Chance

The rain and the dark didn’t quench a bit of Chaz and Nan Bonner’s celebratory mood as they drove through downtown Seattle on their way to their new home. They had just closed on a house, and clutching folders bulging with paperwork, were joyfully going “home” ­ ­ it felt great to say it ­ ­ to enjoy their first night of ownership. They laughed and chatted lightly about what they could do for dinner. Since they had rented the house for the previous week, they even had a lot of furniture and kitchen stuff unpacked and available to use, but “take­out” actually sounded good for tonight. They were just listing the primary choices: pizza, Thai, Sushi, Chinese, Indian…when a black Dodge Challenger careened out of nowhere to block their way. They braked with an inch to spare, and just looked at each other in shock.

The bright and varied neon lights of the wet city perfectly offset the gloom, making the streets look lively, interesting, and even a bit garish. When the metro bus speeding around the corner rammed directly into their Honda Civic, the noise and sensation of tearing and crunching metal jolted them from the festive moment like an avalanche of fiberglass and steel. The Dodge Challenger slowly but deliberately pulled away and turned right at the next corner. After the screaming noise of the collision finally quieted, horrified witnesses started to approach the car, peering into its windows, loudly asking, “Hey, are you alright in there?”, and, “We’ve called 911, just hang in there”, and, “Oh my god, I don’t see how anyone could have survived a collision like this.”

The metro bus driver was sitting on the wet curb, his head in his hands, his head shaking back and forth, back and forth. A low moan could be heard issuing from his mouth.

Suddenly a motion from under the bus attracted everyone’s attention, even the dazed bus driver’s. “It’s a DOG!” people exclaimed. As the dog capered off, apparently unhurt, other darker and more furtive movements could be discerned. Grunts and growls could be heard over the sounds of claws skittering for purchase on the wet pavement. The dark presences left the scene swiftly, almost but not quite invisible and soundless. The bus driver was saying over and over again, “I don’t know why I turned there. I’ve driven this route for thirteen years. I don’t know why I turned there....”

Chance Bonner was lucky. That’s why, when his parents were driving home from signing the papers to take ownership of their new house, Chance wasn’t in the car. And that was lucky for Chance because his parents’ car was broadsided by a city bus on that ride home. He waited for them at the new house, hour after hour on a rainy Seattle evening, but they never returned. When the newspaper was delivered to the neighbors early the next morning, Chance sped through rain­spattered shadows to “borrow” it. That was how he discovered what had happened to his parents. It explained why they hadn’t come home. The newspaper coverage of the accident also made it seem doubtful that they were ever going to come home. The newspaper headline had the word “fatal” in it.

Chance was lucky and clever: Lucky, because the furniture from their old house had already been delivered to the new house; Clever, because he knew where the television, the computer, and the microwave were, and knew how to hook them up. Chance wasn’t much of a decorator, so he didn’t even look for curtains, but searched through all of the boxes until he found one labeled “linens”, and tacked up several matching flat sheets over the large front windows. He had enough fashion sense to deliberately choose the flat sheets over the fitted, he mentally noted with some satisfaction. Chance had decided that he was going to live in the new house by himself for as long as he could, and as long as there was nothing to arouse the suspicions of the neighbors, he figured he could hold out for quite some time. He had to. Chance was adopted. What would happen to him? Would he be farmed out to other family members as a charity case, or would he be returned to “The System?” He shivered with the loathing that this thought conjured.

He would be successful. After all, he was 12 years old, he possessed extraordinary luck, and he had to admit, humbly but truthfully, that he was very, very clever. He sat on the floor in the front room with a king­sized bag of Cheese Doodles his mother had bought for him the day before and made a list of things that he needed to do. He reworked the list through that evening until he was satisfied that it was reasonably complete and prioritized correctly. The list read:

1. Money ­ ­1(A) get some and 1(B) open a bank account with same

2. Food ­ ­ get some (see #1)

3. Bills ­ ­ set up online bill­pay for house and utilities (see #1B)

4. Aunt Margie ­ ­ keep her away from the house; make her think everything is alright (Aunt Margie lived in Baltimore, so this would be easy at first, much more difficult as time went on and she wanted to talk to her sister ­ ­ at length, and frequently.)

5. School ­ ­ he was already registered, the principal had met his parents, so he should attend as if nothing had happened.

Chance Bonner was a very lucky boy and he knew it. The newspaper article had not included any photos, but it had included an error in the spelling of his parents’ last names. Since their identification had not been updated with the new Seattle address, the newspaper article had listed the accident victims as Charles and Nancy Banner of Baltimore. The principal at his new middle school would never make the connection between Chaz (as his Dad liked to be called) and Nan (as his Mother liked to be called) Bonner and poor Charles and Nancy Banner of Baltimore. Those poor people were not lucky, that much was obvious. But Chance was lucky. Very lucky indeed.

Chance figured he could handle five high priority projects but no more, at least not at first. After he had managed this initial list, he could identify and work on refining his life’s plan. He indulged himself with a sigh of satisfaction as he put the list down on the floor next to the nest of blankets and old sofa cushions he had found to sleep on. He rolled himself in a cocoon of blankets, laid his head on a musty old sofa cushion, and allowed himself to sniffle, and then, well, cry. This occupied him well through his second night in the new house. He had to turn the cushion over after a while to find a dry place to put his head, and as his mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion combined to drop a wet, foggy veil over his consciousness, he drifted into a deep, dark, troubled sleep until the sound of a barking dog woke him up in the very early morning.