The Oxygen Tank

By Jim Hagarty

I am a believer in serendipity, even if I am not exactly sure what that is.

Maybe it’s better to say, I look to the Universe now and then for signs and because I am open to them, I guess, I tend to see them more often than you might think a person should or would.

I used to be a heavy smoker. But there finally came a day, after almost 20 years, when I managed to quit. That was a long time ago when I walked away from the addiction.

But addictions are patient things, always kind of waiting around to get you again if they can.

Today, I had an uncontrollable urge to buy a pack of cigarettes. I fought it all day, but I pretty much knew it was going to be a losing battle. So I drove to the local smoke shop. But before I went there, I stalled a little. Instead, I went into a hardware store to buy a few things. In the back of my mind, I thought maybe the urge would somehow go away if I stalled for time.

I pushed the shopping cart out of the store and across the parking lot to my car. Placing my purchases in the car, I turned to wheel the cart back to the store. When I was almost there, a man about my age came walking my way, carrying a black plastic canister in one hand. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I examined it a bit closer, he saw me doing that and he made eye contact with me briefly.

Tubes were coming from the canister to an apparatus the man wore around his neck. He was carrying an oxygen tank, though he didn’t have the nose piece in place at that moment.

I don’t know what happened to this man to cause him to need oxygen. Maybe he never smoked a cigarette in his life.

But it was odd that he would appear just as I was set to head over to the smoke shop. Now, along with the notion of a cigarette, I had the image of an oxygen tank in my brain.

I got in my car and drove home.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.