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Everything Comes in Threes

Anita G. Gorman

    Every morning Morwenna heard the Ashleyvillle Gazette hit the door of her house with as much of a bang as a newspaper could muster. It was thrown by her paper boy, Jack Roosevelt Robinson, who, like the first Jackie Robinson, wanted to be a baseball player. Practicing with newspapers gave Jackie a little extra time to work on his throwing arm.
    Sometimes Morwenna talked to Jackie. Once a month she talked to him when he came to collect her payments, and sometimes, especially in the warm weather, she would wait for him and give him a small bottle of water or juice. “Mustn’t get dehydrated, Jackie.”
    “Right, Miss Morwenna. Thanks.” He always wore a Brooklyn Dodgers baseball cap, in homage to his namesake, and Jackie would tip it as he said goodbye and ran to the next customer’s house.
    Then Morwenna would open the newspaper to the obituary section and start looking for familiar names. Some days the names were all those of strangers, but every so often, more often than she liked, Morwenna would see the name of a former friend or a current friend or an acquaintance or the friend of a friend. She would then file the name into a special place in her brain.
    When she talked to her son Barney on the phone, Morwenna would tell him who had died. Most of the time the names meant nothing at all to Barney. And then quite often Morwenna would say, “Well that’s two this week. Everything comes in threes, you know.”
    “No, they don’t. Not necessarily, Mom.”
    And then the third death would occur and Morwenna would call Barney with her proof that the ancient superstition was scientifically valid.
    “Mom, here’s what I think,” Barney said one day. “I think that you make this happen.”
    “What do you think I am, a witch? A murderer? God’s little helper?” Her voice was getting louder.
    “No, no, listen, Mom, I don’t think you’re causing or even influencing any deaths. Here’s the thing. In fairytales there are three wishes or three things or whatever and somehow people started to say that everything comes in threes, maybe because of those old stories. What I think is that people find three events, usually bad or sad events, and then they conclude that everything—especially bad stuff—comes in threes. But then you start all over again after you reach that number three. What if four people you know died in one month? You’d probably say that everything comes in threes and then the fourth person would move to the number one slot in your next calculations.”
    “I still think I’m right. Happens all the time. Gladys Marshall agrees with me.”
    “And Gladys also counts to three and then starts all over again.”
    “You’re exasperating.” Morwenna hung up on him. Then she called Gladys to complain about Barney. “What do kids know?” Gladys asked.
    “Barney’s sixty years old. Not a kid.”
    “Well, he’ll always be your kid, and he’ll always be wrong about this matter. Everything comes in threes, and don’t you forget it.”
    The next day Morwenna was outside when Jackie Robinson gracefully threw the Gazette from the street clear to her front steps.
    “Nice throw, Jackie. Too bad the Dodgers moved to California.”
    “Yeah, but I don’t have to play for the Dodgers like Jackie Robinson. And if I get to play professional ball, I’d play anywhere. But it would be great to play for the Cincinnati Reds. They’re my favorite team.”
    “Mine, too. Say, Jackie, you’re a smart boy. I need a second opinion.”
    “Isn’t that what doctors do?”
    “See, I knew you were smart. No, I need a young person to give an opinion. Now I’m not going to tell you which side I’m on. I don’t want to influence you. I know you have to continue with your paper route, so Mr. Slipson can have his coffee and paper at the same time, so I’ll just pose a question. You can think about it and let me know in a few days, whenever it’s convenient.”
    “OK.”
    “The question is this: do bad things always come in threes? You could ask your parents what they think, if you want.”
    “Well, I know that if you hit three strikes, you’re out. And that’s bad.”
    “Very good. But do me a favor and think about whether bad things usually come in threes.”
    “Sure. But I don’t think I’ll ask my parents. Not right away. Maybe later. I’d like to figure this out for myself.” His brown skin was glistening in the morning sun.
    “Wait, Jackie, let me get you some water.” In a flash Morwenna was back with a bottle of water and then waving goodbye.
    She sat down at the kitchen table with her mug of strong coffee and the newspaper, turning as usual to the obituaries. No one she knew or had ever heard of was listed. This was a good day. Then she realized that she had forgotten where she was in her counting of triple events. One? Two? Three? Well, she had other things to do at the moment. She wondered how long it would take Jackie to find an answer to her question.
    The next day she decided to water her flowers in the front yard while she waited for Jackie. Then, while her back was turned, she heard her newspaper flying through the air at a great speed and landing with a resounding thunk against the front door.
    “You’ll be beating the other Jackie Robinson’s records before you know it, and you’re only, what, twelve?”
    “Thirteen next week.”
    “Happy birthday. So did you come to a conclusion about things happening in threes?”
    “Yeah. I thought about the whole world and the things that happen every day. And it seems that you can usually make it happen that things happen in threes. One person you know dies, and then someone else, and another someone else, and now you have three. And you don’t have to stay here in Ashleyville. You can count things that happen in Nigeria, where my grandfather was born, or in Cuba, where my grandmother’s from. So I don’t think that bad things or good things really happen in threes. But we can make it look that way if we start counting.”
    “Well, that’s what my son thinks. That’s two smart people who agree. Thank you. I’ll make sure you get a birthday present. When exactly is your birthday, Jackie?”
    “Tuesday.”
    And from that day Morwenna never said that bad things always come in threes. Except to Gladys, because Gladys would understand.

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