DESTINATION UNKNOWN

I wake, gasping for air.

My vision is blurred, my mind foggy. I'm sitting in an oversized chair, another seat attached to mine.

I turn and look out the window. It's pitch black outside, and I barely make out silhouettes that appear to be trees flying by. Where am I?

I'm dreaming. Maybe in that zone halfway between sleep and not quite awake.

I try to stand but have little strength. I plant my hands on the arms of the chair and hoist myself up.

As my eyes move over row after row of connected empty seats on either side of a narrow aisle, I feel vibrations in my feet. What the hell? Am I on a train?

This isn’t real, I tell myself. Out of breath and exhausted, I sit back down, unable to fight off sleep.

Jason and I sit on the couch sipping a glass of Chardonnay. When Jason’s phone rings, he listens for a few seconds, his face draining of color. “We’ll be right there."

“Jason? What’s going on?" I ask as he grabs his car keys.

“Amy and Jack are in the ER. She might be losing the baby.”

I wake drenched in perspiration.

My heart sinks when I find myself still on the train. What I hoped was a dream is real.

Blinking back tears, I think how Amy needs me. Our oldest daughter is three months pregnant with her first child and our first grandchild.

I swallow hard, trying not to panic. I have no idea how or why I'm on this godforsaken train going to who knows where?

As I make my way down the aisle toward the door that should connect to the next car, I notice the coach is in pristine condition. The upholstery looks new; the windows are crystal clear with no fingerprints, and I have yet to spot a fast food wrapper, newspaper, or styrofoam cup that usually litters commuter trains. What the hell kind of train is this?

My mind races; my brain feels as if it's on fire.

My legs grow heavier with each step. Every muscle in my body throbs in pain. I have to rest.

After I sink down in an aisle seat, I stare at my faint reflection in the window.

“Have you lost your mind?” I ask myself. “Gone totally nsane?”

If I didn't know better I'd think I was drugged. I cannot stay awake.

“I think it’s best I take the guest room,” I tell Jason as I come out of the master bath.

Sitting up in bed reading, Jason lowers the novel and looks over his glasses at me.

“Why?” he asks solemnly.

“I’m not sleeping well lately and don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me.” He takes off his glasses and rubs an eye.

Jason is always so calm and collected as if nothing I say matters.

“I feel it's best for both of us.”

“If that’s what you want.” He brings the book back up to eye level.

I pull down the covers on the guest bed, turn out the light on the nightstand, and climb under the covers. I’ve never felt this alone. I will not tell my children their parents are on the verge of divorce. They'd be devastated. Nor will I bother my aging parents with my problems.

What happened to us? To our marriage? We used to be so close. Everyone said we were the perfect couple.

I wake up fighting mad, my fists clenched. Did Jason have something to do with this? Had he decided he wasn't about to go through a messy divorce? Maybe my perfect husband had gone whacko. Instead of sawing off my limbs and shoving my body parts into a freezer, he drugged me and tossed me on a train.

I place a hand over my forehead, disgusted at my dark thoughts. Jason doesn't have a mean bone in his body. I've never heard him say an unkind word to anyone, including me.

"Jason," I say under my breath. "I wish you were here." He’d tell me everything would be alright, just like he had when I was diagnosed with cancer; just like he did when he held my hand during every single chemo treatment.

Slowly, I pull myself up and start for the door again, praying I find people in another coach who will help me. I’m not giving up hope, as it’s all I have left to rely on.

When a sudden jolt throws me off balance, I realize the train is going much faster. How much time before it topples over a cliff or takes a dive off a bridge? A cold chill runs down my spine. Stop it, Katie.

Grab your balls, Mom, I hear. I smile, thinking how this became a standing joke between my son and me.

I don’t have balls, I’d tell him. He’d smile a crooked smile and respond, “Then grow some.” God, I missed this kid. I cried for days after he left for college. I wonder what Chad is doing right now. Studying for an exam? Maybe on a date?

Suddenly I realize I have no idea what day of the week it is, let alone the time. Have I been here for hours? Days?

When I finally reach the door, I press my forehead against the window and peer through. When I notice a few heads above the seats, I look up. "Thank you, God."

I wrap a hand around the thick metal doorknob and place my other hand over it. I refuse to let the metal bridge connecting the cars, or the fact the space is not enclosed intimidate me. “I’m grabbing my balls, son,” I, rotate the knob to the right and push but it doesn't budge.

“Come on!” I draw in a breath, turn the knob again as I ram my shoulders and chest hard against the thick wood.

Kicking the bottom of the door I become hysterical when it still won't open. I pound my fists on the glass. “Can anyone hear me?" I scream over and over. But not one person turns to acknowledge me. It's as if I no longer exist.

When my fingers grow numb and my throat sore, I turn around, press my back against the door. and slide down to the floor. There's no way out of here. Tasting the salt of the flood of tears, I wipe off my cheeks, and pull my knees up to my chest.

Outside everything is one black, unending blur. The monotonous pounding of wheels flying over tracks is giving me a headache.

I search storage compartments above the seats, looking for anything that might break the window. When I find every storage unit empty, I frantically begin looking under seats--

“Ma’am?”

Startled, I whip around and see an older man with pure white hair. I notice a name tag on the lapel of his navy blue jacket but can't make out what it says.

“Oh, God.” I start to cry. “Finally.”

He takes a couple of steps toward me. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t know how I got here,” I blurt, my voice hoarse. “I need to get off this train.”

“And you will in good time.”

“In good time? What does that mean?" I ask, incensed. “I need answers." I stomp my foot. "Right now!”

“You have to be patient.”

“Patient?" My voice rises an octave. "Patient? Really?"

He shuffles to the window seat, sits down, and pats the seat next to him. “Sit with me.”

“I don’t want to sit.” My heart beat pulsates in my temples.

He pats the seat again. “Please.”

"Fine." I plop down next to him and cross my arms across my chest."Why am I here?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know. My role is to console passengers.”

"Your role?" What the hell does that mean?

He glances down at the nametag on his lapel. "Chief consoler."

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

He puts his hand over mine and a calm washes over me, as if I’d just been drugged.

“Why am I here?" I ask. "I noticed people in the car ahead of me. I thought they might help but not one of them would even look at me."

“Different cars for different destinations, This car has fewer passengers. And right now, you’re the only one.” When he squeezes my hand, my body goes limp.

When I wake, I find the white-haired man nowhere in sight.

Hang on, sweetheart.

Jason. I know now that the voices I hear are a figment of my imagination.

Just know I'm…his words fade out.

Trembling, I stare out the window and into the darkness, trying to accept that I've lost my mind. I'm totally insane. Maybe I had a stroke on the way to the hospital, or possibly an aneurysm that made my mind turn to mush.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the sun breaking through the darkness.

Like a fast-forward movie, my life flashes through my mind....growing up the middle child of three girls... my parents making sure my sisters and I had everything we not only needed but wanted... the first time I saw Jason, absolutely convinced I'd just met my soul mate...the excruciating pain of giving birth to our children but not remembering the agony once I held them in my arms.

I remember the last time our family gathered in our backyard to celebrate our youngest child Jenny's sixteenth birthday. I found Jenny huddled with her friends and Jason talking to a neighbor while tending the grill. My Mom and Dad sit quietly beside each other underneath the shade of a century-old Elm. The sound of laughter and the aroma of burgers filtered through the air.

I felt a tap on my shoulder, turn, and see my son.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Chad?” I asked surprised, stood on tiptoes, and threw my arms around his neck. “I thought you weren’t going to be able to make it because you needed to study for finals.

“Couldn’t do it.” My son smiles the crooked smile that melts me. “Baby sister only turns sixteen once.”

So. this is the ending to my story? No words like I'll see you on the other side, or Good-bye Mom, you were the best mom ever. No hoopla; no crying.

I'm resigned. What choice do I have? I've lived a good life... not perfect... but...

My thoughts are interupted when I hear a beeping sound, like a metronome keeping perfect time.

“I think she’s…” the voice trails off.

“Katie, I’m here.”

It seems forever before I’m able to open my eyes.

“Katie? Honey?” I feel a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“You’re back. My girl is back."

I make out Jason's face. "I...knew...you'd come…for me" my words barely audible.

For the next few days, I am in and out of sleep. Little by little I piece together what happened. On the way to the hospital, a drunk driver hit our car head-on. Jason had a broken arm, along with numerous cuts and bruises. My head hit the passenger side window so hard it sent me into a coma. I'd been drugged, Jason told me, so my brain could heal which explains why I felt weak and tired on the train.

From what little the older man on the train told me I surmised the car I was in transported comatose patients, destination unknown.

The people in the car ahead of me had already passed and were on their way to their forever afterlife home.

I never told anyone what happened, including Jason. I mean, who would believe me? My time on that train was not only private but sacred. It was when I realized I was still in love with my husband. Even more important was that my marriage was failing because my focus had been on Jason. It was me who needed to change. Disillusionment and boredom set in because I’d allowed it. I made a promise I would do everything possible to keep our marriage alive until death do us part.

A few days after I was released from the hospital, as Jason and I sat on the couch sipping a glass of wine, I said, “I want to play together again."

"Huh?" Jason asked.

"Like take walks holding hands did before the kids came along. Or learn to play golf together, maybe take a cruise like we always said we'd do one day."

Jason smiled. "I'd like that."

"Think we could start by being roommates in our bedroom again?” I asked flirtatiously.

Jason put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. “I thought you’d never ask.”