Jenson Birchfield, and his bright green shirt, bent queasily out the window again. He believed that if you premeditated each decision you could not possibly go wrong. This was often time consuming. This morning’s shirt decision took a half hour. Had he not fully weighed his travel decision? Had he considered all of his options equally?! Panic set in. On one hand, the view was quite spectacular on this side of the mountain. The trees stretched out to the horizon. On the other, he spent most of the time looking into a paper bag. Train tracks snaked up the side of the mountain for about a mile. The train hugged the side of a sheer cliff while the other side bordered empty space that reached down and down into the clouds below. Jenson looked at the rickety tracks. If the train bounced, they would all fall to their most certain doom. Jenson could almost hear his heart protesting his hasty decision to take the train. He was still glad though that he was at least on the tracks, even if they were the worst in the world.

Mr. Morton Pegaso bent out the window again, everyone else was doing it too. He believed that if you did what everyone else was doing you could not possibly go wrong. Why had he chosen to take the train? They had left the mountain pass behind them and now were traveling in a dense forest. The trees were so thick that Morton could hardly see the mountain that still rose to his right. The ride was almost unbearable – not because of the bumps but because of how abnormal it was. He was on the one train in the world that had absolutely no springs. The train must have broken dozens of records, and probably a few bones too. Record setters were not normal. Ugh.

A bump sent Morton flying to the ceiling. He hit his head with a thud. That wasn’t so bad, He thought, everyone else did it. Except for that weirdo in the back with that brilliant, gleaming, scintillating green shirt. He had held onto the seat upholstering. 

Morton slammed back into his seat. Ow! That hurt. The seat, having been abused by the slamming of hundreds of people through the years, had lost its cushion and was as hard as diamond. Actually the Partonsville train seats were a local metaphor for the hardest substance known to man. Morton believed it. Now, a voice in the back of his head repetitively told him that other’s decisions were not always wise. Could it be true? If it was, then he would have to rethink his entire belief. The bruises he had from head to toe were proof. Slam! The train made another death defying bounce over a stretch of missing track. This was most definitely the worst train in the world, and that is about the most abnormal you can get, no matter how many other people were on it!

Barton Chrysler, the procrastinator, slapped on a pair of earmuffs to block the screech of the broken siren. It was a good thing his patient in the back was still unconscious because he didn’t have an extra pair. After years of screeching and honking, the siren had malfunctioned to an almost unbearable sound. Barton was a Procrastinator, meaning that he tried to put off decisions as long as possibly possible. 

The road to Partonsville twisted around the opposite side of the mountain from the train. In contrast to the bucking and bouncing tracks, the dirt road was simi-comfortable. You just have to avoid the potholes that make up 80 percent of it. Barton was taking his patient to Partonsville. This was because the Nedsbury hospital didn’t have an “Intensive Care for Soda Can Injuries” department, but Partonsville did. He was almost there. Now he could see the smog of the metropolis on the horizon. The clattering of a train reached Barton’s earmuffs. He was nearing the train crossing. The mountain’s slope was shrinking.

Now came the worst stretch of road. Barton could see a strange lime-colored bus in his mirrors. It was just visible in the clouds of dust that stormed in his wake. It was not the color that made the bus strange. It was that the bus was shaped to look like a lemon. Barton thought that the bus was really weird. The driver was obviously the type of person who wanted to be a strange fashion setter.

Swerving to avoid a monsterous pothole, Barton lost all thoughts about the bus. The ambulance teetered from left to right. It threatened to throw the vehicle into the ditch at each lurch. As Barton fought to regain control of the ambulance, he was starting to appreciate his choice that morning to fix the brake fluid. Without it, he would surely not escape the next turn. At an almost 60 degrees angle, it was the sharpest bend on the route. If he missed the turn, which was not unlikely, he would crash. 

Oh what a wise decision to fix the breaks, Barton thought as he hit the turn. But when he went to spin the steering wheel he realized that something was terribly wrong. He couldn’t steer! The tie rod must have broken! He should not have put off replacing it! The ambulance sped off the road and into the ditch. Barton braced for impact! 

Sara Magirus looked through the dusty windshield of her lime colored lemon bus. The ambulance that drove ahead of her was so abnormal! It was old and rickety; clearly the driver had a good taste for being unusual. Whoever was driving obviously made decisions correctly, just like her. She believed that if you did the opposite of what other people were doing, you could not possibly go wrong.

She only had a handful of people on the bus. Only the wise would travel on this dirt road. The rest of the people would take the train and forever regret it. Sara swerved to avoid another gigantic bump.

Despite the holes and rocks, Sara had always liked the road. It was abnormal, just like her. It swerved and bent all the way without a single straight part. The train was also abnormal, but Sara had her limits; like going on a suicidal train. 

Suddenly, the ambulance swerved and crashed into the ditch! How abnormal! The vehicle did a full barrel roll and crunched into a huge thorn bush. Pieces and parts flew in all directions, including a broken tie rod. 

Sara, though still stunned by the accident, had a horrifying thought. What if the unusualness of the ambulance had made it crash? Then being abnormal wouldn’t always be the better choice! How else would you make decisions? 

Sara was so busy watching the crash she didn’t see the locomotive approach.

The piercing scream of the train whistle clashed with its screeching wheels! Sara hit the brakes, but it was too late. The bus spun and collided with the side of the train! Pieces and parts flew in all directions. The train fell onto its side, and the bus wrinkled up so it looked like a crushed pepsi can. Now a few of the train cars looked even more dented than they were before. Sara opened what was left of her door. The vehicle no longer looked like a lemon or a bus. 

Passengers from both the train and the bus were all getting out and gathering around the mangled lemon. A man covered in thorns and a pair of earmuffs scrambled out of the ambulance wreckage. Another man walked sleepily behind him, his head in a bandage. People from the train and bus started to talk loudly.

“Thank goodness the train ride is over!”

“Wow did you see that! Crinkled like an accordion!”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Ouch, those seats are hard!” 

“Why is that bus shaped like a mangled lemon?” 

“Whose fault is this? Fate?”

“Well at least my suitcase is in better condition than I am.”

“It’s a good thing there is an ambulance nearby.”

“This has got to be the worst day ever!”

“It is a good thing I took the bus.”

“Look at the train! It’s ruined!”

“It was always ruined!”

“Huh? What? The train has stopped. Why did the train stop?”

There were countless other simultaneous remarks, but it would take too long to describe each statement. Thankfully, the injuries of the crash were no worse than the injuries the train passengers got from the bumps in the tracks. 

Mr. George Devaux stumbled sleepily from the ambulance wondering why he had a headache. He rubbed a distinctly soda-can shaped bump under his bandage. Where was he? Was that the train? How did it drive if it was on its side? Did that bus always look that way? How did he get here? Where was his luggage? Was there an accident? What had fate done this time? He tried to gather his senses as he walked towards a crowd of people. What attraction had they all stopped for? A man in an extremely bright green shirt was addressing someone. The second man kept pacing and wringing his hands.

“This has all been a terrible coincidence, Morton. Had the drivers had time to weigh out their decisions—,” said the man in the green shirt.

“This is all your fault Jenson! You chose to be so abnormal that you wore an extremely bright shirt! If you would have stayed normal, like me, this would never have happened!” replied Morton.

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” a woman said stepping into the conversation “I am Sara, the bus driver, and I say it is all his fault!” Sara pointed to a fat man that stood nearby “He wrecked his ambulance into the ditch and the distraction caused this event!”

“Me?!” Barton replied looking hurt and astonished, “Just because I had a broken tie rod doesn’t mean I am to blame!”

“Then you should have fixed the tie rod!” Sara snapped. 

“That would not have helped! You see—”

“What! If you fix something of course it will help!”

“But then my brakes would have failed!”

Then you should fix your brakes.”

But then my tie rod would have broken!”

“I already told you. You should have fixed your tie rod!”

“But you don’t understand!”

“I understand perfectly! Don’t be that abnormal! There has to be some limit!”

“Abnormal! Oh dear!” interjected Morton.

“It is not my fault. It is Sara’s fault!” yelled Barton the ambulance driver.

“Me?!” Sara said, looking hurt and astonished, “It is not my fault!” 

“I have a great idea. Let’s ask that sleepy and confused man over there!” said Jenson.

“No way! It has been abnormal enough today.” Morton said in a rush, “We don’t need to add onto it! Look around. Is anyone else asking confused and sleepy people anything? No!” 

“Hey, you, whose fault was this accident?” asked Jenson, not heeding Morton’s remark. 

George looked up, surprised at being included in the conversation. He was now starting to grasp what had happened. An ambulance had crashed, so had a bus. But the bus must have hit a train. Now they were trying to decide whose fault it was. Decisions. These people needed to be enlightened. They needed to know that it was no one’s fault. Everything was all according to fate. So, in a clear voice he proclaimed, “Fate!” 

“No. That can not be true. This man is tired. You can’t trust him,” Jenson scoffed.

“No. That can not be true. Fate was just made up for people to blame things on, so it is not true,” Sara exclaimed. 

“Hardly anyone believes in fate, so it must be a bunch of lies,” Barton said.

“You are all wrong! It was clearly Jenson and his green shirt!” yelled Morton.

“Oh! So you think that just because people wear colorful shirts that they are, by law, guilty of causing an accident! That is even crazier than fate!” Jenson shot.

“This is going nowhere!” Barton sighed, “How else could we decide whose fault it is?”

“That’s easy. We just do what everyone else is doing, like asking the police. They could decide!” proposed Morton.

“What! No! Impossible!” Sara objected “We should try to think like no one else is thinking, because humanity’s decisions are strange and illogical. So if we do the opposite then we can’t possibly be wrong.” 

“Hey! Slow down! We just need to evaluate each decision so that we can make the best choice possible.” Jenson said.

“I agree with Jenson. Let’s put the decision off as long as possibly possible,” Barton said. 

Now it was George’s turn to speak, “You are missing the point! Think back to each decision you made. If you would have chosen something else, would this still have happened?”
The blank faces of the others showed that he was getting through.

“No, I guess not.”

“Maybe he has a point.”

“The accident was inevitable!” 

Everyone spoke except for Jenson, who had a strange look of realization on his face. Finally he spoke. “I should have worn my brown shirt,” He moaned in defeat.

“Exactly, so you could have prevented the accident,” Morton said.

“But that doesn’t make any sense! If you could have prevented all this, then how can fate control the accident?” George asked, completely befuddled.   

“I am confused,” Sara said.

The expressions of all five of their faces were twisted with complete confusion and indecision. Now, everyone’s belief system had been distorted. How should they make decisions? 

Finally, Jenson spoke again, “Why are decisions so confusing?”

To this day, no one knows why the Partonsville accident happened. According to the law, Sara, the bus driver, would be to blame. Was the accident inevitable? It seems certain that if Jenson would not have worn his green shirt the accident could have been prevented. It was his shirt that had caused Morton to spill the trash. It was the tin can that had hit George. It was George that made Barton drive his ambulance along the dirt road. And it was Sara that was distracted and hit the train. Why was it all linked back to the shirt? Was it fate, illogical choices, a huge coincidence? That is your decision.

The End