The smell of breakfast still lingered on Tom’s clothes as he took a window seat on his morning train to work. A hum slithered down the steel rails of the train tracks followed shortly by the howling of the horn unleashed into the furious air. It was a warm spring morning. The heat bathed the atmosphere in a gentle blanket as the train zipped by taking a stiff breeze behind it.
Tom looked out the window through the dusty pattern of the water stains and saw the chaparral whipping by as if greeting him with the morning. The ground passed beneath him in a blur. Plant life and rocks that were mere feet from the tracks seemed to whoosh by at a thousand miles a second. In the distance, the mountains seemed to sway slowly away, creeping away with the pace of the feather clouds above them. Though he couldn’t feel it, Tom knew the dense warmth of that particular spring day was beating down on the vast valley just beyond the plexiglass.
Like any other moment in his life, there were only two things running through his mind. The first came to his mind as he set his leather attaché case by his feet. His career had reached heights that he had never thought would be possible seven years prior. But now he had reached a point where he did not desire to climb any further rung of the corporate ladder. Sure he could make more money, but it would be at the expense of the other thing running through his mind which also happens to be the two most wonderful women in his life: his daughter, Laura, and his wife, Crystal.
There is a picture of his wife and daughter tucked neatly behind the business cards in his wallet. Despite the kind of day he may have at work, it was the anchor that would remind him of his reason for being. Some days, like today, he would gaze out the window and the warmth would emanate from the window as it poured from the golden orb into the vast empty valley that filled the space between Tom’s house and office. But today was different.
The roar of the train’s horn sounded longer than usual. At first, Tom passed it off as protocol, perhaps to scare off some wildlife that had wandered onto the track. But it began to pierce his ears, humming its way through window. Suddenly the train jolted back and thunderous high pitched screeching sent vibrations throughout each car as the horn continued and the engineer pulled the brakes on the train. The sound of steel grinding on steel grew louder; the shaking more violent with each passing second, caused every passengers’ hearts to beat slower. Their collective breathes were held in utter terror.
A loud crunch of metal cringed into the spring air as it sent the train leaping off its tracks. Momentarily there were no sounds. It was neither hot nor cold in the car. The law of gravity was broken for a microsecond that could have lasted for an hour as the passengers were sent hurdling within their cars; it was a microsecond in which their lifetimes were replayed as they closed their eyes and braced themselves for the impact of the train crash.
When Tom woke up, half his body was cold; the other half was hot with the sun beating down on it, no longer through the filter of the plexiglass window. His feet were numb, pinned down by one of the seats that thrust down on his legs. He felt the ice cold sweat beading across the back of his neck and the gritty sand and dirt of the valley floor scratch his face. Before realizing that his train had collided with something, he felt a warm thick liquid dripping from the back of his head towards his forehead. Drops of blood began to collect on the ground, in front of his eyes which were beginning to well up with tears.
Tom struggled to move, to get out from underneath the pile of seats and debris that pinned him face down in the dirt. He lifted himself up with his arms but could only manage to do so enough to look at his feet. With what little strength he had, he attempted to shout for help and only then did he hear the desperate groans of his fellow passengers. Tugging at his pant legs, Tom tried frantically to pull his legs free but to no avail. He screamed for help until his voice grew hoarse but there was no one to respond.
He tried one more time to pull his legs from underneath the debris and in the process grabbed his wallet through this pants pocket. Knowing he needed to be reminded of his reason for living he took out the picture of Laura and Crystal. He wept and his eyes furrowed making the blood seeping from his forehead to drip in a little pool underneath his head. Tom’s fingers curled as he clenched the photo of his wife and daughter. To his left, he saw some sort of panel that fell off the train. He took the rectangular piece of plastic and laid it out in front of him. He kissed the picture and dipped his finger into his gaping wound and began writing his final goodbye with his own blood.
My darling Crystal and my precious Laura,
I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to see you again. But I love you and I’ll always be watching over you. Always.
The words just refused to run through his mind but he knew that there was a lot more to say. There was not enough time and he knew that a message in his own blood would not be easy for his family to read. With what little energy he had left he attempted to write out the words “I love you,” but in the distance he could barely hear a familiar sound. It was lost in the screams and cries of the other injured passengers but it grew louder with each passing moment.
There would be no other relieving sound for the people on board who could hear than the wailing of sirens swiftly running down the length of the valley. Fire trucks, police, and paramedics swarmed the scene of carnage with such precise choreography that Tom nearly burst into tears. He began to cry as a man and woman in uniform approached him. He can barely make out their conversation but he could feel the pressure of the latex gloved hands pressing against the gashing wound in the back of his head.
In his hands, he still clung tightly to the picture of Laura and Crystal. Tom tried to get a good look at his heroes but his vision was blurry, and what little energy he had left was quickly being drained from him. The man tended to his wound and seemed to signal for his partner to move on to the next survivor. She got on her knees and saw a piece of paper in Tom’s hands. It was the photo of Laura and Crystal only know it was crumpled into a little ball, a bloody thumbprint on the reverse side. The paramedic then turned her attention to the panel just a foot away with Tom’s message written on it.
“There’s no need for this goodbye letter, sir,” she whispered in Tom’s ear, “We’re going to make sure that you see your daughter and wife again.” Tom smiled weakly as the medic working on his wound gestured for a gurney. As it was wheeled and folded right beside him, Tom could faintly hear the male paramedic utter, “This one’s going to be okay.”
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