The Runaway Train

First edit edition

I just can't begin to imagine how my New Year's was going to be normal, festive, and jovial, after my wife of twenty years, died in my arms, from a massive brain aneurysm. This was our date night-how could she do this to me? No, it was sudden. She knew that smoking a pack of cigarettes a day would eventually kill her. She laughed about it sometimes. But, she couldn't quit. She didn't want to quit. Even until her last breath, when she began coughing uncontrollably, and was trying to fight it off like so many times before, she was looking at me, gasping for air and asking in between each break of a cough: "ugh... baay-by"? "ugh, ugh," where are my cigarettes? "Mmmm," was the sound of her clearing her throat. She thought that lighting up a fresh smoke was the reason the coughing would stop. But, we both knew that was wrong. She had admitted it to me. And, I was in something of denial-this was my wife, my partner in crime.

I had gotten into the habit of making sure a bottle of water was always close by. When she sat up on the edge of the couch, and started gasping for air, I reached for the water and handed it to her. "Baby, are you OK?" I asked her. She would always give me that look of conviction, like she knew what was killing her, but she just couldn't take that leap of faith, and quit for good. I would turn away and begin casing the house in search of her Winston 100's. I would return with the cigarettes, and hand her the pack. And, like a ritual, one would pop out, she would light it up and take a long hard drag. Magically, she completely stopped coughing. I guess I thought she would always be OK, but that evening she wasn't. When I returned from the kitchen with her smokes, my angel was sitting on the couch peacefully, with her legs crossed like the movie was about to start. My wife was making her journey to heaven.

At first, I tried to steel my emotions like nothing was wrong, but my heart instantly dropped, and a tear just rolled down my face when I looked at her. I sat right besides my wife like I had done for years, on our popcorn and movie night. Yes, this was a date, and not even a million dollar business deal could keep us apart, unless we both agreed. "Honey Bun, here are your cigarettes," I said, sitting down, and then touching her on the leg. She gasped a small puff of air, and sat up briefly. Her hand reached out for the pack, but she lost motor control. Her body slumped back on the couch and leaned slightly in my direction. My wife was gone.

I didn't panic. I snuggled up closer to her and called her name. "Melani, baby are you OK?'' She gave no response. I touched her hand and it was so cold that I had chill bumps on my arm. "Baby, please say something," I said. I reached over and I felt her pulse. My two fingers searched up and down her neck, and right behind her ear for the temporal pulse spot, and I felt nothing. My heart started beating crazy. I had to stand and catch my breath. I turned back to listen to my wife's heart. Her body was becoming stiff, but I was still able to lay her on her back. I put my ear to her heart... again, there was nothing. I lifted her eyes open, and I could see nothing but white. "Nooo," I said out loud. I fell to my knees beside her body, and I began to cry.

That was a month ago. The worst thirty days of my life, having to bury my best friend, my wife, my love, and honey bun. She was everything to me. I wasn't worried about cooking for myself, washing the dishes or anything like that. I was very independent when it came to taking care of myself, and doing non traditional male duties, like cleaning up. My thoughts were shattered when I tried to figure out who would I talk to after my business day. Who would be my snuggle buddy in our bedroom? And, yeah, who would be my movie-night date? She filled all of those roles and so much more.

We had planned to spend fou'r days in New York, culminating into New Year's. And, at first I wasn't going to go, but subconsciously I kept hearing her say, "Babe, I can't wait until our trip to NYC." Her voice continued to play in my head, so I went. But, I didn't expect that I would find myself in tears on the plane trip to New York, when I reached my hand out to the seat next to me, only to realize that she wasn't there. Learning to live with only her memories would be difficult.

New York was always busy at this time of the year. People were coming and going, businesses were open, and the cops were everywhere, thanks to 9-11. I exited the plane and went to retrieve my bag. I used my wife's favorite luggage in memory of her, because I couldn't let go of thinking about her every moment. I stood back and waited until I saw an orange Gucci bag, then I broke through the crowd and lifted it off the conveyor before it passed me. I placed it on the ground, and weaved my way through the airport.

Folks were everywhere in the airport. I made my way to the shuttle area, and just like on the big screen movies, I gave a loud whistle, as my way to hail a cab. The driver who was staged and was next in line, made eye contact with me, and I waved him on. He drove up, came to a stop, popped open the trunk and hastily got out to help me with my bags, even before I stepped off the curb.

Someone must have told him that driving a taxi in New York City is not a job, it's a hustle. He was already in my good favor for his attention at driving up and his expeditiousness to handle my bags. It's the effort that counts for me. I handed him my leather coat and asked him to please put it on the back seat, and instead I put my suitcase in the trunk of the taxi myself. I hopped in the back seat, and we hot-tailed it out of there.

We arrived at the Luxor Hotel twenty minutes later, and the driver stopped in front. Once again, this guy was on his game. He quickly jumped out of the front seat, opened my door, and went to the trunk and grabbed my bag. He was a customer service guy. A hustler is what he would be called in the hood. This was something I recognized. I threw him a twenty dollar bill, and I thanked him for his service.

I had seen the images of the Luxor Hotel online, and I was quite amazed to actually see it in person. I was like a kid in the candy store for a moment, looking around at the decor and opulence of the interior. The place was spic and span cleaned. High ceilings, polished door handles and floors, and beautiful replicas of art work, just to name a few amenities. This was normal for me when we traveled. I kept an eye on the luggage and was busy looking around, while my wife was busy getting us checked in. Suddenly again, I realized that the joy of my life wasn't with me any longer, and I had to check myself in. I was really missing my wife Melani.

Ten floors up, to room 327. I reached the door, slide the electronic key and walked in. I sat my bags at the foot of the bed, and made a quick walk through... There were enough towels; the tub and toilet were clean; and, I didn't see anything that would make anyone request a new room. So far so good. I opened up the curtains, turned on the TV, and flopped down on the bed. I just wanted to relax for a minute and bask in the moment.

I plugged in my cell phone, propped up the extra fluffy pillows on the headboard, and reached for the remote control. That was the last thing I remembered after I woke up. Maybe I was a bit more tired than I thought. I looked around the room, and tried to focus on the TV. My eyes caught a glimpse of the sunlight coming through the window, and as I started to consciously breath, I realized that I had been dreaming about my wife. Still groggy, I made my way to the bathroom for a quick shower.

Water always seems to be refreshing after you begin to wake up. I was washing myself and loving the feeling of the cool water on my skin, then the thoughts of my nap started to come back. My dream was weird. I was riding on the train with my wife, and we were holding hands, taking turns redirecting each others attention to different sights. This felt like we were enjoying the scene... I mean, you know something strange is happening when you are dreaming. You catch a glimpse of whatever, or anything you do just feels almost real. Until you wake up, and your like: wow.

I could feel the train rocking back and forth as it moved on the tracks. I remember the train-vessel coming to a complete stop, and several travelers getting on. There was a lady and her son that sat directly across from my wife Malani, and myself. At first, the little boy smiled at me when he got on and took his seat. Then, he just began staring at me, until the expression from his face was of complete fear, and his eyes began to swell with tears. At that moment, I tried to get my wife's attention, but my body was froze. It seemed like the harder I forced myself to look at her, the more difficult it became. I panicked, and I could feel myself desperately fighting my way out of the dream. My breathing was heavy as I was waking up, and I realized that my wife Melani, wasn't sitting next to me. This was dream confusion at its best.

I really hated that my dreams always seemed to be so elusive, and yet such a mystery. Like, how could you see something in a dream vision that comes out to be true, one way or another? Literally, I would have bizarre moments of sleep, that would actually occur five or ten years later. Even at 6 years old, I would wake up screaming and sweating, with my nose bleeding. Then, twenty five years later, I would have the very same dream, minus the screaming and bleeding nostrils. My heart racing, but a little more controlled.

I jumped out of the shower trying not to think so hard about these strange events, but I had been convinced long ago that every sleeping episode of thoughts, and fleeting visions, had some kind of message. For me, the goal was always to try and figure it out. My dreams were a real challenge like putting the pieces of a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle together. I never disregarded my dreams. I grabbed my notepad and jotted my dream thoughts down, then I got dressed. If you called me crazy, I would take that as a compliment.

I was only five minutes walking distance from times square, and I wanted to start my journey early to see as much as I could of downtown New York. I searched through my luggage, and got the itinerary that my wife and myself had written down. Of course we wanted to see the ball drop, but we also wanted to visit a couple of the five star restaurants for some good food; and, we were hoping to see some landmarks and do some shopping.

First stop on our list was Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. My wife and myself were foodies, and we loved shrimp. My wife was very particular about detail, and she had written down the phone number and our appointment time, on the points of interest note pad-I didn't even know she had made us reservations. I took 7th avenue from Times Square, and even though I was fifteen minutes late, calling saved my table.

I arrived at the famous eatery, and was escorted to a table for two. I immediately began thinking about my wife and that strange dream. But, it was New Year's Eve and I really wasn't in the mindset to ponder and wrangle with by brain over anything. I just wanted to try and enjoy myself, without any extra mental strain. Not physically talking to my wife was heartbreaking enough.

The waitress returned with two menus. She looked at me strangely and asked, "are you waiting for a guest, sir"? There was a pause, and I answered, "yes." She placed the menu where my wife would have been sitting, then asked me if I would like anything to drink. I looked up briefly from the selection of the food menu, and respond "yes please." Make it a cold Cerveza, thank you, I ended. She scribbled something down on her little note pad, then she turned to leave.

When the waitress returned with the beer, I was ready to order. After setting the beer down, she reached in her apron and took out her order booklet. She smiled... "are you ready to order"? she asked. I looked over the menu one last time. "Yes, I would like to try the Forrest's Seafood Feast, with the garlic french fries, please”. Once again, she looked at me puzzled. I knew what she was thinking. “My wife passed away about one month ago,” I said. “ But, I still wanted to celebrate with her, even though she is in heaven, we planned this together,” I ended.

I was conservatively sipping my beer and taking in the many sensory perceptions at Bubba Gump. In my immediately area I could hear the chatter of various conversations going on around me at once. There was the sound of silverware hitting the plates, with the laughter and the roar of a deep belly laughs. There were several big screen televisions placed all around the famous restaurant, and the bar looked so exquisite that I felt like I was missing out on a wonderful experience. And, lastly, the smell of freshly cooking seafood was very appealing.

I looked across the table from me, where my wife would have been sitting, and I immediately started thinking about her and the dream. I wanted to to just enjoy my new years celebration, so I told myself that the dream was nothing important, but I knew that I was deceiving myself. The train, my wife, and the little boy kept playing in my mind.

I sipped my beer and when I looked around I could see that the waitress was returning with my food. She sat the tray down in front of me, and as if I had never planned to stay and eat, I asked her for a to-go tray. In just that fifteen minutes or so that I had been seated, Bubba Gump Shrimp Co., had filled up with people to the point that I couldn't see the door. This situation of all these people, and not being able to see the door had made me very uncomfortable and I wanted to leave. I had heard stories of people who were trapped in an establishment and couldn't get out. Those occupancy signs that the fire Marshall placed in restaurants meant something to me. Plus, my dream was still bouncing around in my head. I wasn't paranoid, but rather cautious, and it just didn't feel right.

The city makes you versatile in being to adapt outdoors, so after I left the restaurant, my eyes began to search for an area where I could sit down and enjoy my food, or if nothing else be allowed the comfort of walking in a direction where I wouldn't feel crowded. But, everywhere I turned, there were people. Times Square was to the North, and about one block from where I had exited the restaurant, and I knew it would be more crowed that way. I wanted to go in the opposite direction. I popped open the wrapper for the plastic utensils, poured out the small cup of shrimp sauce, and I started walking South towards W 43rd st.

I already knew that New York would be spectacular and something memorable to see. I was in awe at the sights, sounds, and the smells of New York City. Yes, I had seen tall buildings and people performing their acts in San Francisco, but this place was different.

I felt like I was an extra in a big box office movie. You know how people act when they know the camera is rolling, and you are being watched. It wasn't about being the center of attention, extras were the ones who were seen, but not seen. Like an old bum nodding out at a cross walk, that just gets your attention. I was an extra in my own real life story. I was devouring the shrimp and fries, one bite at a time. Every few yards or so, I would pause to take a look around, peek through a business window, or check out a street performer doing their thing. My loose dollars were in a separate pocket so that I wouldn't have to be flashing my wallet every time I wanted to tip. And, even if you Warren Buffet stingy, it was good hospitality to give good street performer's some change, as a show of support.

In the distance, I could hear a street performer playing Chuck Mangione’s “Feels So Good,” so I walked in the direction of the music, until I could see whoever was playing. There was a crowd of people standing around him, and every time he hit one of those famous notes, the crowd began shouting: “yeah!” while some were were just moving their heads with the progression of the music. Twenty minutes later, and ten dollars less in my pocket, I migrated away from the music feeling like I had just left a concert. He was bad.

The weather was starting to change as the sun was going down. A dark gloom came over New York, and the winter winds started to raise a fuss. Fifty-four degrees in December wasn't bad,but if you spent a couple of summers in Las Vegas, where the average temperature sixty-five, that’s considered cold. Regardless, I was prepared. So, I continued my journey walking up 9th avenue. I stopped took out my cellphone an i tried to figure out how close was I to Rockefeller Center. OK, four blocks to the East, I thought to myself. I made that right on W 50th St., and started walking East.

I thought San Francisco had a unique ambiance, but NYC was different. All of the shops and the digital advertisement screens, with the beautiful color-spectrum displays, looked more like the Las Vegas Strip, than the most famous downtown city in the world. The clocks were ticking much closer to the New Year. There was an hour and a half to go before the spectacular confetti and ball drop. And, not surprisingly, the streets were getting more crowded by the minute. But, by the time I reached Rockefeller Center, just four blocks away, I was light-headed, and trying hard to deep breath and catch my breath. What was wrong with me, I thought to my self? Two-sips of beer-no, I wasn't intoxicated. Was the shrimp I ate bad enough to do this? Or, was it the crowd of people that was making me claustrophobic to the verge of fainting? My heart was racing fast like I was back in the hood, running to escape the cops-I didn't understand this. Still, I could feel the sweat perfusing down my forehead; I was not in a good place.

Suddenly, I could feel myself struggling and fighting whatever it was that caused me to feel like this. My legs felt rubbery, and I seemed to be falling, so I reached out for the light pole but I fell to the ground instead. “Ahhh,” I yelled out in agony, but when I touched my knee, I didn't feel any pain. That was weird... My body was rocking back and forth like a rough roller-coaster ride and wherever I was traveling, I was moving extremely fast.

I began biting down hard on my teeth and, I thrust my strength one final time. “Ahhhhh, get your hands off of me,” I said. I could feel myself preparing to fight but my eyes forced themselves open, and my focus was returning slowly. Where am I, and how did I get there? “Mmm” tap, tap, tap, on my leg... “Mister!” “Hey, mister.” Now, I was certain that someone was shaking me. I opened my eyes fully. I was completely awake. Passengers were scurrying from one car to the next. I took a deep breath and I could see the little boy from my dream clearly; and, his mother stood with him. I blinked my eyes and looked around to make sure my brain wasn't playing tricks on me again. Wake up, I told myself, shaking my head, and trying to clear the cobwebs. “Mister, the train is being evacuated, and everybody gotta go to the last car,” he said. People were definitely headed to the last car, and they all looked in panic mode. Just at that moment, when I stood up, I realized that the train was traveling at a very high rate of speed. What the heck was going on? I staggered in the direction that everyone was going to the next car, I was the last person through the door. People were frightened, and some were talking and exchanging information, while others had their phones out. I didn't have time to try and figure out how I got there. This was a rare occasion that I blocked my dream from robbing my normal thoughts.

I patted myself for my cellphone… pants pocket, jacket pocket, aww... there it is. I unzipped my leather coat, pulled it out, and quickly typed in my password. My phone opened and went directly to my last opened page. I began swiping. What the heck, I thought to myself, puzzled. There were all recent pictures of me in times square, while the confetti was falling. Me in photographs with strangers, and a short video of me recording the countdown... huh? This was too much, so I closed my phone in frustration trying to disregard the whole situation.

The train was still moving fast and had not made a stop. I looked over at the little boy, and I could see he was visibly agitated. “Mommy, we're going to die, aren't we”? He asked. His question became a sob, as he stood by his mothers side. She attempted to console him. Die? The word played back into my psyche, and I instinctively went into survival mode. I glanced over at an older lady seated directly across from where I stood. She had her rosary chain in her hand and was counting the attributes of Jesus Christ, and making the sign of the cross... well, the Trinity. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, she chanted over and over. I took center stage to try and figure this thing out.

“Hey, does anybody know what’s going on”? I said. But, nobody responded. So, I quickly decided to scrap the cool, calm, and collective approach. I became more vocal, almost rude, but not directed at anyone in particular. “What the hell is going on I shouted”? I couldn't believe my ears. It was like trying to understand why two grade school boys were fighting, with all of the kids on the playground attempting to explain at once, but I was able to make good of the information. “Wait, wait a minute,” I said with urgency. “We are on a runaway” train I repeated. “But, where's the conductor”? I asked. Seconds later a young lady walked up to me and handed me her phone. I looked at her strange... “who is that”? I asked, taking the phone, but waiting for a response. He said that he is the Director Of Traffic Operations, for the New York City subway system. I put the phone to my ear, and I began talking.

“Hello sir” “ I’m just trying to figure out whats going on”? I asked. “We have a problem with the train system’s emergency default shutoff circuit,” he said. Adding, “the train is officially on runaway status.” “ So, the emergency power source is not working, or it won’t activate sir”? I asked.” “You got it, and there nothing we can do.” “Huh, what-da-ya-mean there's nothing you can do”? I asked. “What about the conductor, where is he”? I asked. “We believe he had a heart attack.” “He is in the control booth, but he doesn't look like he’s breathing,” he ended. “Sir, how fast is this train traveling”? I questioned him. “Oh, that train is traveling about 110 miles per hour, and you are exactly sixty-two miles away from the end of the line, where the train will derail,” he ended. All of a sudden, the young ladies phone went dead, and I just watched as the phone powered down. “Shit”! I said out loud.

If this wasn't out of a Hollywood movie, I would say that I am crazy. I wanted to throw the phone in the air like a bad lottery ticket, but it wasn't mine. I wasn't in the right mental state to say thank you, so I simply handed it back to the owner dismayed. I was deeply contemplating my next move. The train was moving extremely fast, and there was no time to for leisure. Immediately I began to look around and assess the situation. Eighteen people; it was the third time I had counted everyone. There were nine middle-aged women, with five preadolescent children; a teenage couple that never let go of the others hand; one visually impaired young man, not over thirty; and, of course, the elderly lady who was still praying fervently, but even louder now. I tried not to let the expressions on everyone's face get to me. Now was not the time to console and become emotional. My brain was working double time, and I needed allies just in case my own plans fell short. Even the greatest Marvel Superheroes needed an occasional helping hand to defeat the enemy. Today, the enemy was a fast moving train on the path of a catastrophic derailment. The people were the city of metropolis to be rescued from danger, and I was the superhero without a name, to save the day.

What could be so difficult about going to the conductors car, getting into the control booth and pulling the brakes, I thought. I turned and started walking hurriedly, back to the front of train. “Ok Google…” I said, “set my alarm count down timer for fourteen minutes, at 4 minute chime intervals.” The last two minutes would be my warning that time was up. All I could hear was the deafening sound of the trains wheels rolling along the tracks. My body jerked and jolted with every sway and motion of the train.

I was holding on as I walked through the front door of car four, into the the back door of car 3. I took a deep breath and continued to walk through the aisles of car 3. Excitement filled my brain as I walked through each door. When I reached the back door of train two, I felt nervous just before I tried to slide it open. I reached my hand out to open the door but it didn't move. I could see the conductors booth from the back door of car two. The door was wide open, and right their in plain view was the body of the conductor, and he wasn't breathing. my thoughts started racing.

As I was standing their thinking of my next move, I caught a glimpse of the visually paired man and the young man that was with his girlfriend. They were walking through the cars in my direction. I felt desperate, so I gave the back door of train car number two, a rough bump with my shoulder, but the door didn't budge. The first chime of my stopwatch countdown sounded. I had ten minutes to stop this train. When the other two passengers got to where I was standing, they both joined in. “On the count of three,” the younger man said, then we all attempted to use our shoulder force to jar the door open. The New York City subway just made a thud each time we banged on it, and laughed laughed at us.

My assistants had enough. I could tell because they both took a step back. The young man began nursing his shoulder, and the look on his face told me that he was finished. Think, I told myself, think. I looked out the window briefly and I could see from the reflection of mirroring objects, that the trains wheels were emitting sparks. That could only mean one thing... the wheels were extremely hot.

My chain of thought was broken up when a message came across the PA system: WARNING WARNING, ELECTRICAL SYSTEM OVERLOAD... CAR LIGHTS WILL BEGIN POWERING DOWN. WARNING WARNING. And in that very same moment, the system had a very high surge of light, and instantly we were standing in pitch black darkness. The visually impaired gentleman didn't help our plight when he said, "oh, well, there goes the lights, I think we're doomed,” he ended. Dang pessimist, I thought. You... have... four... plus... two... minutes, on your count down. In my mind I calculated that I we were somewhere between fifteen and twenty miles from a disastrous derailment, as the Director Of Train operations told me. Then the idea hit me. Ah ha! I said out loud.

With a spirit of confidence, I turned and walked towards the rear door of the second car nobody said a word; the two passengers just watched. Then, the blind man said, "you are going to train surf, aren't you"? he asked. I was beginning to question how severe was his disability, but time was too valuable right now. I didn't have the patience for my curious brain. Not right now. This was do or die.

I quickly got the crazy idea to train surf. No, I was on anything. The situation of the runaway train took me back to my teenage years when the ghetto kids where I grew up, lived life on the the edge. You name it, and we did it... we climbed to the highest buildings, played chicken with the locomotives, hopped across the train tracks to the other side, all in the astonishment of the commuters. These were like rights of passage to become a teenager.

The first thing that hit me was the New York wind, but I blocked all thoughts to reminisce, I needed to focus. I got started just the way we did as kids... I began climbing and grabbing anything that would give me support for the next step up that I would take. These new trains seemed closer together, but I made it to the roof of the second car. I sprawled myself all the out. My arms and legs were completely stretched and I began to belly crawl quickly, until I reached the center of the train. My eyes filled with tears as the winds hitting my face caused my tear duct to look like I was crying.

I kept crawling until I reached the end. I was extra careful as I stretched my body across the gap between the first car and the second car. I held myself up like I was on the parallel bars, I pulled my feet under my body, and all in one motion, I jumped. My knees buckled under me and the only thing that saved me from falling off the side was the chains and the close proximity of the cars together. I just needed to catch my breath… that was a close call.

Suddenly, my Google count down timer reminded me that I had two minutes before the last alarm. When I stood up, I could see that the teenage young man, and the visually impaired gentleman were both standing at the front window of car two… no time to waste. I opened the rear door of the lead train, and I walked through the darkness, stumbling my way to the conductors booth.

In complete darkness I began frantically searching for my cellphone. I pulled it from my pocket and fumbled it to put in my password and open the screen… “Come on, where is my flashlight,” I said, talking to myself. I flipped the switch on, and started looking around for the brake. A bright red button on the control panel, and on the foot pedal was marked: BRAKES. I hit the panel brake first, and all I could hear was screeching of metal. A light began to flash, apply foot brake, apply foot brake, or damage will occur to the secondary brake system. I put ever ounce of my weight on the the lever and pressed hard. I briefly looked up and I could see the sign ahead: END OF THE LINE, APPROACHING SAND PITT… I could feel the loss of pressure on the break lever. The system was applying the ABS brakes full force. The impact was rough, and everything went blank. Was I dreaming? I don't remember the crash. I was running into the the light. I could see my wife. I kept running for her. I was out of breath… I am dying… I am dying with you, Melani.

The End.