I live in Wyoming, and was very sad when my best friend Thekla moved back to her hometown of Kastoria, Greece. But one summer I had built up a lot of frequent flier miles, so I went to visit her.
We went to a restaurant one evening and had some delicious gyros. As we were walking back to Thekla’s apartment at around 10 at night, we spotted a man in the distance. He was sprawled on the road as if injured, propping himself up with one arm.
“I forgot my glasses,” Thekla told me as she squinted at him. “Does that guy need help?”
So I called out to the man, asking if he was okay. It was very dark, but I could clearly make out that he was nodding at me.
“He’s fine,” I said to Thekla. “Let’s go.”
The next morning, we saw a news report that a man had been hit by a car and killed on that very street.
“We saw a man on that street last night, remember?” I mentioned to Thekla, and then recounted the whole story to her.
Thekla looked back and forth from me to the TV, eyes wide. “I wish I hadn’t forgotten my glasses last night. Then this wouldn’t have happened.”