Chance

       I was attracted to his voice long before I recognized him; some connection to a distant past. I've heard this voice before; soothing, comforting; sure, and able. As I found him in a small knot of people, I sifted through 40 odd years of faces - and then someone referred to him as "Doctor...".

       Sure enough, it was unmistakable. Here was the very man who had made me whole again; over 4 hours of micro-surgery, cutting edge back then. An injury to my left arm had resulted in 150 or so stitches, most of which were inside; 12 tendons, an artery, and a nerve were severed.

       Emotions I wasn't aware of flickered in me as I, without hesitation, was drawn to him.

       I began slowly when it was my turn. He hesitated to recognize me, but when I mentioned 1978 and showed him the scars, well...

       He accepted my proferred arm and turned it over and back, closing and opening my hand to observe its function as a skilled wood-worker might inspect a repaired product, this one completed long ago. To watch him see his handiwork so many years since was insightful; how often, I wondered, did he ever get this chance?