Fireball

If life is a mere collection of random events sprung across multiple time locations and geographic positions, does it even matter if you get embarrassed?

Will random embarrassment trigger a random butterfly effect which will then, by Murphy's law, causally get me into the position of a cat person?

If I get rejected by the love of my life, the beauty of my imagination, will my world collapse and will I need to buy a cat? Do people buy cats, or do they just find/steal them from Mother Nature/the mother of other cats?

"Dad, I don't want you to set me up on a date with a random dude. Do you not love me?"

"Listen, Sophia." Her old German dad adjusted his sweater sleeves, pulled up a chair to sit and talk with his daughter. "You will go on this date with this guy from a rich family and you will enjoy it. You will be there on time. NEIN, you will be there 30 minutes early, or else I will take the Schwarzwald cake with homemade jam that I just made and throw it at your head. Kapish?"

Sophia was standing in her room, arms crossed on her chest. Her forehead was about to explode from pulsating. "Dad, I don't want to date someone I don't know, and I will never marry him. I will commit a Romeo and Juliet thing, or a Hamlet thing, and save myself rather than being forced into some bad telenovela series plot twist or not even a plot twist, it's the main story point there."

Dad adjusted his shoulder length white hair. "Sophia, you know I love you, but you need to go on this date. I made a deal with his mother. She is a very nice lady and has a very nice wallet, honey. Sophia, you need to be efficient, pragmatic, and smart here. Do the right thing for us. I raised you all alone, and now you can help me a little bit."

"Daaaad, that's disgusting..." Sophia was getting red in the face.

Dad stood up. "Listen, Sophia, just go. If you don't like him, just pretend for some time and take some of his money. How about that?"

"Fine, we do need money for sure. I hate working in corporate, and for sure I am not going to take over the cake shop."

"Ey, watch it, kiddo. Don't offend the family business. It is what is bringing bread on the table."

"Okay, Dad, I will go. Now you can go. Also, do you hear yourself? The cake is bringing the bread on the table... that is such a dead joke setup."

"You mean Dad joke, ja?"

"Nein, I meant what I said."

"Sehr gut, then off I go. Wear something nice, okay?"

"Ja, ja, bye. Go make another cake."

Dad closed the door. Sophia took the chair and put it in a different place. She detached the chair from its previous bad geographical location in the grand scheme of things. Now when she moved the chair, she felt a little bit better, but still felt like jumping off the balcony and breaking a few bones would not be such a bad idea.

She was pacing around the room, lost in her head. Maybe I can just not go and say I went. I can ghost him. But the ghost that, like, doesn't haunt him or anything, then it would mean I am there. The ghost that just chills somewhere. That kind of ghosting.

A thought crossed her mind: Why did the chicken cross the road? Was it to try and escape its fate of being eaten? Well then, it is a stupid chicken because it is going to get eaten anyway. The side of the road doesn't matter.

I can go on the date either way. Sometime I will have to go on some date. It doesn't matter if now or later... I hope he is not ugly, but to me everyone is kinda ugly the first time I see them. He is bound to be ugly, isn't he? I will spend the rest of my life in a loveless marriage with an ugly, abusive husband who doesn't even know German or respect German traditions and cake-making and beer and sausages. I bet he is fat. He will eat all the cakes... Dad will have no cakes left to bring bread home. But I guess it doesn't matter, we will be rich. I can become fat as well. Being this fit and keeping the weight distribution in all the right places is hard as anything.

If you would check on your phone of choice, you could see on the maps of your choice that one mansion is located near the end of the town. In that mansion, a mother was searching for her son, Wilson.

"Wilsoonn!! Wilson!!! Where are you, darling?"

"In here!"  Wilson's voice was a little bit on the quieter side, so even when he would think he said something loud, it would be just like normal for other people. Wilson was reading a book. The happenings in the book were tragic and heavy, it was a book about patients in a cancer hospital by some famous Russian writer. Wilson's mother didn't like tragic pieces so much and often encouraged him to read some more light and entertaining literature.

Mother walked into Wilson's room. "Sorry, Wilson, I was looking all over for you. I would have never guessed that you would be here." Wilson's mum, Mary, was a very pretty woman. Even in her age, she would be the dream of everyone from school to old folks' homes.

Wilson was sitting in a weird position, but his back was straight, almost comically straight, like he had a metal pole instead of a spine. "Yes, Mum, who would have guessed that I am in my own room?" Wilson said with a small smile.

"You found the right person to bully, Wilson, you know. I am your mother, for Christ's sake."

"It was just a joke, Mum."

"Well, I am your mum, and as such I deserve some respect. Why do you make a joke of me?"

Wilson's face was slowly getting heavier. His eyes were starting to roll and he was releasing breath in the most controlled way not to alarm his mother even more. "What is it, Mum? What do you need? I am kinda busy. Is everything alright?"

"Well, yes, darling, I am quite alright, thanks for asking. I arranged you a date with this young, nice German fireball girl. Her name is Sophia. You shall go and impress her, and then after 3 dates you should ask her to marry you. Okay, hun?"

"Nope." Wilson closed the book and returned it to the big bookshelf.

"I made arrangements with her father. He is an old friend. He asked this of me and I shall deliver my promise, son. Don't make your mother a fool once again."

"Why would you even make such an arrangement? Are we in the 14th century? Shall I sheath my sword and prepare a horse and carriage?"

Mary was starting to get the crazy look in her eyes. "Sorry, Wilson, you have to go, and this girl is amazing, so don't miss the opportunity to marry her. You are not the prettiest tool in the shed..."

"The saying goes 'sharpest,' and it does..."

"I don't care, Wilson. Stop being a smartass with me and just consider this as an order. Go, make a date, make her fall for you. You have the money. It shall be easy. Girls like her like money. All women of lower status love money and power, so it should be easy for you. Just go and be less of yourself than usual and things will happen by themselves."

"You are really saying some disgusting things, Mary... I will not stand for this charade or circus. I don't care, and I will not go."

"If you don't go, I will stop giving the money to your sister."

Wilson sighed. He knew his mother was bluffing and that she would not do that. But he also saw that crazy look in her eyes.

"Fine, I will go."

Mary was leaving the room with a smirk and said, "Sorry, Wilson, it has to be like this. Trust me."

Wilson closed the door to his room and found some comic to read. He was struggling to keep his mind focused on the words, so it was almost like he watched the images, just going through the motion of flipping the pages without absorbing anything that was happening.

He was lost in thoughts that had little to no sense. What is past is prologue, or something like that. Nope, what is past is past. The prologue is now and always. I am prologuing now. I am living in now. The point being: the past is not real, the present is a gift for people that you want to impress, and I am living in the moment of time being. I can't escape the present. Some people just gift me things sometimes and there is no escaping that. So I will use the power of optimism and look at this date as a gift that I didn't want and try to do the right thing: regift it to another person.

His mother left him a note with where the dinner was reserved and the time he should be there, what he should wear, and how he should behave.

He prepared himself as he usually would, and dressed even worse than he usually would to spite his mother and to ruin his date.

His thoughts vanished, his mind going completely blank. He walked toward the table, numb and lost, like an atheist in a church, struck by the sight of the fireball of a woman in front of him.