LA had an earthquake today.
In a case of life imitating art, I was sitting at my desk when I felt the chair move.
It wasn’t just the chair. Everything was shaking.
A coffee mug rattled on the desk. Books toppled like dominoes on a shelf above me, knocking a baseball onto the floor. A picture fell off the wall.
“Earthquake!” I thought aloud as I scrambled towards the doorjamb out of habit and instinct. I was a bit dazed but scared sober from the adrenaline rush of the quake. People say I’m crazy, but I actually enjoy the thrill of a good California earthquake as long as nothing breaks and no one gets hurt.
When the tremors subsided I started to put my apartment back together. Walking over to retrieve the baseball I stopped when I saw the signature on it. David Ortiz.
It was then that I realized the significance of the moment, which was odd since it took something different for me to notice the similarities.
If you predict the future in a deleted scene, did it really happen at all?
Or perhaps my future self had something to do with it…