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0'Dark-Thirty

Passing Ships Challenge

By Kristen BalyeatPublished 11 months ago Updated 11 months ago 14 min read
25
0'Dark-Thirty
Photo by Jeffrey Blum on Unsplash

I rolled over and looked at my clock– 1:55 am. After counting at least five-thousand-six-hundred-fifty-five sheep, I still couldn't drift into dreamland. “Those sheep are worthless,” I thought. It wasn’t their fault though. I had been laying in the dark for a while waiting for my alarm to go off. I was afraid I’d sleep through it, miss my car service, and in turn my flight home…well, not home per se, but back to Colorado. With only five minutes before it would blare an obnoxious beep, I decided to drag myself out of bed. I got dressed and downed a cup of hot tea, willing the caffeine to resuscitate my sluggish brain. I glanced at the clock again- 2:30 am

My phone rang and I answered.

“Good morning, is this Kristen Bal-yeet?” the gentleman said, with a thick Middle Eastern accent.

“Yes, well, Bal-ee-eh ” I replied.

“I’ll be there to pick you up in 30 minutes. You are going to JFK, yes? What airline?”

“Yes,” I replied, “Jet Blue.”

“I’ll meet you at 201 East 89th Street, correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” I replied.

“You should stay in your building until I pull up.”

“Ok, sounds good. Thank you. I’ll watch for you,” I said.

I appreciated the suggestion that I stay inside until his arrival. I was already wary about going anywhere at 0'dark-thirty, but with an early flight and the promise of traffic, I had no choice. I splurged on a car service- a more comfortable option than the subway at that time of day, especially since I was still inexperienced and traveling solo.

David was out of town for a month-long work training, and I was headed back to Colorado for a two-week trip to visit the extended family we left behind. We were newlyweds and brand-spankin’ new to New York City. I had enjoyed my five days alone after David departed, strolling the streets and familiarizing myself with our new hood, but I was starting to get lonely and I was anxious to travel back to Colorado and hug my family. New York was home-ish, but not yet quite as comfortable as my native state. There was a lot to get used to.

My eyes scanned our 200-square-foot studio apartment, doing one final sweep to make sure I didn't forget anything. I didn't have to look far to see that all was in order. It was a tight spot, I could practically make breakfast from bed. I walked to the sink to wash my teacup and placed it back in the only cabinet in our kitchen. Preparing to leave, I rummaged through my purse and made sure I had my wallet and ID.

I walked over to our desk, which was squeezed between the tv and the kitchen (if you could call it that, with a two-burner stove, literally zero countertop space, and a mini fridge that barely fit a half-gallon of milk). Gently tapping on the fish bowl, I said goodbye to our Beta, Smithers, assuring him that our awesome and self-proclaimed “hippy” neighbor (although a perfectly suiting title that she gave herself) would be over to feed him daily.

I felt guilty leaving him. He made the journey with us from Colorado to New York, and he was my first baby, my kid-in-a-scale-suit (it’s ok, you can make fun of me). Although, I did not doubt that my very eccentric neighbor would spend time talking to him and making sure he wasn't lonely. She had insisted on coming over just the day before to meet him and told me that Smithers trusted her because he turned his back to her when she approached. She shared a few other observations during their brief interaction that were…interesting. I thought it was either her deep connection to nature that gave her this insight, or the hearty blunt she smoked just before she came over– not that I minded the contact high I got when she stepped over the threshold of our apartment.

“You’re in good hands, little buddy. I’ll miss you until I get back.” I reassured him like he understood me…because he did.

Throwing my purse over my shoulder I walked toward the door, grabbed my coat and oversized suitcase, and fumbled down three flights of rickety stairs. Our pre-war building was definitely not up to code, but it had its charm– which included a bagel shop situated just three floors below our tiny apartment. They would start baking within the next hour or so, and the entire building would fill with the smell of fresh garlic bagel goodness. That smell alone was worth the $2000 we paid monthly for our tiny den in the big city.

I walked out the first door and into the airlock, the cool white fluorescent lights flickered in the enclosing. Looking out of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, I stared out into the dark, vacant street. Normally people were bustling about our quiet part of the Upper East Side, even into the late hours of the night, but not at 3 am. All the bars and restaurants were closed and our little corner of New York City took a brief pause before the surging energy started all over again.

There was nothing between my glass enclosure and the street but the night air, a mischievous rat or two, and a faint glare from the traffic light on the corner. As I waited, I mused at the thought of feeling like one of those mannequins on display in the Saks Fifth Avenue department store windows. I struck a pose with my luggage and laughed to myself–proof that I was totally delirious from my lack of sleep.

My senses heightened as I saw a black car drive up quickly. It pressed the brakes as it passed my building, slowed almost to a stop, and then drove on to the traffic light. Suddenly, it reversed and parked on the side of the narrow little street, directly in front of my glass display.

“Is that my car service?” I said under my breath.

I looked at my watch. It hadn't quite been 30 minutes, but I figured at this time of day, the driver could be a little early. I concluded that he must have passed my address and then realized it when he got to the traffic light. I waited a minute for a window to roll down, or for a person to emerge. Nothing happened. Then the car trunk popped open.

“Oh good, that must be him,” I thought.

The windows were tinted black and I couldn't see inside, but I gave a small courtesy wave letting him know I’d be right there. I walked out of the door toward the car dragging my large bag behind me.

I was immediately weirded out by the trunk. It was kind of dirty for a car service, with some half-empty water jugs, pieces of trash, and clothing items strewn about. Not wanting to offend, I decided that this was the city and you never knew what you were going to get, so I threw my bag in and closed it. I opened the back door and got into the car. As I shut the door behind me, I was overcome with the smell of stale cigarettes and alcohol. The doors locked. I thought that was odd. My gut instantly told me that something was wrong. My heart started to beat faster as my mind raced. My intuition (or as I also refer to it, Spidey-sense) was telling me to get out of the car...but I froze.

“Where were ya headed, sweetie?” the driver asked over his shoulder, as he put the car in drive and slowly rolled toward the red light, just a short distance from where he had picked me up.

“Um, JFK,” I said nervously.

I felt sick as I realized he did not have a Middle Eastern accent, and if he were my driver, he would have known where I was going. Not to mention the way he said that- “sweetie”... I ain't your sweetie, dude. A barrage of stupid thoughts swirled in my head: How do I get out of this? Do I open the door and run? Can I get out? I don't want to offend him if he’s actually a cab driver. Not to mention, my entire wardrobe was locked away inside his filthy trunk. I felt like I needed to run, but my courteous small-town manners somehow overpowered my flight instinct. For some reason, I couldn't take action. I looked out the window, hoping that somehow someone was there watching, that they would have noticed me getting into this car, but there was no one around. Even if there was, why would they have been suspicious? I got in willingly.

“Ahhh, the airport? Oookay,” he said in a casual, disregarding voice that made me feel like he had no intention of actually driving to the airport.

“I need to show confidence”, I thought as I straightened my posture. Suddenly, without even thinking, I blurted out, “Wait, I think I left my ID in my apartment.”

“Oh?” was his reply.

“Yeah, I need to go get it. I need it for securi–”

Before I could finish my sentence, there was a loud Bang! Bang! Bang! on the driver’s window.

A man stood at the driver’s door, pounding and yelling something I couldn't make out. I was terrified...of him and of the man in the driver's seat.

“Get out of this car!” he screamed as he tried to open the back door, but it was locked.

Then, the yelling man in the street ran and jumped in front of the car, putting both of his hands on the hood just as the light turned green.

“UNLOCK the doors NOW!” he yelled at the driver, pointing at him as the car tried to push forward, horn blaring.

The driver was agitated, yelling profanities, but the man in front of the car didn't move.

I was frozen, watching everything happen like it was a movie, someone else's life. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

“Get out of the car NOW!” the man in the street screamed, pointing at me once again.

I snapped out of my shocked trance. Grabbing my purse and coat, my shaking hands fumbled with the lock. I flung the door open, jumped out, and ran to the sidewalk.”

“Open the trunk!” the man on the street yelled at the driver as he hit the hood of the car, “NOW!”

The driver, who had been laying on his horn, stopped and the trunk flew open.

The man in the street ran to the back of the car, grabbed my suitcase, and slammed the trunk as the grungy black car peeled off and ran a red light.

“Are you ok?” the man asked, his accent familiar, as he slowly approached rolling my suitcase behind him.

“Yes, just a little rattled,” my voice trembled.

“What were you thinking, getting in that car?” he scolded, with the tone of an angry father, “You don't know where you could have ended up. You’re lucky I drove up when I did. I was just down the street stuck at that light when I saw the trunk open and watched you get in. When I got to your building, I realized that you had to be my client and that he must have seen your suitcase and knew you were waiting for a ride- that he tricked you into getting into his car. I’ve heard of this happening. It’s not good. You can't do that! You could get into so much trouble, you know. Did you ask him for his ID? You have to ask for ID!” he said as he pulled out his ID.

“No,” I replied quietly, feeling embarrassed and truly very stupid for doing something my parents literally hammered into my head daily as a child. “Don’t ever get into a stranger’s car!” That lesson had kinda gone out the window when I hailed my first yellow cab, but this guy was right. What was I thinking? I have definitely kicked myself a billion times for that dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb...dumb decision.

“Do you have your email confirmation? Please make sure that my ID matches the one you received from my company. You see, this is how it’s done. You don't ever go anywhere with a stranger. You are not from here, I can tell. You need to learn how to operate in the city, especially at three in the morning. This is why I said to stay in the building until I arrived.” he said sternly, his arms flailing around, helping him make his point. Then his face softened into a slight smile, "Not to mention I had to get out of bed in the middle of the night to pick you up and drive you to the airport.”

I searched my purse and found my paper email confirmation I had printed off the day before at our neighborhood Kinkos. I checked his ID against the name on my reservation. Not surprisingly, the name was a match. *Yes, kids, I said email printout– this was two years before the first iPhone came out, and my hot pink Razr didn't have an email setup, and forget using the internet- lest I be charged the fee of my firstborn child. For you youngins, I’m not referring to a razor you shave with, it’s a flip phone and it was all the rage… I know, between the flip phone and my final comment you’re thinking I must be ancient, but I’m only 41, so settle down.

My new best friend helped load my bag into his trunk and drove me to the airport. He lectured me a few different times during our friendly conversation. When he dropped me off he gave a final, “Be careful, don't be stupid,” warning as he put my bag on the curb. I thanked him profusely. I was so grateful that I wanted to hug him, but I decided that wouldn’t be appropriate. So, I tipped him extra for, you know, the small gesture of probably saving my life.

I rushed to my gate, boarded my flight, buckled my lap belt, and tucked my bag away under the seat in front of me. Finally able to relax after the nerve-wracking morning, tears began to roll down my cheeks. I couldn't stop them. I didn’t know what the man in the grungy black car’s intentions were. Maybe he would have driven me to the airport and charged me 10x the amount it should have cost. Or maybe, he had no intention of taking me to the airport at all. Although my thoughts linger on all the worst-case scenarios, I’ll never know for sure.

What I did know was that my car service driver was my new hero, either way. He was there at just the right time (and thank God that light was red). He was bold and he acted. He didn't sit by and watch. He didn't let me go and just drive off looking for another passenger. He didn’t give up either. He advocated for me. He fought for me. He saved me– either from spending $600 on a cab ride, which in itself was a gracious act toward our ramen noodle budget, or he saved me from something terrible.

His actions, his intense lecture, and even the dude in the wrong car baptized me into the city life mindset. I know it all should have been common sense, but...well, I have no excuse. From that day forward, I was vigilant and didn’t make stupid mistakes like I had made that morning. I had no choice unless I wanted the city to eat me alive. I found a new confidence, even in the discomfort of all the unknown twists and turns the streets and subways would throw my way– and let me tell you, I have some intense and interesting stories. From that day forward, if I felt uncomfortable, I changed my circumstances confidently and quickly. I was jolted out of my passiveness and forced into a new state of mind– not skeptical, not nervous, not wary of everyone, just… aware.

My car service driver showed me what it looked like to take action on behalf of other people as well. He stepped in front of a car for me, for God’s sake. That heroic act empowered me. He gave me more than just… whatever it was that he gave me that dark morning.

We left the city after seven years. Even though my life back in Colorado has slowed my pace quite drastically, I still feel the energy and awareness I learned from those formative years of my life in New York City pulsing through my veins. I will forever be grateful to my heroic car service driver for stepping up, and for his lecture–both of which changed my life. I wish I had kept the email printout with his name so I could let him know how grateful I am, still to this day, for his brave actions- although I doubt he will have forgotten his heroic behavior. I like to imagine that as I share this story, a connection between him and me is activated and that somehow through that connection he feels my gratitude.

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About the Creator

Kristen Balyeat

Words fly to me on the wind, bump into me as I'm strolling the city, splash me in the face while I rest by the river, and shake me awake in the middle of the night– I’m humbly one of the many vessels they use to come to life.

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Comments (20)

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  • Rick Henry Christopher 10 months ago

    This was a really good read. I enjoyed it thoroughly.

  • Pamela Walsh-Holte11 months ago

    OMG I was thinking as I read this story! What are you doing don't get in that car! You had me on the edge of my seat. And your hero stole my heart! I have to tell you I did something just as bad while in Mexico. My son told me to stay in the motel and don't go anywhere. Why I decided to take an Uber to the store at midnight I can never explain. Any way I was literally kidnapped by the Uber driver and driven miles away to dark dusty ally ways. In a panic I finally reached my son only then did the driver return me to my motel. I was so scared!

  • Aphotic11 months ago

    This was told so well. What a hero that man is. What a creep the other guy is. No matter his intentions, that is major creep behavior. I hope he also learned a lesson that night. This reminds me of some very sketchy situations I got myself into when I was younger and I still get anxious to this day thinking about what could have happened. The way you recounted this story made me feel like I was right in the backseat with you. Also, don’t worry about the flip-phone reference. I haven’t even hit 30 yet and I had one lol

  • Caroline Craven11 months ago

    Gosh. I’m so relieved that somebody was looking out for you that day. Really well written. Great stuff.

  • Test11 months ago

    Holy crap, Kristen—what a terrifying experience, and a valuable lesson to always trust your instincts. You truly had a hero in the moment you needed it! I'm so glad you came out of that situation wiser and worldlier...but most of all safe!! Ordeal aside, your writing is absolutely on point in this piece. x

  • Gosh that guy was such an amazing hero! Did you get his name? I cannot imagine what would have happened if he didn't do what he did. You getting charged 10 times more to the airport would be the best case scenario. This man was so selfless!

  • Roy Stevens11 months ago

    A great entry for the 'Passing Ships" challenge- good luck. To give yourself a bit of a break, you were sleep deprived when you hopped in the wrong car. As a Star Trek fan, you made me miss my old flip phone! 📱🖖

  • Candace 11 months ago

    This story shivers my bones considering what could have happened! Great story telling.. although this happened in real life!!

  • Dana Stewart11 months ago

    It's true, not all heroes wear capes. This was so well written, I noticed my heart racing as the tale unfolded. Really grateful for the intervention, or I fear this story might have a terrible ending.

  • Brannan K.11 months ago

    You are incredibly lucky. Given my time in the military, coupled with my current work, I have a degree of hyper-vigilance that never shuts off. Sometimes it drives my family a bit crazy, but they understand and are thankful for the preparation to be a man of action. That man really was your guardian angel. Also, what the hell does a 200 square foot studio cost $2000 a month for? I'll never understand the city! 😅🙃

  • KJ Aartila11 months ago

    I so enjoyed reading your. story - I have made a naive decision such as that because of may small-town mindset, and it gives me chills to think back on it now -- and, hey, I had aa cool flip phone once, too!

  • Donna Renee11 months ago

    😱😱😱 oh my!!! Totally engrossed in this the entire way, my heart was racing! 🫣🫣🫣

  • R. J. Rani11 months ago

    Oh my gosh, Kristen! What a harrowing experience! But so well told! Even before I got to the part about Smithers, I was hoping you have many more pieces of writing like this! It’s wonderfully immersive and sensory and so… real. Your writing makes me feel like we are best friends 🥰 I’m grateful for your car service hero. He sounds like a wonderful person. And I’m glad I read this story as I’ve just rolled into NYC for a conference. I know I’ll be extra vigilant 🤗 Thank you again for writing and sharing this story!

  • I forgot to mention, it's good finally getting to know how to pronounce your last name. So the "t" is silent.

  • I do believe we're all grateful for his actions! My family once drove a Winnebago down Broadway & Avenue of the Americas at 2 a.m. You should have seen the looks we got! My younger sister (our son's birth mother), asked at one point, "When do we get to disgusting street?" Right at that moment we rounded a corner with an empty lot where a rather disheveled looking man was relieving himself. We had arrived! My wife's sister & husband had invited our son to meet them in Chicago to go see "Wicked". My sister-in-law had begun to get a reputation for booking hotels that sounded fine, but weren't. While he was showering, my brother-in-law went downstairs to retrieve the rest of the luggage. When he came back, he quietly told his wife, "I think I just got solicited out in the parking lot." When our son came out of the bathroom, his first question was, "What's a solicitator?" Fast forward a few years when my son & I were meeting his aunt in NYC after spending time with my family of origin up in Maine. (My wife couldn't come as she was vice president for the Kansas West Conference United Methodist Women & she was in charge of their annual meeting taking place at the same time.) Virtually every woman we saw over the next three days, my son would ask, "Is she a solicitator?" whereupon we would have to reassure him she was not. Our final night there, we're on the subway returning to our hotel, it's right around 2 a.m. & sitting right across from us is a young woman who looks like she's had a very long & profitable night. Wouldn't you know, my son was leaning on my shoulder, sound asleep. I know, not nearly as scary or unnerving as this wonderful story you've shared, but I like telling it anyway, lol! Great story, as always!

  • Beth Sarah11 months ago

    Amazing!! I have two children to get ready for school and should not be sitting here reading but I couldn’t stop!! Just brilliant 😍👏👏

  • Mohammed Darasi11 months ago

    Great storytelling! You built up the atmosphere amazingly and made me feel like I was experiencing New York and it's hecticness myself (eventhough I've never even been to the US 🤣). That is a horrifying story. 3am and you come across something like that, very scary. It's great how acts of kindness can leave such profound impressions on people. That driver probably didn't know that what he did and the lecture he gave left such a powerful impression on you, but it did. To the point where years later you're remembering it and writing about it here! It just reminds me to always be nice whenever possible... You don't know, you might make someone's day by doing something seemingly simply to you. A good lesson from this story

  • ARC11 months ago

    Comments-as-i-read: "I reassured him like he understood me…because he did." 🤣 Damn right he did.

  • Naomi Gold11 months ago

    Even your prose has a poetic quality. I was right there with you, experiencing that city night. Great story, and well told. Reminds me of my culture shock moving from rural Ohio to Chicago. Although I never met anyone as heroic as your driver.

  • Nice Storytelling 😉📝💖

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