I don’t believe in luck.

I’ve never been one to make a wish when the clock’s blinking numbers change to 11:11. I’m not naive enough to believe that just because I happen to glimpse a shooting star as it streaks through the night sky, my every wish will come true. I don’t cross my fingers. I step on cracks any chance I get. Luck- It’s nonexistent. Too often, we tend to confuse it with fate.

We think we’re in control- pure human mentality. We assume that when we see that fork in the road, we have the final say. Left or right, it’s our choice- or is it? Do we choose the path that our life takes, or are we simply following orders that were written in our very DNA the second we opened our eyes?

This morning, I was doomed to slam the snooze button a whopping three times. I was fated to roll out of bed- already forty-five minutes late. I was destined to sprint down the stairs taking two at a time, knocking my ankle into the banister in the process. I was meant to stumble out the front door without a jacket, apparently forgetting that it’s January, and that means temperatures that hover in the single digits. I slide into my frozen car and immediately jam my keys into ignition; at this point, there was no time to wait for the car to warm up. Shivering as I attempt to drive, I slowly slide down main street. Every stoplight is mocking me, fading from green to yellow to red as I crept closer to school. The black-ice infested roads glistened in the morning sun. Bored, I switched on the radio just as the beat from the previous song faded into an urgent sounding announcement.

“Breaking news,” a shrill-voiced woman practically shouts at me through the speaker, “There has been a robbery at the TD Bank on Flemington New Jersey’s main street. Suspect is tall, dressed entirely in black, and believed to be armed…” the remainder of her description blurred, as I’m immediately distracted by a metallic creak, followed by a frigid gust of wind- my passenger seat door opening. I felt my blood freeze.

He spoke only a single word, “Drive.”

And I did. Ignoring the overwhelming urge to look over my shoulder at the mysterious man, I slammed my right foot down onto the gas pedal. He reached over, immediately killing the radio. Silence rang through the car, amplifying my jumbled thoughts. Everything seemed unreal. My heart pounded. My fingers trembled. This shouldn’t be happening- I should be at school. I should have awoken with my alarm at 6. Most of all, I should have locked my door.

“Take a right,” he commands. Assuming that I don’t have much of a choice, I blindly follow the order. Seconds later, we’re cruising through a part of town that I’ve thankfully never seen before. Trash litters the filthy sidewalks. Windows are either irreparably cracked, or suffocated by thick wooden borders. Keeping something out, or holding something in? I wondered. Other than a helplessly wrinkled elderly man perched on the bottom step, the streets are deserted. My car is moving so slowly that the man and I make eye contact. He smiles at me, and I immediately wish he hadn’t; something about the mischievous gleam in his eye makes my insides squirm.

On and on I drive silently while he directs me. My free will gone, I am his puppet. After a few scattered turns, we’re on a highway heading north. The odometer springs to life- I watch as the miles accumulate like falling snow. Each one pulling me further and further from safety, farther and farther from school. At this point, adrenaline coursing through my veins, I decide to steal a glimpse the man sitting in my passenger seat. Just as I’d feared- all black. However, he did not look like someone who had just robbed a bank. His thin frame looked fragile, as if just poking him could send him to the emergency room. Though the majority of his body was concealed by the various black garments he was wearing, his empty hazel eyes were left exposed. As innocuous as his appearance seemed, the glint of silver resting on his lap immediately reminded me of the incredible danger that I was facing. One wrong move, and I could be over. Almost as if sensing the fear that had wrapped its icy grasp around my neck, the man looked over at me, and smiled. A knowing smile.

“Take the next left,” he mumbled, and we had arrived at our destination: a hospital. A criminal leading me to somewhere so public; it didn’t make sense.

“Listen carefully,” he began, “Take this bag to room 442. Don’t talk to anyone, don’t look at anyone. Drop the bag on the floor then leave.” I nodded, and exited the car with the bag in my quivering hand.

I expected to encounter security, but everyone here seemed too busy to notice me as I walked through the lobby and into the crowded elevator. We stopped on every floor, each releasing more and more people until I was alone on my journey to the fourth floor. When the aluminum doors opened once more, I walked out. I was immediately overwhelmed by the sheer amount of sickness I saw; the mere mass of people wandering around such a cramped hallway. The air smelled strongly of antibacterial gel. Inhuman coughing and wheezing invaded my ears. It was obvious that his floor housed only the hopeless and chronically ill.

Dodging beings left and right, I shuffled through the dimly lit hallway until I saw it: room 442. I knocked lightly. No answer. Cautiously, I slid the door open. Lying on the bed was a woman that could be no less than eighty years old. Her only movement was the small crevice of her chest softly inflating and deflating. Lung cancer: the board on her bedside table read. This woman must be significant to whoever it was that had commandeered my car. She must be in need, and he must be helping her. It was strange that a criminal had the capacity to be so selfless. Suddenly remembering my mission, I dropped the bag on the floor just as I’d been asked, and braved the overcrowded hallway once more.

He was still sitting in my passenger seat when I returned. As I sat down, he spoke again; “I suppose you’re looking for an explanation,” he whispered, his gaze unwavering. “I’ve come to believe that there are things more important than rules. As I’m sure you noticed, my grandmother is sick. And there’s nothing I wouldn't do to save her. I’m content with my decisions- if you want to turn me in, feel free.” Saying all that he intended to, he opened the door once again and walked into the hospital without a backwards glance.

As I pull out of the crowded lot, it finally began to make sense. The endless stream of consequences, my most seemingly minuscule actions had been dominoes waiting to be knocked down. They had been carefully stationed all along, meant to lead me to encounter the man with the hazel eyes, so empty yet full of pain. The eyes that opened my own, showing me that choices are not simply black and white. A closer look illuminates the field of gray so vast that even the most wrong decisions can be justified, if only under the right light. I could call the police, I could turn the man in- but I won’t. If he was meant to be caught, he would be.