A Past Ride To Future Serenity

A familiar booming voice urgently calls out my name, jolting me from a deep slumber. Frantically I begin trying to observe my surroundings, to no avail. I can’t see anything, my eyes are concealed with some kind of cloth.

Nestled in a fetal position makes it hard to move around when there isn’t much space.

Any ounce of energy that I’d imagined having is inaccurate. My strength is depleted–arms weak, legs prickling as if they're asleep. Limp. My nerves are on edge. My throat is parched.

“What happened to me?”

On the third attempt of moving I’m able to make progress. Shakily, I Reach behind my head to loosen the knot before removing the blindfold from my eyes.

It’s hard to breathe. “Where am I?” The question eased from my mouth in a whisper as my eyes darts from one corner to another. The metallic taste of blood imposes on my sense of taste. Distinctive and unwelcoming. Dull stabs of pain vise grips the crown of my head as anxiety creeps in.

The cramped space is obscure and limited, prohibiting a full stretch of my limbs as if I’m in some kind box. Darkness swallows the entire area, granting only a prism of light from a thin, vertical slit. It looks as if there's an opening, maybe an exit for me to escape.

A reverberating chugging sound fills the surrounding space, mixing with whistling wind and rumbling thunder. The damp, earthy smell of rain broaches my nostrils as if the outside is coming in. There seems to be a gravitational pull, churning the contents of my stomach as if I’m experiencing the dip of a rollercoaster.

“Oh my goodness, I can hear my heart.” The fast pounding of my heart resonates within my ears, silencing all other noises. Panic escalates as my fight or flight instincts dominate fear. I’m not too sure what I should do but I know if I don’t do anything, there’s a chance I may not see tomorrow. Sanctioned with that thought, I began to scoot as far back toward the wall that the space would allow until the coolness of metal caresses my bare back. It allows just enough space to slightly stretch my legs before bringing my knees to my chest. Bravery narrates my decisions while I focus on positioning my body to face the peeking light as an adrenaline rush courses through my veins. I then launch my legs to meet the light. With each deliberate kick, I demand freedom. I demand answers. A part of me wonders what’s waiting on the other side while another part of me feels ready to take on the world. After several kicks, two small doors swing open, nearly falling off their hinges. Relief strikes the worry that looms over me.

Finally there’s light! Gloomy but momentarily bright to my eyes until they adjust. I crawl out onto a plain burgundy carpet covering the floor of an aisle. Clean. Untouched. Unfamiliar. A row of windows, short in length but wide in width, are a few feet across from where I'm crouching. Each bare, having no curtain to clothe them. Quickly, I observe my surroundings. There’s a nearby pole that I grab onto to pull myself up to stand. Staring out into nothing, the same sights of a car wash with rain slapping against the windows, making anything beyond the glass blurry.

There are no seats. There are no people in sight. It’s clear that I’m on a train but the question is why?

“Why am I here? How did I get here?”

Immediately, I slip a hand into a nonexistent pocket, hoping to find something that explains the reason behind me being on a train that I have no memory of boarding. There’s no pocket, not even a stitch of clothing that I recognize. A thin hospital gown covers my body, loosely tied at the nape of my neck and not tied at my mid back. I’m barefoot. The space that I’d just crawled from is an area designated for luggage.

The train seems to be picking up speed. I need to find a safe place. I need to get out of here. I surrender to fear as the shift in velocity rules my effort to find safety. With every struggling step I’ve taken to maintain balance, the force of gravity seems to be overtaking my ability to freely maneuver without restriction. I can feel the vibration of the gaining speed, bone deep. The pull. The push. Both forces make my legs move on their own accord.

There’s an influx of flashing lights coming from the direction of a black glass panel door—a short corridor leading to another cart of the train. I stumble near the door, missing the first time I reach for the handle but I get it right the second time around. For a moment everything in front of me goes blurry as a gust of wind envelopes me entirely before I can fully step through. It feels as if I’m stepping into another dimension.

The cart is different from the other. Longer in length but wider in width and just as empty except there are mirrors here on either side. The flashing lights that had drawn my attention are no longer present as if they’d purposely lured me here. What is this place? Who actually fills a train car with only mirrors? I ask out loud as I prepare myself to walk, unaware that the speed of the train isn’t affecting me as it did before. A movement catches my attention from my peripheral vision. The mirrors are symmetrical, each holding a story. My story. Each destined to evoke old memories and feelings. It feels like I’m watching a movie, a movie that I’m a part of.

On the right side where the mirrors are, there’s memories of my past. On the left side the mirrors at first only show my reflection but as I continue to walk, I notice that they show me at different stages in life. In the first mirror to the right, my mom who has been gone for ten years is settled beside a five year old me, telling my favorite bedtime story that she’d made up. It was about a princess who had grown to love herself again after sustaining a third degree burn on the entire left side of her body, leaving her disfigured. My mom told that tale over and over again just as I liked it. I knew that story from the beginning to the end, word from word. Tears that I had not known were there, trailed my face. In the second mirror, I was the star of a school dance recital. In the audience, I could see my mom and dad as they cheered for me. The memory warms my heart as I think about how nervous I was before that dance and how my mom told me to imagine she and dad were the only ones’ watching. She’s the one who made my outfit–a four layered hot pink tutu paired with a light pink leotard with white and hot pink pearls sewn into the entire midsection. I still have it in my closet today, hoping to give it to my little girl someday. In the third mirror, I sat at a picnic table as I watched my parents giggling to a secret that only they knew.

If I could have physically held onto the time I had with my mom, I would have.

As I walk through the aisle in what seems like a time capsule, each mirror plays memories of my life, some I remember and others that I’ve buried long ago. In the mirrors to the left I start off as me in the present but the further I walk the path of this aisle, the more I age.

In one of the mirrors to the right, I watch as my dad yells and degrades my mom for breaking a family heirloom–a vase that had been passed from generation to generation since the mid 1800s. The sadness in her eyes makes me angry. I can’t watch that one. It’s the first time that I realize the difference in her weight and the deepness beneath her eyes. Her hair was much thinner and her voice more brittle. Until now, I haven't realized that I've resented him for many years. The cruelness he showered her with during her weakest hours will never be forgotten. Two mirrors after that memory, I watch and feel the same pain that I’ve felt in the past and sometimes haunts me today after her death. Her funeral was small with only close family members.

Another mirror shows the fragile state I was in after her funeral, the place where I cut all ties with most of my family members. I remember feeling empty and lost. Tears wells in my eyes as a lump forms in my throat. I begin to quicken my pace, refraining from looking at the mirrors any further until I reach the end.

I feel as if I haven’t found my peace. Again, the question of why am I here arises.

The mirrors to the right come to an end while the ones on the left remain in action. In one of the mirrors I give birth to a baby girl which surprises me. As the mirrors continue, she becomes a toddler holding my hand. She’s smiling while looking at me with so much admiration as if I’m the best thing to happen to her. I can’t help but feel warmness in my heart.

Another mirror shows her as a school age child who’s crying over a person in a hospital bed. I’m not sure what all this is about but I’m ready for it to end. I quicken my pace as much as I can to try getting to the end of the cart to the next corridor. Before I can reach the door’s handle, I hear a small cry.

“Mommy, please wake up. Please be ok, mommy.”

The thin sheet shows no sign of movement. No sign of life. The lifeline on the monitor’s screen reads no pulse. The line is flat showing no signs of a rise and fall of breathing. The little girl is holding the person’s hand with no signs of letting it go. Doctors and nurses rush into the room as the blaring sound of a blinking monitor fills the air.

Suddenly the air around me is thick, I’m unable to breath. A ringing sound pierces through my ears as everything before me goes black. Sharp cramping pains ricochet throughout my core causing me to double over in agony. Perspiration forms at the lining of my forehead and above my lips.

Any hope of leaving this place expires as I can feel my body being snatched by an unseen force. A bright light warms my face as air fills my lungs.

A small whisper says to me, “I love you momma” just before my eyes open for the first time in three days.

“Welcome back Mrs. Hayes. I’m Kane, your nurse for today.” A tall, blonde hair blue eye masculine nurse says as he presses buttons on the monitor to stop the siren like beeping.

Beside my bed sits my husband, asleep in what looks to be an uncomfortable chair as he holds my hand. I can’t remember why I’m in the hospital. I attempt to clear the grogginess from my throat before speaking.

“Thank you, sir.” I say with a confusing smile before continuing. “What am I doing here? What’s going on?”

My husband stirs awake, almost jumping from his seat as he hovers over me to give me a hug and kiss. He had taken nyquil just three hours earlier for a cough. “From what your husband tells us, you fainted three days ago from carbon monoxide poisoning from sitting in your car while it was running in your closed garage. Thankfully he found you when he did. We’ve run blood tests and CT scans, everything has come back normal. There’s no signs of long term damages for you or the baby. We’ve been keeping you under close observation and have been keeping you hydrated through an intravenous–

“I’m pregnant?” I ask, astonished.

Two years ago, my gynecologist said that I’m not able to have children. Maybe I was meant to be on that train. Meant to see what I saw. Instantly, I know that the crying little girl is my little girl.

In all the darkness, she becomes my light. She gives me a sense of new meaning. She’s my new beginning. She's my treasure and my joy. I finally found my peace.

“How far along am I?” I ask. “You’re nineteen weeks, ma’am.” The nurse responds, looking up from the chart.

Exploding with joy is an understatement. My prayers has finally been answered. A smile dominates my features as I speak.

“I bet it’s a girl.”