A Tale Of Two Nightmares

Jet fuel? That’s an odd aroma coming from the kitchen. Nah! Maybe, because I’m pregnant and something being prepared is messing with my olfactory nerves.

I’m not complaining, though. After five failed infertility attempts, at last I’m in the third trimester and it seems to be sticking. So, I accept the strange little oddities during a currently-viable pregnancy. In fact, it’s the unexpected, out-of-the-blue side effects that keep me assured my baby-to-be is still alive and, definitely kicking.

Nausea suddenly gripped my viscera and I tightly clutched Mark’s arm.

“What’s wrong, Maya? You’re turning pale.”

“Yeah — something is wrong. Do you smell jet fuel?”

“Jet fuel? What would jet fuel be doing in a restaurant?”

“The same thing that smoke I’m now seeing is doing in a restaurant! Look behind you. Do you see it? I wonder if there’s a fire in the kitchen? I thought the jet fuel smell might be a weird pregnancy-related, odor misinterpretation. Now, that noxious smoke has me so nauseated. Please… walk with me to the restroom.”

As soon as we stood up, the Chef, Sous Chefs, and other kitchen staff came out, and stood in the middle of the dance floor.

The Chef stepped forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please? You may have noticed an odd odor and see smoke now. No need to panic. There’s a fire in the building somewhere, but it’s not in the kitchen. We’re trying to find out where it is and how soon before it’s extinguished. We are using special fans to remove the smoke and extra air purifiers have been put up to remove the obnoxious odor. If you wish to leave, we are comping everybody’s meals. If you would prefer to stay, your meals are also free. We apologize for this inconvenience and we are doing everything possible to resolve this issue and find out what happened. We will keep you informed. Whatever you decide, we appreciate your patience, and we support your decision to stay or leave. Thank you.”

“What do you think, Mark? Do you want to just get out of here?”

“How do you feel? If you’re feeling nauseous, it might be affecting the baby, and we should probably just get away from whatever is going on here, right?!?”

“Yes, definitely. I just want to leave, go home, and cuddle up and watch a good movie.”

“Okay. Do you need to go to the bathroom first?”

“No, I think I can make it home.”

“Let’s go, then. I’ll leave a tip on the way out.”

************

As they turned around to leave, an earth-shattering rumble shook the entire 110-story building of which they were on the top floor restaurant having brunch.

Maya fell to her knees screaming, “What the fuck was that, Mark?!?”

“I don’t know, except I know it wasn’t good! C‘mom, get up! We have to leave, now!”

When Mark helped Maya stand up, they were facing a window. “Holy shit,” they said in unison.

“There is plane on fire inside the other tower, Mark! What do we do, now?”

“Move it! NOW! That’s what we do!”

By this time, everybody was trying to move it, including the restaurant staff. Panic was definitely ramping up. The elevator lobby for the restaurant was filled with smoke. The chef wildly smashed all the elevator buttons, but they had been automatically sent to first floor by the Fire Department and, by law, could not be sent up again.

Somebody shouted, “We can’t use the elevators in a fire!”

Suddenly, I’m moving, seemingly tethered to a throng of humanity, down a darkened, smoke-filled stairwell, missing steps, falling on others with screaming pandemonium everywhere. “Where’s Mark? Mark! Mark — where are you?” Screaming until my vocal chords were raw, “Mark, where are you?” but, everybody else was screaming even louder every name they’re hoping will answer. The screaming of names kept filling the room with longing desperation. There is no way Mark can hear me and if he’s screaming my name, I can’t hear him.

The panicked, pushing procession downward is only getting worse. It’s too hot. I can barely breathe because there seems to be only smoke to breathe. My baby and I are going to die today. Mark may already be dead.

Suddenly, a door that the masses were pushing up against, flew open and we all spilled and tumbled out into a room almost totally engulfed in fire. The only air is at the windows that have already exploded open. Most of us that haven’t died from asphyxiation already, rushed to the open windows. It was a small relief, but my skin feels like it’s going to melt. The heat from the fire consuming the room is unbearable. People are screaming, then falling dead at the open windows.

A man who had a concealed gun started shooting at the windows to open them more, but all he accomplished was adding fuel to the fire. When he realized the greater tragedy he caused, he started screaming over and over, “Oh, my God, Oh, my God, Oh, my God, then stopped suddenly, turned to us, muttered “I’m sorry,” and leaned backwards out of the window he had completely shot open, falling about 100 stories or 1,200 feet. Somehow, I envied his courage to escape the hell, Others did too, as I watched so many others follow suit.

My baby stopped kicking. She was dead. At least she didn’t ever have to know of this horror. With tears streaming down my cheeks, and some light streaming in the enormous hole that was shot open, I tried to look around and find Mark. It was impossible. Now, I was also grieving the loss of Mark.

Facing reality is difficult, especially when it’s the day of your death. I can either die slowly or freely. I wanted my last moments to be flying free away from this nightmarish entrapment. I’d at least have a few moments to breathe again.

At the precipice, I looked down. Surprisingly, it looked more peaceful than where I was now. It looked like freedom. One foot out, a slight hop, and I was free.

There is a well known myth that if you dream you are falling and wake up before you hit the ground, you will live.

************

Abbottabad, Pakistan, May 2. 2011

I was never so happy to look up and see the rugged ceiling in my bedroom.

These unceasing nightmares disturb my ability to sleep. Why am I always tormented by a different soul in the same catastrophe, night after endless night for a decade. God is truly great, but my soul is endlessly tortured. In silence, I must continue to suffer.

Am I still dreaming? I hear confusion and shouting voices. I must rise from this bed of nightmares, and see what is shattering the silence of this particularly ominous night.

My compound is secure, but my sleep has escaped me again. What is that unwelcome racket?

“Who is here?”

The door burst open. A military uniform, a machine gun, and night-vision goggles were hovering over me.

“Target confirmed.”

POP! POP! POP!

“Target is down.”

************

White House: Situation Room, Washington, D.C., May 1. 2011

“Mr. President, Osama bin Laden is dead.”

President Obama looks down, pauses for a moment, then addresses those sitting in silence: “Our nation’s long nightmare is over.”