The toddler lay there looking across the room at his parents.
He couldn’t help wondering how he managed to come into the world. How did these guys ever get together? He asked himself, what were the chances? Him, with his messy hair and his shabby clothes and his cracked spectacle lens. Her, with her meticulous make-up, fashionable hair do and smart outfit. Him, spending most of his time laying on the couch scratching himself. Her, continually dusting, window washing and generally keeping the house in good order. What were the chances, him being an itinerant farm labourer, busing into the city to buy warmer socks. Her taking time out from her legal practice to have her nails done. Him going for a coffee to make his trip just a little bit special. Her using a quiet corner of the café to consider the case notes she’d copied to her mobile. Him gazing around wondering whether he could afford a sausage roll. Her looking around at the café’s clientele, estimating the annual turnover. His and her eyes meeting.
What happened then? What caused that magic spark, that moment of euphoric attraction, that inexplicable element that put it all in motion? Just what were the chances? He thought, again. And how in heaven’s name was he, at his age, able to consider all of this so comprehensively.
It’s likely to be some unseen aspect of a minimum probability amplitude, he thought.