Instant Karma

Sometimes things happen for obvious reasons, and other times for no reason at all. I'm not sure about this next one...


About 15 years ago we were at a summer Sunday afternoon get-together at my folks' place in Mundelein: Rach and I, my brother Ed, my sister Maura, and Maura's then-boyfriend Steve. Ed and I went out front to play softball catch in the street -- we were both on (different) softball teams at the time.


Steve was not our favorite among Maura's series of boyfriends. (That spot is reserved for her final boyfriend, now husband of 8 years or so, Dan.) Steve was fussy -- fussy about his hair, but especially fussy about his car. He had just bought a BMW M5: red, a few years old, in pristine condition. He would sit around and read the owner's manual for hours, to understand and commit to memory every feature of his new treasure. (In hindsight: What a twit!)


Ed threw one pop fly to me that came a little close to Steve's car, parked on the street in front of the house, and we both laughed a little at what could have happened. Then it got to be a game, as Ed threw nothing but pop flies, many of them over Steve's hood or windshield, that took me great acrobatic effort to catch before they hit his car. Steve came out onto the front porch at one point and saw what was going on, and was dying to say something, but couldn't quite decide what.


(I suppose it's bad enough when you're dating to have to deal with a girl's protective father, let alone her protective, sometimes reckless older brothers...)


Ed then uncorked his highest, deepest throw yet, but it got away from him a little. It sailed over Steve's BMW, past where I could reach...and came right down on Ed's own car, parked behind. It cracked his windshield. There wasn't really anything to say, so he just shook his head ruefully, and we went inside for dinner. I don't recall any reaction from Steve, but I can imagine what he was thinking.


So Steve got tormented, but his car wasn't touched at all; Ed got a healthy serving of instant karma for his pop fly throwing; and I got away scot-free, it seems, even though I was a willing co-tormentor. What can all of this possibly mean?


Pat