long enough. I didn’t want the usual fairytale either. I wanted something different.

So, I readjusted my earbuds, hopped off the cobblestones onto the damp forest floor, thanked whatever fairytale god or gods ran this place that I had downloaded a rather large playlist to my phone and didn’t need WiFi or service to play it, and started jogging once again.

I stopped briefly to prod the ancient tree trunk, feeling the knobs and bark press hard into my hands and provide no give. At least I could say I gave it the good ol’ college try.

If this were just a dream, then there was no harm in going wherever the trail took me. And if it wasn’t a dream, then maybe I avoided a terribly cliché fairytale love story or a swift death by some eager castle guard. I started moving again, deeper into the forest.

My running synced up with the beat of “Another One Bites the Dust,” an excellent exercise song, and my ponytail swayed back and forth dramatically. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t putting in a bit of extra pizazz to really get it swinging.

After maybe thirty minutes of jogging mindlessly, wondering how one fall could go so wrong, I came across a small cabin, encased in trees.

In my world, it would have been about the spot where the forest opened up to the back of my neighborhood. I would have been able to see the back of my apartment building looming over me, and my balcony with the Halloween lights already glowing from the third floor.

I hit the pause button on my phone, walked over to the old door, rotten in the hinges and crooked in the frame. There were no lights coming from the windows, despite the trees casting the entire structure in shadow, and there were no sounds from within.

I knocked hard and loudly.

No response.

I knocked again.

Still no response.

This is when I believe fate gave me a little push.

My whole body seemed to hum, vibrating my teeth and sending little shock waves through my arms, driving them to move.

I needed to open the door.

I reached for the knob, anticipation thick in the air around me.

It wasn’t as easy to open the door as I hoped, stalling my excitement, but after a moment of turning the rusted doorknob this way and that, and giving the old wood a good kick, the door popped open and gave its best scary movie creak as it swung open.

I nearly fell backwards as something raced past the entrance, but held my ground and leaned forward to take in the view.

Beyond the door, where the small cabin should be, there was a rainy city street.

I stood on the precipice of a stoop looking out onto a busy road with people shoulder to shoulder, and in strange matching outfits I’d never the likes of before. They reminded me of wet suits, but they didn't look shiny and wet, even with the rain. It was almost like the moisture bounced off the fabric.

I stepped through the doorway to take in the view fully, feeling the cold air strike against the exposed skin of my legs and arms.

It was then I took in the full setting around me. All around were buildings so tall, they could have kissed the grey skies above. I’d been to New York one year for a school trip, and these made even the tallest buildings there look small.

The streets were filled with bumper to bumper traffic, but there wasn’t just one lane. There were several. The road was at least five lanes wide and stacked six tall. You may be asking what I mean by “stacked,” well none of the cars had wheels; they hovered over the wet ground. There was no splashing in the gutters and tired squealing. There must have been around six feet of space before the next car hovered above the one below. It was extraordinary.

I looked back to where the quiet, dark forest loomed behind me.

What the hell. I shrugged and shut the door, putting another door between me and home.

I didn’t know if there was another world, universe, realm, or whatever you wanted to call it, waiting out there, or if this new sci-fi inspired fever dream was my final destination.

All I knew was that this was just the beginning for me, and I wasn’t going to waste it.

So, I popped my earbuds back in, pressed play on Fleetwood Mac’s “Go Your Own Way,” and started running once again.