Chances Are

"Chances are 'cause I wear a silly grin
The moment you come into view
Chances are you think that I'm in love with you..."

The lie paid off. Listening to Johnny Mathis singing his hit song from 1957, in person, not from the old LP she had played repeatedly as a kid justified the fib. Afterall, Thomas was sitting next to her, deciding, most likely, if he would reach for her hand. She hoped he would. In her heart, he had always been the one.

She had her eye on him since she was fifteen. Her dad got gas at the local Shell which Thomas’ family owned. Marjorie would “volunteer” to ride with her dad, which she never did, just to see Thomas. When she finally wanted to buy her own car, she asked for his advice. He approved the first car she brought to the shop; a black Plymouth Fury. “Buy it. It’s in good shape and you’ll regret it if you don’t” he advised.

When she brought her second choice, a beige Ford 1965 Mustang, to him for his opinion, he grunted, “Don’t buy this car. You’ll regret it. It’s a piece of garbage. What happened to the Plymouth I suggested you buy?”

“It was too big and heavy. Something about it just didn’t feel right to me.”

“Look at all the rust spots and the dented right fender. Don’t buy it. You’ll be sorry.”

Daisy, as she named the Mustang, was the kind of car a college girl wanted to drive to the University of Illinois Circle Campus. She put sticky bathtub flowers over the rust spots and drove around town with a big plastic flower on the antenna. Everybody knew Daisy!

Of course, she drove it to the Shell Station regularly for gas and for the many repairs Thomas had predicted. At least there was an upside.

When Thomas left the note on Daisy’s windshield, that read,” Stop at the station, I’d like to see you,” he had to grin to himself. Maybe that rusty old bucket would serve a purpose after all.

"Just because my composure sort of slips
The moment that your lips meet mine
Chances are you think my heart's your Valentine.
In the magic of moonlight when I sigh, hold me close, dear
Chances are you believe the stars that fill the skies are in my eyes..."

The next day she drove to see Thomas at the station. “Have you seen the play, Fiddler on the Roof yet?” Coincidentally, she had seen it the night before with someone else.

“No, I haven’t,” she lied wideeyed, without missing a beat.

Though they agreed to see the play together the next week, tickets were not available. Johnny Mathis would be the event. The concert turned out to be more than a magical musical evening.

"Guess you feel you'll always be the one and only one for me
And if you think you could
Well, chances are your chances are awfully good
Chances are you believe the stars that fill the skies are in my eyes..."

Several dates later when they were seeing "Fiddler on the Roof" together, Marjorie sheepishly confessed to the “white lie.” Thomas admitted if she’d told the truth, he probably would have taken her answer as a rejection and not asked her out again.

After fifty years of marriage, Thomas and Marjorie still laughed about the fact not only did Daisy transport her to and from college as well as her first job as a teacher, but the rusty old car also got her a husband. Thomas, who wound up driving Daisy for several more years so Marjorie could have the “good car,” had to admit not following his advice ended up being the best decision Marjorie ever made.

Guess you feel you'll always be the one and only one for me
And if you think you could
Well, chances are your chances are awfully good
The chances are your chances are awfully good."

— Mugsy