The Light at the End of the Subway Tunnel

When I woke up on the train, I was covered in blood. It soaked through the abdomen of my pink fleece shirt, and was wet and sticky to the touch. But it couldn't have been mine, because I wasn't in pain.

I was sitting on the hard plastic bench of one of those rundown subway cars with flickering lights and promotion posters covering the walls. And I wasn't alone. Around me were sparse passengers who all looked run down and tired, their nonexistent energy filling the space with an eerie stillness. None of them noticed the blood I was drenched in, or even looked at me.

I looked at my watch to check the time, only to find that my wrist was bare. I checked my pockets. No phone either. Without knowing the time or how long I had been there, I started to feel panic bubbling inside.

I decided to ask one of the passengers which train we were on and how long I'd been asleep. But they all stared ahead with a vacancy in their eyes that made me uneasy. So I searched for someone I felt the most comfortable asking. An old lady who sat near the front seemed the most harmless. Her wrinkles hung off her bones like saggy bags, yet she beamed with energy as she leaned forward in her chair. She seemed the most enthusiastic to be here.

"Excuse me," I called. She didn't react, though I suspected it was because she was hard of hearing. "Excuse me," I said a little louder. She took notice of me, but didn't say anything. "Where are we?" I asked.

"We're on the train, dear," she said confidently.

"Yes, but which train?" I clarified.

"We're on the train," she repeated, then looked ahead toward the front of the car, as if she could see our destination in front of us. "I'm going to see my husband."

I tried not to sigh with frustration in front of her, leaving her be. She probably couldn't remember details anymore. I hoped she wasn't traveling alone, or that at least someone was picking her up.

My next step was to ask the conductor. Luckily, I was in the front car, so I walked up to the closet-sized compartment--the one with the machine panel that controlled the train--and knocked. "Excuse me..." I started, then stopped. Through the sheet of plastic-glass that sectioned off the compartment, I saw...no one.

The train was moving on its own.

"Oh my god!" I gasped. I turned to the other passengers. "Does anyone know where the conductor is?" I asked frantically. None of them answered or even reacted. I wasn't sure how subway trains worked, or whether the train could run on autopilot while the conductor stepped away. But knowing that I already woke up on this godforsaken train without any clue as to how I got there...seeing that no one was driving it finally put me over the edge. "Don't you realize we're on a runaway train?" I finally screamed.

Nothing.

I was now struggling to keep my anxiety down, fighting the urge to give into the panic. I tried to tell myself to breathe and to not catastrophize--the therapeutic word for dwelling on the worst-case scenario--though I doubted there was anything worse than being on a runaway subway train.

"Sarah?"

My head swiveled around at the familiar voice to see a miraculous face among the unrecognizable strangers. "Dad!" I ran to him, throwing my arms around him. Thank God that someone I knew was on this train with me! He appeared as a guardian angel in that maroon cardigan sweater he loved to wear. He didn't seem to notice the blood on my shirt, wrapping his strong, warm arms around me. "Pumpkin," he whispered, using my chosen pet name as he planted a kiss on the side of my head.

What are you doing here? I wanted to ask, to know the details of how he came to be on the exact same train as me. But then I realized that it didn't matter because I needed him and he was here. So instead, I buried my nose into his sweater, letting the tears building in my eyes finally fall. "There's no one driving the train," I managed to stutter. "I don't know where I am, or how long it's been, but I need to get home! I need to get home to Mark and Jessie!" My thoughts ran to my loving husband and five-year-old daughter, both whom must be worried sick. "I want to go home!" I cried childishly.

"There there now," he crooned, holding me tighter. "Everything will be alright. What is the last thing you remember?" he asked as he pulled away.

I sniffed back the snot that was beginning to run down my nose. I slowly breathed in and out, letting calm rationality clear the fog in my brain. Think. I racked my mind, thinking back in time. "Um...I got up, had breakfast, drove Jessie to preschool and then..." My mind ran into a wall of amnesia, my mind frustratingly blank no matter how hard I pushed against it. "Dammit!"

"Shh, Shh," Dad crooned. "It's all right. Tell you what," he said, wiping the tears from my eyes with his thumb. "Why don't you go looking for the conductor? I'm sure they're around here somewhere. In the meantime, you might find some answers along the way."

"But what about the train? What if we crash?" There were dozens of connecting subway tunnels underground. It would only be a matter of seconds before we potentially crashed into another subway car.

Dad smiled knowingly. "I think the train will be fine," he said in an ambiguous tone that suggested he knew something that I didn't. But I didn't have time to question him. It was a plan of action, and that was all that mattered. "All right."

I left the safety of my father's arms, making my way to the door that connected this car to the next. I turned to look past my father through the windshield of the subway car.

I knew we were in a tunnel. Not just because of the darkness all around us with the occasional flash of passing stations, but because of the pinprick of light in the distance that signaled the end, which--strangely--never got any bigger.

I looked back at my father, who nodded encouragingly. Then I turned the handle.

I expected to pass through the loud, in-between compartment that conjoined the cars. But instead, I found myself someplace else...

…I was standing in the doorway of my childhood bedroom. Warm sunlight filtered through the windows onto my old duvet with printed teddy bears holding balloons on it. Every toy I had forgotten as a grownup now littered the room with perfect familiarity like old friends. The sudden change of space should have made my head spin. But instead I was hit with such a rush of nostalgia that my fear instantly melted away, and I felt completely safe...even if the echo of rumbling train tracks sounded in the back of my mind like white noise--only there if I was paying attention.

I smiled, kneeling amongst my toys and beginning to play with them the way I did when I was small and didn't have a care in the world. This place, this blissful childish moment was all there was, and nothing outside of my pretend tea party mattered. The minutes ticked by in dreamy contentment. It was only when my mother called me from downstairs that I pulled my attention away from Mr. Wiggles and Mermaid Barbie, who were arguing that the nonexistent tea was cold.

"Sarah," Mom said, "Lunchtime!"

"I want PB and J!" I squealed in my very grown-up voice.

I heard Mom chuckling from the kitchen. "All right. I'll make sure to cut the crust off."

I giggled with delight, completely abandoning my tea party. I turned the corner to run downstairs on my tiny legs, my thoughts full of the dreamy taste of peanut butter and jelly...

…I was walking through the gymnasium of Northville High. I was fifteen, the circumference of my existence filled with trivial worries like homework, driving tests, boys, and people's shallow opinions of me--worries that were inconsequential in the long run, but meant the world to me because it was my world.

I was leaving debate club, cutting through the gym so that people would think I was taking a shortcut to the west doors. But that wasn't the real reason I was there. I was meeting Neal Carterson.

It was after two awkward teenage dates that we clumsily admitted that we liked each other. We were ready to officially become "boyfriend and girlfriend", which, to us, meant engaging in more physical--albeit innocent--contact. We were still getting used to holding hands.

But there he was, waiting next to the closed bleachers with a bashful smile. The butterflies in my stomach rose up, and a ridiculous grin spread across my face. We quietly joined hands as we walked outside, making our way to stand under the semi-private out-door staircase. We stood facing each other, the air filled with the awkward silence of knowing what we wanted to do, but not knowing how to start.

Then Neal shakily cupped my face, making the butterflies in my stomach full-on erupt and my knees shake uncontrollably. My eyes frantically darted to each detail of his face as he leaned in closer: his nose, his freckles--should I look into his eyes? And then his lips were on mine, and it felt...different than I expected. It wasn't nearly as extraordinary as the anticipation itself, but still felt good, firm. Real. And I beamed as I pulled away, feeling like I'd just achieved some unspoken rite of passage.

My first kiss.

"Hey! What are you two doing?" A lone teacher called out, and we laughed giddily like the children we were as we ran, hand in hand, through the parking lot...

…We were walking through the park at night, our fingers still intertwined. But instead of Neal, it was Mark, and he smiled at me in my short black cocktail dress. We had just left the restaurant where we celebrated our two year anniversary as a couple. We were full of steak and wine, and were swayed by the mood of the ambient lights that hung from one lamp post to the next.

Mark was not the type of man I ever thought I would be with. I was dismissive of him when we first met; and the butterflies didn't come as quickly when we started dating. But while he wasn't what a younger me would have imagined, I soon realized he was everything I needed: he was kind, patient, communicative...and he loved me exactly for who I was. Who could ask for anything more? I smiled sincerely back, knowing without a doubt that I truly loved him.

To prove the mutual feeling between us, Mark swung my hand around so that I twirled like a ballerina, and I let out a happy, contented laugh. We made our way to a bench, where we sat down to enjoy the romanticism of the scenery. I sighed contentedly and laid my head on his shoulder, his arm securely around me.

After awhile, Mark asked out of the blue, "Do you ever think about the future?"

My intuition flickered, and I pulled back to look him in the face. "You mean our future?"

"Well...yes." He paused. "Do you see us being together...permanently?"

I noted the shakiness in his voice, and recalled the way he nervously fidgeted all throughout dinner. And now his blunt questions about our future...it sparked a feeling of elation and disbelief inside me. Was this what I thought it was? Still, I kept my excitement in check just in case there was a small chance I was reading this all wrong. "Yes, I do," I replied.

He smiled, somehow relieved. "Good. Me too." Then he got up, turned to face me, and--amidst my renewed elation which caused me to gasp in surprise--got down on one knee.

"Sarah Barnes..." he said, his voice nervous and shaky as he grabbed both my hands. He looked straight into my eyes, which were beginning to tear up. "You are without a doubt the kindest, most beautiful woman I have ever met. I love you for your smile, your determination, your heart, and your soul. I love the way your nose squints up when you get angry, and how you sing when you are happy. I even love you for your obsession of spicy food and Jane Austen movies."

I let out a small tear-filled laugh at this.

"You are the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. And I can't imagine living it with anyone else. So..." He released one of my hands to pull a velvet ring box out of his pocket. He opened it, revealing an engagement ring that shined like the sun. I gasped, my free hand clasped over my mouth as the tears began to flow freely.

"Sarah Barnes...will you marry me?"

I nodded, too emotional to speak. Finally I sputtered, "Yes, yes of course I will!"

Mark smiled happily, his eyes also glistening as he pulled the ring out and delicately put it on my left ring finger. I admired it in the light, then turned to smile at him with the most joyous grin on my face. We leaned in and kissed, before wrapping each other in our arms. "I love you..." I said, crying happily.

"I love you too..."

…Mark pulled away from embracing me, having kissed me gently on the forehead. "I'm so proud of you, honey," he said, as I looked away to stare up at the bright hospital lights in the white cardboard tiles.

I was laying in a hospital bed, and had just given birth to our daughter. Despite the pain relief I'd been given, I still felt like I'd been split open like the Grand Canyon, and was tired, sweaty, but mostly worried about my baby.

The nurses were still fussing over her, checking and cleaning this tiny red thing covered in blood and fluid. I watched with motherly concern, releasing the breath I was holding when she finally cried. Her wails were mere hiccups of gulping air as she breathed for the first time.

"You did it," Mark said, beaming with pride at both me and her.

Eventually, one of the nurses delicately carried her over to us, freshly cleaned and diapered. "Congratulations," she said with a happy smile on her face. "She's perfectly healthy." She gently placed my baby flat on my chest, skin to skin, and I eagerly wrapped my hands around my child to support her.

She was so small. So light. Her thin arms and legs curled out to her sides, her perfectly-round head resting just below my chin. She quieted down as soon as we touched, her tongue bobbing against her miniature lips in mock-nursing.

It was in that moment that I was consumed with such pure, perfect love, there wasn't enough room in the world to contain it. It was like being baptized with fire, stripping away everything I thought I knew to emerge in this new world where everything now revolved around her. This tiny being, so full of of potential and possibilities, was the definition of a miracle. My miracle. And if there was a time in my life where I fully believed in God, it was this moment.

The tears fell from my eyes as Mark encircled us both. "We're parents," I emotionally whispered to him, never taking my eyes off my baby. I couldn't look away. I could hear Mark crying in mutual affirmation. We were parents...

…I was holding Jessie in my arms as I scrounged around the kitchen to make a simple breakfast. Part of my brain had woken up by now, because I realized this was a memory of just this morning. Jessie was at that age where she wanted to cling to me every second, and I had to indulge her if I wanted to get anything done without her throwing a tantrum. I finally put her down at the table to eat her bowl of cheerios, explaining to her that "It's cheerios. You like cheerios," when she started to fuss. Then she settled down, quietly (miraculously) eating her cereal with slow, uncoordinated spoonfuls.

I then used what precious moments I had to eat some toast and down a cup of coffee. I was rinsing out the mug when Mark came downstairs in his work clothes. "Hey, Honey," I called, as he came over and pecked me on the lips. "Want me to make you some eggs or something?" I asked.

"No, I'll get something on the way," he answered. "Though I was thinking...maybe tonight we could have takeout from your favorite restaurant for dinner. That way you don't have to cook."

"Oh? What's the occasion?" I replied, though I already suspected the reason. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he encircled me.

"Just because..." he replied shrewdly, his smile mischievous. "And then maybe afterward we could have...dessert?" He gave me a suggestive look, silently implying that we should make love tonight, because we were both ready to start trying for a second child--hence the reason we were celebrating. Our family was ready to grow.

I blushed like a little schoolgirl, biting my lip. "Maybe," I teased.

"Yeah?" he said, excited.

I nodded. Then we kissed each other intimately (or as intimately as was appropriate in front of a five-year-old.)

"I like dessert," Jessie chimed in innocently.

We broke away, and I smiled humorously as Mark went over to indulge her. "Oh yeah?" he asked. "What's your favorite?"

"Chocolate cake!" she squealed.

"Well then maybe that's what we should have!" Mark replied.

"Yay!" Jessie giggled.

I silently cursed, knowing that he would have to follow through now that he proposed the idea to a five-year-old. It's surprising how children adamantly hold you to your word once you've even suggested something, let alone promised it.

He exchanged hugs and kisses with Jessie, before coming over to give me one last kiss. Then he was out the door, off to another habitual day of work...and I looked around at my chaotic paradise of a house that needed cleaning, a sink full of dishes, and the toys that cluttered every corner.

"Mommy, I'm done," Jessie declared, not old enough to realize that she didn't need to announce every single thing that she did.

"Okay." I took her bowl and dumped the sparse cheerio-ed milk into the sink, before placing it among the other dishes. I was definitely going to take some time to clean this place today, after I got back from dropping Jessie off at preschool and running other errands.

I checked the clock. It was about time to leave. "Grab your backpack," I instructed Jessie, and she ran into the hall to grab her pink My Little Pony backpack from one of the coat hooks. I helped her struggle into it, then grabbed her hand as we headed out the door to the car...

…I closed the door behind me, looking around to see that I was standing in the subway car. Like an invisible weight, the gloom of reality came crashing back down on me. All the other passengers were gone now, leaving my father to wait for me alone.

Then I remembered something as I gazed at him; something so blatantly obvious, I wondered how I could have overlooked it so easily.

My father was dead.

He'd died three years ago of terminal cancer, the last of his days spent hooked up to tubes in a hospital bed. He had slowly, agonizingly wasted away, looking like a hundred-year-old man even though he was only in his sixties. And yet here he was, looking perfectly healthy, the way I remembered him.

But if he was here, then that meant...

"Dad...how did I get here?" I asked hesitantly.

Dad's expression was one of sadness. "Please try to remember."

His words, his expression terrified me. Still, I racked my brain, trying to break past the wall of amnesia, until I remembered...

…I had just dropped Jessie off, and was making my way to the grocery store. I couldn't have been a half-mile away when--

I gasped. The accident!

I was passing through the intersection just as a car from the opposite lane ran full-speed through the red light. It's fast-approaching fender caught my eye at the last second, and I could only stare in frozen horror--my ears filled with the sound of slamming breaks--as it connected with me...

…The details of the subway car came back into focus, and I turned to look at my reflection in the dim plastic window. My face was mangled, cut, bruised, the evidence of the truth written all over my skin. I looked down at my abdomen, touching my fingers to the sticky red stain in my shirt.

So the blood really was mine.

I...I was dead.

The shock of it robbed me of all feeling, until I was numb with horror. But when that horror slowly faded, all I felt was anger. "No."

"Sweetheart..."

"No...No...NO! NO-NO-NO-NO-NO-" I covered my ears, shutting my eyes closed as if I could block out this entire reality with nothing but my will. This was all just a bad dream! It had to be! I...I was in a coma. Yes, that's it! I was badly injured and fell into a coma, and was having one of those close-to-death experiences people talk about. But that's okay because I would revive any minute now and wake up in a hospital bed, surrounded by my relieved family. Everything will be all right! I can beat the odds, I can beat the odds...

I opened my eyes, seeing the dismal surroundings of the train. My last hope diminished, taking everything I had left in me so that I fell to my knees. Dad rushed to catch me, his strong arms holding me together as I broke into a million pieces. I wailed my agony into his cardigan sweater for what felt like a very long time.

I don't know how long I actually cried. But when I finally pulled away, Dad brushed my tear-stained cheeks with his thumb. "I'm so sorry, Pumpkin."

We slowly made our way to the bench, his hand firmly grasping mine. We sat in silence as I comprehended the reality of my death. For while I couldn't imagine my life without my family, imagining theirs without me was its own slap in the face. My daughter would grow up without really knowing me. My husband would struggle through the stress of being a widower, and raising Jessie alone while coping with the trauma of losing me. And even once they managed to grieve and move on, they would live a thousand life experiences without me that I was supposed to enjoy with them.

I'd been robbed.

The thought filled me with such indignation, I wanted to scream. "There's no going back, is there?" I finally said, already knowing the answer but still latching onto any grain of hope.

"No. There isn't."

Then something occurred to me that I hadn't processed before; and I looked straight at my father. "So what are you doing here?"

He smiled sadly. "Sometimes they let us come for the ride to help family members make the transition."

I slowly digested his words, looking around and taking in the details of the train. "And why a subway car?"

Dad shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. I think we all see something different, though it always has something to do with transportation. For you, it's a subway train. But I think it's the concept of it: we are all merely passengers on our journey to that Final Destination."

His answer--albeit cryptic--sparked an idea inside me, and I eyed the door. "If it's a train, then I can get off." I exchanged looks with my father; and while I saw the warning in his face, I had already decided what I was going to do.

Like a bullet, I bolted from my seat, running to the door and frantically pushing the button. When it didn't react, I desperately scrounged my fingers between the sliding doors to pry it open. "Stop! Stop!" my father shouted, wrapping his arms around me to pull me away.

"I have to get back to my family!" I screamed as I struggled.

"LOOK!"

I stopped, looking through the windows at my father's command. Perhaps it was because I was aware that my eyes were beginning to open...because the darkness of the subway tunnel was now actual darkness that stretched on forever. In the distance I could make out figures...outlines of people with no real shape or form, moving in no apparent direction. "Wanderers," my father replied, answering my unasked question. "Trapped in a prison of memories of a life they can never go back to. If you leave this train, that is what you become. There's no going back, Sarah."

I stood watching the shades of people shift in and out of focus with disbelief. Then I raised my head to the ceiling and actually screamed all my frustration out. I stomped back to the bench and plopped down with my head in my hands. Dad quietly sat down beside me.

"It's not fair!" I cried out like a little child.

"I know."

"Why would God do this to me?! Why would he take me from my family?!"

Dad bit his lip and shook his head. "It's not that simple, sweetie. God isn't responsible for this. He cannot interfere with peoples' free will. And it was that driver's choice to run that red light."

I started to cry again, even though I thought I had no more tears in me.

"But I tell you what..." Dad continued, "God makes everything better in the end. Think of it this way: you are going to a place of unimaginable beauty and light where there isn't even a memory of pain. And when it's their time, you will be reunited with Mark and Jessie, never to be separated again. Ever. All you have to look forward to is, well...bliss."

I looked at him with bleary eyes. "Really?"

He nodded and grabbed my hand again. "I've experienced it. Look...all you need to do is have faith that that day will come, because it will. But in order to do that, you need to let go."

I sighed. What my dad said made sense, even if I didn't want to accept it. I couldn't go back--doing so would mean either staying on this train forever or becoming a Wanderer--so I supposed that letting go was the only thing left to do.

But it was so hard. All my anger, all my apprehension of leaving my family to fend for themselves ate at my core. But eventually I willed myself to think from a new perspective, a positive one: Mark would struggle in raising Jessie, but he wouldn't be alone. He might even find another partner that could be a wife to him and mother to her. And while that thought stung, I imagined this figment woman would love and care for Jessie the way I did, and that my daughter would grow up to become a beautiful, strong woman who would make her own mistakes and have her own joyous moments as well. As for me, I would remain a fond memory in their hearts, my family going on to live new experiences that would be for their benefit--be it terrible mistakes or wondrous moments--and that I would still be with them as they learned and grew from these experiences, just in a different way. Life would go on, beautifully, tragically...until one day they would be called home, and I would be waiting for them just as my father waited for me. And oh how wonderful that day will be when we are reunited, never to be separated again.

Like a weight being lifted, my worries disappeared, and a wondrous peace filled my soul with hope. And while I was still sad to leave...I wasn't afraid anymore. "Everything really will be okay," I said, more to myself.

My father nodded, smiling proudly. "That's right." Then he silently indicated with his eyes to my abdomen, and I looked down and saw that the blood was gone. My hand went to my face, and I could no longer feel the cuts and fleshy bruises on my skin. I was whole again.

With his hand still grasping mine, my father stood, pulling me with him to stand at the front of the subway car where we both faced the window. "You are ready."

I turned my gaze to look out the windshield. The pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel--the one that had stayed the same size throughout my journey--now grew bigger and bigger, its light brilliant and white, even brighter than the sun. As it grew, I felt, not apprehension, but eagerness, knowing I was about to experience something more beautiful than I had ever known.

And then finally...the light swallowed me.