Chapter I ☯ Departure
Braniff International Departure Lounge, New Orleans Moissant Field, Aug. 6, 1966, 18:00
I’m sitting in a chair in an airport. Waiting on yet another flight. Taking a drag on a cigarette, trying to read the States-Item. Hard to concentrate since it’s been such a long day.
The best routing the travel agency could give me home to Minneapolis is a Braniff hop via a torturous route: Shreveport, Fort Smith, Tulsa, Kansas City, and Omaha. At least it’s a pretty comfortable jet, not one of the old prop jobs hopping around the sky. It’s a new British type, a BAC 1-11. The one sitting on the tarmac, my ride home, is painted bright orange and glows like a fireball in the early evening steamy Louisiana sun.
I’m Sean Donnelly. 42 years old. Single. What they used to call a ‘confirmed bachelor,’ wink-wink. I’m a journalist working for the Star-Tribune in Minneapolis. Not a star or anything, but I do pretty well and mostly have fun. I could still be back in Iowa, slopping hogs and mucking out barns, but I’d rather be clean, seeing different sights every day than just an endless procession of cows’ butts. It pays the mortgage, and, being single, I can save and take a nice trip every once in awhile. This particular one was a reward to myself after working over two years with only Sundays off. I have no life outside the press room, really. A colleague convinced me to go south, even though it’s August, to take in the jazz scene and kick back. The fare was reasonable and Pete Fountain and Louis Armstrong were in town.
I loosen my tie. It’s going to be a long evening after a long hot day, mostly spent walking around dripping with sweat, killing time before the flight. It’ll be nice to get back up north where it’s not a hellish jungle. I loved the music and food, but I’m thinking next time, I’ll come in mid-January.
A guy in a blue uniform walks up to the desk, starts talking to the gate agent. Four-striper. I can hear them because I’m sitting close so I can be one of the first on board so I can get a drink before take-off. I treated myself to a first class ticket for this one, as well as a few nights in one of the better hotels. It’s only money and what else do I have to spend it on? Yeah, pathetic, I know.
The four-striper introduces himself to the agent as Captain Don Pauly. They talk about weather and what happened in the hotel near Bourbon Street last night. They talk about how many passengers will be on board. Only a couple of lucky saps like me are with them for the hoppity-hop all the way to Minneapolis.
Two giggling stewardesses come walking up in new, brightly colored pastel uniforms. Things look like they’d glow in the dark. They walk up to the counter and start flirting with the Captain. Two minutes later, another pilot walks up. Almost instantly has his hand on a stew’s ass. He’s tall, younger and good-looking, but obviously not a player for my team. Captain looks like he’s pushing 50, mostly all business, but with a sense of humor. Looks like three stripes on the other guy’s uniform, so he’s obviously the first officer for our flight.
I look around the rest of the lounge. The usual suspects, nothing particularly striking. Smattering of cajuns and military types sitting around waiting for the first hop to Shreveport and either the Red River Arsenal or Barksdale Air Force Base. A hillbilly family who will probably get off in Fort Smith, take off their shoes, and head for the hills. Some businessmen. A woman and her daughter, who is holding a rag doll and reading a book, chewing a wad of bubble gum.
The lounge is decorated in the same shades of pastel colors as the stewardesses and the airplane sitting out on the tarmac. Braniff proclaimed the “end of the plain plane” and made everything cool and mod and hip and with it and coolio, daddio! I don’t care what it all looks like. It’s my ride home.
The flight crew, still giggling and pinching each other, walk over to the gate and down the jetway. The captain is smiling, but remains a bit apart from the other three. They disappear and it looks like we’re finally ready to board.
They announce the flight. I’m hop up and get on board. Need that drink. Stew up front smiles, takes my jacket, helps get me settled. I ask for a vodka collins, she brings it. A procession files down the aisle to the coach part of the plane. I sip my drink. 20 minutes later, the stew buttons up the plane and starts her safety spiel. Engines are spooling up and we’re pushed back. I tune out and take a nap.
Samantha (that’s the stew’s name) wakes me when we approach Shreveport. I’m wrong about the hillbilly family. They get off in Shreveport. The rest of the trip is the same. Up, down, coupla drinks, some dinner. I’m the only one going all the way through; by Fort Smith, the BAC 1-11 is beginning to feel like home and Samantha and I are old friends. The others in first are transients.
We touch down in Kansas City and find out there will be an hour wait. Samantha suggests a leg stretch on the tarmac. I walk to the terminal through more steam heat. Not as bad as New Orleans, but still humid. I get some more cigarettes, look around. Nothing remarkable; I’ve seen the scene before. Terminal announcements. Bored businessmen chatting up even more bored waitresses in the bar. Kids coloring or playing with dolls or running around. The smell of jet fuel, the occasional props firing up. I find a restroom. Same as any other anywhere. I’d rather talk to Samantha, so I sweetheart the gate agent and she lets me back aboard.
Samantha talks to me for 20 minutes, during which I learn it all … dickwad boyfriend, signing up as a stewardess with hopes that she’d be jetting off to Paris, but then being confronted with the reality of jetting off to Omaha and Fort Smith, daddy’s girl, girl voted most likely to do something-or-other. She’s flirting, but I’m too tired to care. She’s not exactly my type. Too blonde and too dependent on men. Her daddy, her boyfriend, the first guy from high school, the airline bosses who assigned her to Dallas and not London. I wonder why she chose to work for Braniff in the first place; they don’t even fly to London. I want to ask if Pan Am rejected her, but decide I’ve still got two segments and I’ll need more scotch and sympathy. Don’t hack off the stew.
People file out from the terminal; it’s time for the Omaha leg. After that, home at last. Samantha tells me it’s a light load. There’s 38 of us, three in first, taken care of by four crew members. The Omaha leg features, in first, a woman about my age, dressed in black who is dead silent and hands her coat to Samantha to take care of, then sits down and stares out the window on the other side of the plane, and a businessman who comes in, sits down behind the presumed widow, barks an order for a whiskey sour and then opens his briefcase on the tray table. Samantha serves drinks, mine first, with a wink. She puts his on his tray and walks away. He doesn’t even say thank you or look up. She gets ready for the usual spiel.
I look out the window. There’s a guy in Braniff coveralls sitting on a baggage tractor staring at the plane. I’m not sure he can see me, but I can feel our eyes lock. He slowly stands up on the tug, raises his hand in a farewell salute. The plane is pushed back. I can see to the north; there are flashes of lightning beyond the airfield perimeter. I look back at the guy on the tug. He’s still saluting as the plane turns away and I can’t see him any more. There’s an air of benediction to his act. For some reason, it irritates and unsettles me. Too dramatic.
Samantha comes to check my seat belt. She says the captain told her the flight crew of a Braniff flight which just landed from Chicago said there’s some bumpy weather on the way to Omaha, but he’ll try to give us a smooth ride by flying to the west of the front. I look back out. A series of lightning flashes light up the night, and I can see a line of very dark clouds up north beyond Kansas City’s downtown skyscrapers. It’s a little ominous, but I’m too tired to care. ★
• 1539 Words written by Steve @ 21:53 | 23-Apr-06 in Departure • Critique It
Chapter II ☯ Disintegration
Kansas City Metropolitan Airport, Aug. 6, 1966, 22:55
As we taxi, I glance at my watch. It’s almost 11. There’s a hold as we wait for an arriving flight and then I see a new Delta DC-9 move down the runway, gather speed and disappear into the darkness, its blinking strobes outlining its turn to the south toward Atlanta as it leaves the ground. We hold a bit, then move out onto the runway and, without a pause, rumble down the strip and get airborne quickly. We’re light and it doesn’t take long, the Rolls Royce Spey turbojets providing a big kick in the pants.
We turn northwest and I can see the lights of the city recede behind us. It’s smooth so far, but we suddenly level off. We’re not that high. A chime rings and Samantha reaches for the interphone. She talks for a few seconds, hangs up, then picks up the intercom and announces that we’ll be diverting a bit for weather to keep the ride smooth and that for everyone’s safety, they should stay seated with their seatbelts on until they get the word from the cockpit. She goes to the galley, starts some coffee brewing.
The woman across the aisle is still staring out the window. The businessman takes off his seatbelt and reclines his seat a bit. He’s reading a company memo and his lips are moving. He calls for Samantha, yells a demand for another whiskey sour without waiting for her to come down the aisle.
We’ll be in Omaha pretty quick, so I decide not to nap. I’ve also had enough vodka. I’ll need to be sober enough to drive home, since I left my car at the airport. I look at my watch again and pick up a magazine. It’s 10 after 11.
A sudden jolt gets my attention. Samantha is still in the galley, making the whiskey sour. I look outside. There are flashes of lightning up ahead. We’re still pretty low. Another jolt, then a continuous shudder. We start an up and down motion, the engine noise rising and falling with the plane’s motion. This is beginning to be uncomfortable.
A chime sounds. Samantha appears and answers the interphone. She’s not smiling, not looking at my direction. She hangs up and I hear some rattling around in the galley. She comes down the aisle, checking seatbelts. The businessman argues with her a bit, still wanting the drink. She stands firm, he petulantly buckles up. She glances at me, checks my belt, manages a smile, then disappears into the back. Couple of minutes later, couple more jolts, she’s back. Goes forward, lowers her jumpseat, sits down and buckles in. Very tightly. I’m not particularly worried; this is, after all, a very new, modern jetliner and I’ve been in turbulence before. What could happen?
We bounce again, this time much harder, and then the intercom comes to life.
‘Uh, folks, this is Captain Pauly from the cockpit. We’re experiencing a short stretch of rough weather right now, so we’d like you to stay seated with your seatbelts securely fastened until we’re through it. There’s a gust front coming down from Canada, but the good news is that we don’t expect it to last too long. Then we’ll go ahead and move on up to our regular cruising altitude of 20,000 feet and things will smooth out. Currently, we’re going to fly a little to the west into southern Nebraska a bit. We might be just a few minutes late for arrival in Omaha, but sit back and relax and we’ll have you on the ground soon. I’ve asked our flight attendants to be seated for the next few minutes while we fly through this, but Samantha and Jeannie will be back up to serve you very shortly. We’ll talk to you again in a few minutes. Thanks for flying Braniff International today.’
The bouncing gets worse. We drop a bit, then rise up very fast. My stomach is beginning to regret the vodka. I’m not a nervous flier, like I said. But within a couple of minutes it gets bad enough to make me change my mind. I grip the armrest. It seems to go on forever. It gets darker outside, the clouds lit by flashes of lightning. Inside the plane, it’s dead quiet with just the noise of the slipstream rushing past outside, the engines beginning to strain, the noise and pitch from them rising and falling. The woman still stares outside, but she’s now gripping her armrests tightly. The businessman has actually put his memo on the aisle seat and is staring outside too.
My eyes meet Samantha’s. She’s looking a little white. I smile at her. She manages a brave smile back. I’m thinking it’s a little odd that a veteran stewardess like her would be looking worried. She said she’d been flying for over five years. It’s right about then that things get interesting.
We’re suddenly wobbling side to side. Engines are straining and then backing off even more. I look at my watch. 11:11. It’s an odd time to die, I think, all ones. Wait, what? This is getting a bit surreal.
We suddenly get straightened up and it’s smooth for a couple of seconds. But then it happens.
It’s like a giant is standing there in a Nebraska corn field and is highly annoyed that we’re trying to get by him. Lightning flashes violently from his eyes and he draws back his hand and swats us from the sky with a huge undercut. He hits us from below and the right. Hard, very hard. It stuns us. Samantha’s eyes get very big and they’re locked on mine, her face very white. I don’t know what my own face looks like but I’m sure it’s not attractive. My brain feels scrambled.
The plane rolls and yaws to the left and then we hear this terrible, gut-wrenching metallic sound. The plane shudders, the engines are screaming. We’re freakin’ coming apart. I feel it. It’s in my bowels, my spine. My heart is pounding, adrenaline is coursing through my veins. My head is bursting, I suddenly have a massive headache.
My vision is fogged, but my eyes are still locked on Samantha’s. Her mouth is open like she’s screaming, but I can’t hear anything but the roaring of the engines. I glance sideways at the business guy; he’s got his eyes screwed shut, hanging on tightly to the tray table. His memos are flying all over the place. I don’t even see the lady ahead of him since her head has disappeared; I guess she’s put her head between her knees. I look back at Samantha. Samantha is, momentarily, my rock, my sanity.
About two seconds. That’s all it takes. Metal wrenching, everything vibrating. Another big jolt and the breath is knocked out of me. I suddenly grin; I shit my pants. It’s funny. The plane is coming apart, I’ve shit my pants, we’re crashing and I start laughing. I lose Samantha’s eyes. She shuts them tight and screams. I can’t hear anything but the loud roaring of wind. We’re decompressing.
We start nosing over towards the ground and we’re inside a tornado. Everything fogs over and paper, magazines, blankets, clothes, bags, dust, all kinds of crap start flying around. I’m hit on the head by a bag from the overhead bin, but I don’t even feel it. I start bleeding from the ears. I can taste blood on my tongue. My heart pounds away and I can feel the pulse in my head, in my ears; it’s pushing my blood, my life out of my ears. I can barely see, but Samantha is still there in her seat, her face a mask of blood.
My eardrums burst and suddenly it’s quiet and peaceful.
We start corkscrewing to the ground. There’s a sudden bang inside my head and Samantha and the cabin in front of me disappear in an explosion of stars and white light.
My last conscious thought?
‘Nebraska?! Aw, crap!’ ★
• 1405 Words written by Steve @ 21:54 | 23-Apr-06 in Departure • Critique It
Chapter III ☯ Limbo
Near Falls City, NE, Aug. 6, 1966, 23:12 CST
I’m told it’s very rare, but I’m still awake for the next part.
There’s a truly hideous, indescribable screeching in my ears. It’s a noise I can feel, it vibrates deep inside me. I can feel it ripping me apart, tearing me into tiny pieces. The noise is excruciating. I’m not breathing anymore. Parts of me, big chunks, are ripping away from me, falling away with the plane, like pieces of rock crumbling off a cliff.
A whiteness in my eyes is burning like searing phosphorous in my brain. I’m not moving. I’m just along for the ride. My old self, the pieces of what used to be me, is still falling with the plane. I feel this falling away. I feel the weight of the entire plane pulling my old self away from me, draining me. I feel it dangling from my legs, sloughing my body away. It’s heavy, really heavy. Tons. It falls. My pieces fall. But even through the pain, I suddenly feel that I’m starting to rise.
I can’t understand it, but the falling away and the rising is something I’m feeling at the same time. I feel pain and see nothing but intense light, but I’m rising. The parts of my old body that I still feel somehow are falling, dragged down to earth in what’s left of the first class cabin of Braniff International Airways Flight 250. The pieces of the BAC 1-11 corkscrew slowly into the ground. I’m still rising but falling, rising but falling.
Finally, the plane impacts, dragging the pieces that were me into the ground with it. I feel the earth, hard and unyielding, greet us, the plane and my body which seem to have fused into one. We smack into the soil of southeast Nebraska. There’s a final burst of noise and pain and colored light and then I feel a sudden lightness. I’m free of the plane, free of the old body, free and light and airy, free for whatever happens next.
There is no thinking during all this, no conversation in my head, not after I saw the time, 11:11, and ‘Nebraska?! Aw, crap!’ There’s noise and there’s light and there’s feeling, but there is no thinking after that. There is only the sensation of falling but rising for a time, then finally the separation, then I’m floating down to earth.
‘Aw, hell!’ I suddenly think. Wait, I’m thinking again! That was something. Say that again.
I’m relieved somewhat that conscious thought is still possible after all, that I appear to still be me.
I stay awake as I come to earth. There is simply a sensation of falling, then not falling, but I feel nothing from the impact. No pain, no crushing. I’m not crying, not hurting. I’m alive, but it feels impossible. I’m feeling some things, some sensations, some impossibilities, but not other things. There is lightness and air, but no more pain or noise. After coming down, I lie on the ground for awhile, not thinking again, not really caring where I am.
After a few minutes, my brain starts to function on a higher level again. I start assessing what’s happened to me. And what’s happened is, we’ve crashed. And died. Samantha, the woman, the businessman, the 35 in coach, Capt. Pauly, the other two crew members, everybody. All of us. This is death.
We were sitting there, thinking about business deals and philandering husbands and idiot children and hating the end of vacations and being glad to get out of Kansas City and where’s the damn stewardess with my drink and why do they make them wear those ridiculous get-ups? And then there were some scary bits and now we’re all down there together in some smoking hole underneath a thunderstorm in Nebraska, and we’ve made a pretty damn big mess for somebody to clean up, probably ruined a farmer’s corn crop or something.
And now I’m just lying in the dirt. It’s both real and unreal. I feel disjointed, which I am. Separated from my body. I’m lying a few hundred yards from a smoking crater, the remains of the main part of the plane. I’m confused, dazed, breathless. It’s going to take some time to figure this out.
A few feet to my left, something moves in my peripheral vision. I somehow manage to sit up. Samantha is sitting over there staring at me. She’s sitting more or less facing the flames from the crash, so I can see her clearly. There’s not a mark on her; she’s perfect, not a hair out of place. She is, shall we say in an understatement, surprised.
Lightning is still flashing, rain is falling, hail even. When it finally registers with me that it’s raining is when I notice something really strange; I’m not getting wet. I’m neither cold nor hot. Golfball-size hail is falling but I’m not feeling it hit me. Samantha raises her face to the rain, but her hair is dry, her makeup perfect. That’s when she starts to scream, realization similar to mine breaking over her like a wave on the beach.
I find that I’m able to move. I scramble over to her, start holding her. Her heart is beating wildly, I can feel it, I can feel her pulse pounding through her body in my arms. She keeps screaming. I realize I’m yelling right along with her. We sit on the ground, clutching each other, yelling for awhile. Seems the thing to do.
Someone finally walks up. It’s a woman, in a white and gray dress, wearing leather boots, a leather belt. She smiles at us. She looks about 25 years old or so, but feels much older. She’s calm and stands there looking down at us. We stop yelling and look up at her.
‘Well, that was quite unexpected,’ the woman says.
I find my voice.
‘Tell me about it,’ I say. It’s one of the first indications I have that elements of personality, like your sense of humor, survive your death.
‘You’ve just had quite a trip. Just relax, take a deep breath,’ she says.
I don’t argue with her or even ask questions. It doesn’t occur to me to do so. Samantha has her head buried in my chest, still sobbing. The rain is falling harder, the lightning is worse, the wind howls. But the woman’s dress isn’t wet or blowing in the wind. And we’re not wet either. There’s mud on the ground, but it’s not on us.
The woman walks closer, then sits, Indian-style, in front of us, looking like she’s prepared to wait for awhile; for what, I have no idea.
I tell Samantha it’s going to be alright, even though I don’t know what ‘it’ or ‘alright’ really are. She just goes on sobbing in my chest. I’m wondering why I’m not sobbing with her, but different people react to the process differently.
‘Just take some time. The moment will pass,’ the woman says.
I nod, even though I don’t know what I’m agreeing to.
Minutes go by; how many, I don’t know. I’m suddenly aware that there are people wandering in the field; some of them I recognize from the plane, like the widow, who is just wandering around in circles. Like us, they’re not wet either, and in seemingly perfect shape, except for being really dazed and confused.
The wind gets worse, there’s debris in the air. As the ability to form more and more coherent thought comes back to me, I begin to realize that we must have flown into a tornado.
The woman is watching the scene around her calmly. She still sits in front of us, her hands folded in her lap. The woman and her daughter, who I saw in Kansas City playing with a doll, walk by in a daze, not seeing us, the girl clutching the same doll. They disappear over a hump in the field, into the howling teeth of the storm, and disappear.
I decide it’s time to get some information.
‘Who are you?’ I ask the woman.
‘My name is Sarah. I’m a Guide. I’m here to help you make the transition,’ she replies. It’s a pretty simple, straightforward answer. The journalist in me begins to assert himself, start forming some questions.
Samantha lifts her head from my chest, tears still streaming down her cheeks. She stares at Sarah. It’s time to get some information.
‘What transition?’ It’s the most obvious first question, I suppose.
‘The transition between the two dimensions of life,’ she says. Again, matter-of-fact, to-the-point. Nothing extra.
‘Oh, THAT transition,’ I say. My natural smart-assedness is still intact.
‘Maybe, you could be a little more specific here? We’re a little … surprised at the moment,’ I say. My journalistic self is also still there, like I said.
Sarah smiles.
‘I’m sorry. I usually prefer to take things very slowly in the first few minutes. But I guess this one is really different and needs a different approach. It’s just outside my experience, you understand. You must have had a job where asking questions, getting quick answers is part of the work,’ she says.
She’s pretty prescient.
‘I’m a newspaper reporter. How about you just take it from the beginning? Who exactly are you, why are you here, what happened to us, and what happens next?’ I say.
Sarah laughs.
‘Okay. My name is Sarah James. I’m a Guide, a volunteer who helps people make the transition between life in the first dimension on Earth and life in the second dimension after that Earthly life ends. There are many of us scattered around. We chose to stay here for a time; some of us like helping people, others just don’t want to leave yet,’ she says. ‘I’ve been doing this for right at 78 years. I helped build the town over there and I like hanging around and watching what happens.’
‘Now, as far as I can tell, you were on a plane which just crashed in this big old storm we’ve been watching all evening. You died, and now you’re ready for the transition, or will be shortly. As for what happens, well, you have several options,’ she says.
This is a bit much, after all. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked so many questions so soon. Samantha buries her head again, starts sobbing.
‘See why I prefer to take things slowly?’ Sarah says.
I’m not sure how I feel, but screaming is still an option. I’m just not sure any sound would come out if I opened my mouth right now. My confusion continues. Samantha is practically choking me, hanging on for dear life. I’m hanging on to her right back. Everything is still quite surreal, to say the least.
‘I am sorry. Sometimes it’s too much, too soon, to take in. Especially when death and transition come suddenly, like yours,’ says Sarah.
There’s that word, death, again. It sounds weird because I don’t feel dead. I’m not dead. I think, therefore I am, right?
Samantha raises her head from my chest, says what I’m thinking.
‘But we’re not dead!’
‘I’m sorry, dear, but your old, Earthly body is dead now. The ‘you’ sitting there right now is your real inner self, what you might possibly have conceived of as your soul or spirit,’ Sarah says.
Curiosity mercifully again wins out over panic.
‘If we walked over there,’ I point to the flames flickering through the darkness, ‘would we … see ourselves?’ I ask. Okay, morbid curiosity, but it’s better than panic.
She hesitates a bit.
‘Well, you would see your remains, yes. But I don’t really think, particularly in this situation, that it’s a good idea, dear,’ Sarah replies. ‘It can be quite disturbing.’
I decide to take her word for it. I just nod my head. Samantha returns to crying in my chest. She’s not particularly curious, prefers panic.
The wind is finally getting quieter, the hail has stopped, the rain is settling down to a steady downpour. I don’t know how much time has passed. In the distance, I can hear a siren. We sit, the three of us, facing each other, listening to the crackling of the fire, voices, cries, screams in the darkness, the distant siren. It’s disturbingly peaceful. Samantha’s crying is easing. Sobs still are shaking her body, but she’s beginning to relax, to adapt, the panic is losing its hold on her.
Sarah starts humming some kind of tune I don’t recognize. Then she stands up suddenly, walks a little way into the darkness towards the flames, and starts talking to a man who has appeared. He’s dressed in white and gray like Sarah, only in pants and a shirt. He carries a walking stick. They talk for a few minutes. They’re not arguing or anything; it looks like they’re trying to decide something. They finish talking, and the man disappears. Sarah comes back and sits down in her former position.
‘That was my friend Hal. He’s a guide too. Been around here for quite a while. He had the general store in town while I was alive. We’ve never seen anything quite like this before. We were talking about getting some more help from other Guides,’ Sarah says.
‘You can do that?’ I ask.
‘Oh, sure. There are volunteers all over the place. I’m sure they’ve either heard the crash or been told about it and are coming on over. We usually handle the daily, single stuff. Once in a great while, we’ll have a multi in a car crash or something. But this is the biggest thing that’s ever happened here, I can tell you,’ she says. She seems somewhat excited about it.
‘Are you an angel?’ Samantha finds her voice, asks out of nowhere.
‘No, dear. I’m not. I’m a volunteer. I stay here to help guide people through the transition. I used to be a nurse in the town nearby. I enjoy the work for now. Someday, I’ll make the transition myself,’ Sarah replies.
Samantha nods. Her grip on me relaxes a bit.
‘I know it’s not exactly polite to ask, but … how old are you?’ I ask.
Sarah laughs, throws her head back.
‘I was born in 1897 near Omaha. I was working in the hospital at Falls City in 1947. That’s the town we’re close to right now. I was driving to work one day. It was winter, snowing hard, icy roads. I went off the road into a snow bank. The car stalled and I couldn’t get it started again. I started to walk to town, but got lost in the whiteness of the snow, went in the wrong direction. They found my frozen body three days later,’ she says.
‘A Guide came up to me when I left my body. He was a former patient of mine. He had died of cancer in 1938. I was so happy to see him. He was a great comfort to me. Explained things. Showed me what’s what. I decided I wanted to stay here, not make the transition, be a Guide myself. He helped me become one,’ she continues.
‘Now, I wander around the area, and when anyone nearby needs me, I’m there to help them. Tonight, I was at a farm about a mile away when I heard the crash. There’s a man there who’s had a stroke and may not make it through. But I came over here. The noise was so loud, I knew it had to be something big.’
‘I guess that makes you about, what, 69 years old or so?’ I say.
She laughs again. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s about right.’
‘Why do you look you’re about 25 then?’ I ask. Because she does. Look like she’s 25. She’s not my type or anything, but she is attractive and young. Brown hair, petite nose, full lips, slim, decent rack, from what I can see in the flickering light.
‘Well, the second body, what you might think of as your spirit, reaches full maturity and perfection at 25 and pretty much stays there,’ she says.
Okay, now I’m very uncomfortable. The conversation is once again outstripping my ability to adapt to the change in my situation. A range of emotions is flooding me and all I can do is just sit there and hold on to Samantha and ride it out. There are many questions, but I’m not sure I want to hear the answers, or will believe them when I hear them.
‘Are you beginning to feel better, dear?’ Sarah asks Samantha.
‘I suppose so,’ Samantha sniffs. ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’
‘Most people can’t, dear. As I said, it takes time,’ Sarah replies.
‘Um, how long are we going to sit here? Shouldn’t we be doing something?’ I ask.
‘That’s up to you. You have plenty of choices. If you want to sit there for days or weeks, you can. You can wander around. You can lie in the sun when it comes up tomorrow. Or you can go ahead and make the transition, start your new life in the other dimension. Lots of options,’ Sarah says. ‘Lots of options.’ ★
• 2991 Words written by Steve @ 21:55 | 23-Apr-06 in Departure • Critique It
Chapter IV ☯ Adjustment
Near Falls City, NE, Aug. 6, 1966, 23:55 CST
After Sarah tells us our options, I decide I’ve had enough of sitting around. I stand, dragging Samantha up with me.
‘Feel like walking?’ I ask her.
‘Okay,’ she says, unsteadily.
‘I think I want to take a look,’ I say, surprising myself.
Samantha surprises me even more.
‘Me too. I don’t know why,’ she says.
We take a few steps towards the flames. Sarah touches my arm.
‘Are you sure you want to do that, dear?’ she asks, concern in her face.
‘You said we had choices,’ I say.
She lets go of my arm, stands back. Samantha and I walk closer to the flames.
There are now a couple of fire trucks in the field, men in wet yellow raincoats squirting water on the flames. Debris is scattered around a crater, the blackened earth has been sprayed up in the air. In the darkness, in the remaining flashes of lightning, we can see shapes of metal, chairs, the landing gear, lumps on the ground. A section of the fuselage, blackened, all the windows missing, sits on the ground, not far away. Above the window holes, the words ‘Braniff’ are still visible. It’s the section where we were sitting, and about the only big, recognizable piece left.
We stand looking at the scene for a minute. I feel someone come up behind me. Sarah touches my shoulder.
‘Most souls stay near their first bodies. I suspect that you separated in mid-air and came down apart from your body, which explains the separation. It’s rather unusual,’ she says.
Samantha is starting to cry again.
‘Are … are we in there?’ I ask.
‘Are you sure this is something you want to do?’ Sarah asks. Again.
‘You hold onto Samantha. I’m going,’ I reply.
I pass Samantha, who is practically sobbing again, over to Sarah. I take a deep breath, noticing that I don’t smell anything in particular. No smoke or burning or rain or anything. I don’t feel the heat coming off the remaining piles of flame. I walk closer to the fuselage.
Men are walking around, yelling at each other. Flashlights play over the scene, water splashes over the burning debris. I peer through the window opening of the fuselage, can see some seatbacks reflected in the flickering light.
I step back, then walk around the end of the debris. All that’s left are six seats at crazy angles, the left side of the first class cabin, basically. The bulkhead in front is gone, wires and metal are twisted all around, in tangles everywhere. I edge around and forward. I can see something in two of the seats, some shapes.
In the last row of seats, next to the window, is the body of the woman in black who sat and never said anything, just stared out the window. She’s not saying anything now either, because she hasn’t got a head. It’s just more or less a torso and stumps of limbs still strapped into a seat, her black dress in tatters.
I move forward some more so I can look at the front row, seat 1A. My seat. Something’s in it, but I don’t really recognize it. It’s a body, my body. My head’s still on, but it looks like I sneezed and blew my insides out of my ears, eyes, nose, mouth. My limbs are missing. I’m not there anymore. I’m here. Funny, I don’t really feel anything. A fireman comes around the side of the wreckage and spots my body still propped in its seat, turns aside and starts retching violently.
I stand for a minute taking it in. Then I walk back around the debris section, up the small incline to Samantha and Sarah, who are still standing and hugging each other.
At first, Sarah hesitates to speak, then asks, ‘Did you see what you needed to see?’
‘Apparently so,’ I say.
Samantha comes over and re-attaches herself to me. She’s crying, but no longer sobbing. We hug for awhile.
‘I suppose I should try to find Jeannie and the pilots,’ Samantha says, breaking the silence.
‘We can try,’ I say.
We look around the field. People are walking around, some dressed like Sarah, some obviously the dazed recently deceased like us, some firefighting volunteers from the nearby towns. More fire engines, cars, ambulances, gawkers begin arriving. The field is getting crowded.
‘Who is Jeannie?’ Sarah asks.
‘She was the other stewardess working the flight with me,’ Samantha says, crying again.
Sarah takes a small leather-bound book out of a hidden pocket in her dress. She opens it, takes out a stylus and taps and writes on the page. There’s a light glow from the page reflected in her face. She reads for a moment, then looks up at us.
‘A guide by the name of Molly says that she is helping a woman named Jeannie from the back of the plane. She’s wearing a uniform. They’re about half a mile from here,’ she says.
Later, I’ll realize how weird and amazing her book is. At the time, we’re still in shock and just accept her announcement at face value. She writes a short note back in the book, then shuts the cover and puts it back in her hidden pocket.
‘They’re going to wait for us. Come with me,’ Sarah says, and walks off to the southeast, away from the flames. We follow without questioning.
Suddenly, Samantha looks up at me with a surprised look on her face. I can tell what she’s thinking. We don’t have lights, and it’s pitch dark out here (the lightning has receded far to the south), but we can see very clearly were we’re going.
‘It’s okay,’ I tell her, holding her hand.
After about 20 minutes of walking across the field and a road, climbing across barbed wire, we come to the banks of a creek where two women are standing looking at a book like Sarah’s, their faces glowing in the darkness. They look up when they see us approach.
Jeannie, like Samantha, is still in her Braniff uniform, and looks perfect, even though she too has been crying. She runs toward Samantha and I feel relieved, lighter. Jeannie can take over the propping up Samantha duties.
The other woman comes forward, extends her hand to me.
‘I’m Molly Brandon. I’m happy to know you,’ she says. ‘Would you like something to drink?’
I can still have a drink? Is the pope Catholic?
‘What do you have?’ I ask her.
‘I have some brandy, it’s usually best in these situations. I also have water, some lemonade. Your choice,’ Molly says.
‘You are prepared!’ Sarah says. ‘I was caught flat-footed.’
‘Well, I just happened to be out camping. Wasn’t expecting this either,’ Molly replies.
‘Uh, brandy would be good,’ I say.
Molly takes out a flask and a cup and pours me a good belt of brandy. I raise the glass to her and then drain it down my throat. It burns all the way down, reinforces the feeling that I’m actually still alive, warms my belly, gives me a glow.
‘God, that’s good!’ I exclaim. ‘You two should have some.’
Jeannie and Samantha manage to stop hanging on to each other long enough to take some brandy. It seems to help all of us ‘right the ship,’ as it were. We sit in a circle on the ground.
‘I’m not sure what to say,’ says Jeannie.
‘It’s okay, dear. Most people don’t. Take your time,’ says Sarah.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ says Samantha.
I just stare at the creek.
Finally, I look up at Molly and Sarah, who are sitting side-by-side and calmly looking at the stars which have finally appeared with the passing of the storm, rocking back and forth slightly.
For some reason, I feel the need to thank Sarah. She accepts my thanks with a little laugh, saying it’s her job, and the moment passes.
‘What’s next? We sit here the rest of the night? You said we had choices, and we’re still in the first dimension. Maybe it’s time to talk about those choices,’ I said.
‘Of course, dear,’ says Sarah. ‘What about you two? Do you care to hear this or would you prefer more time?’ she asks Jeannie and Samantha.
They look at each other and then nod. ‘We want to hear,’ says Jeannie, who seems a little calmer and more together than Samantha. I seem to remember from seeing them together earlier in the day that Jeannie looked a bit older, maybe that’s why. They look the same age now, though. Forever 25.
‘Well, I mentioned that your options are to stay here and wander around, do what you like, become a guide to help others, or make the transition to the next dimension. And that’s exactly what you can do,’ Sarah says.
‘If you stay here, you’ll have realized by now that you can’t interact with anyone from the first dimension. You’re in more or less limbo, able to talk only to those who are deceased and haven’t transitioned yet. You won’t feel rain or wind or any sensation from the first dimension. You won’t be able to haunt houses or slam doors or fly through the air, but, as you saw on our walk when we hopped fences, you still have to go around obstacles, obey the laws of physics and gravity, which still apply. You’ll walk around, maybe hitch a ride on a car or truck if there’s room,’ she says.
‘But you have to ask yourself, why would you just stay here and wander around? Some people do it because they like to watch other people without those people knowing about it,’ she says.
‘You mean Peeping Toms?’ I ask.
‘Exactly. Some people stay here and just watch others. Sometimes it’s a jealous husband who stays and watches his wife. Sometimes it’s just a nosy gossipy type. There are a million reasons why someone stays behind,’ she says.
‘The second option is becoming a Guide like Molly and I. You hang around an area like this and whenever someone dies, you … guide them. You do what I’m doing now, answer questions, tell them their choices, guide them in making their transition, or just send them on their way. There are training programs in almost every populated town where you can go. Other Guides train new Guides and the program perpetuates. Been going on for centuries. They answer your own questions, show you how to deal with the recently deceased, and get you ready to serve others. People who do this generally enjoy helping others through crisis. And crisis isn’t something you will encounter in the next dimension,’ Sarah says.
That raises many, many questions, but I stay quiet, thinking. Jeannie and Samantha are staring at the ground, absorbing the information.
‘The final, and I do mean final, option is to make the transition. But once you do, there’s no coming back, at least not that anyone has successfully discovered,’ she says.
‘In most populated towns are what are known as wormholes or strings, portals between this dimension and the next, a planet far away we refer to as Dragan. The portals are available and seen only by the deceased who can make the trip,’ she says.
‘If you step into a portal, you are basically transported through to the other side, on Dragan. As a Transitional, you end up on one of what are known as the Embarkation Islands, where you will be cared for in a healing house while you rest up and heal and adjust to your new life and body and reality. The transit makes you very tired and weak; it usually takes about 25 days in the healing house to recover from it. Then, after the 25 days of recovery are over, you are released and you can take ship for the mainland, which is where you can spend eternity doing whatever you’d like,’ Sarah says.
‘Yes, eternity. To our knowledge, no one in the second dimension has ever suffered an injury, illness, or death or experienced the aging of their bodies beyond what you have yourselves right now. Later, we can talk more about that. For now, you can think about whether you want to go ahead and make the transition. Something like 97 percent of all people and 100% of animals make the transition almost immediately. A few hang around and watch their funerals, but most are eager to experience what’s next,’ she says.
‘There is a portal in Falls City, about seven miles away. We can take you to it, unless you’re thinking about hanging around. We will either stay with you and help or take you to the portal, or leave you alone, as you wish. You’re under no obligation to be a Guide. You can just … wander around. Some do,’ she says.
There’s a very long silence in the dark. In the distance, we can hear the sounds of engines and men shouting and see the remaining glow of flames from the crash site. More sirens, more cars are coming. Samantha and Jeannie are holding on to each other still, while Molly is sitting with her arms wrapped around her legs. I lean back on my hands, stretching out my legs in front of me. Even though it’s been a very long day, I’m not tired anymore.
I’ve never been one to just sit around and now I’m getting a little restless. I never have really liked sitting around in cow pastures.
‘Do we need to look for your captain, see what other people are doing or choosing?’ I ask Jeannie and Samantha.
They look at each other, undecided.
‘I’m not sure I would want to see him right now,’ Samantha says. Jeannie nods her head in agreement. I think I agree; he might be a bit, well, embarrassed. I would be. Not that it’s his fault or anything.
‘I think it would be good to go to town. Sitting out here in the dark is kind of creeping me out, you know?’ Samantha says, standing up.
I stand up and agree with her.
‘I’ve never been to Falls City, Nebraska. Anything to see there?’ I ask Sarah.
She laughs again. I realize it’s a delightful noise and makes me happy when I hear it. She’s well-suited for her chosen job.
‘There’s nothing there to speak of. Folks will probably be aroused by things right now, but it’s usually a pretty sleepy place. It’s about seven miles, so it’ll take us a while to walk it,’ Sarah says.
‘I’m up for a walk. I’m feeling a need to stretch my legs, put some distance from all this,’ I say.
‘Me too,’ says Samantha, surprising me.
‘Come with us?’ she asks Jeannie.
‘Okay, why not?’ Jeannie says.
Molly and Jeannie stand up. Sarah starts off toward town, the rest of us behind her. Samantha is between Jeannie and I and we’ve all linked arms. Molly brings up the rear. We walk through the dark Nebraska countryside toward the distant glow of Falls City. ★
• 2599 Words written by Steve @ 21:34 | 09-Dec-07 in Death • Critique It [16]
Chapter V ☯ Choices
Falls City, NE, Aug. 7, 1966, 04:00 CST
I think it takes a couple of hours, but I’m not wearing a watch, so I don’t really know. Eventually, we arrive in Falls City by walking on a side road, coming into town from the east. A street sign at a corner says we’re on 21st Street.
We walk a few blocks into the center of the small town, to the downtown shopping area. It’s quintessential America. There’s a town square, a courthouse in the center in a typical early 20th-century style. The square is surrounded on four sides by blocks of stores, the usual array of five-and-dimes, barbershops, department stores, a movie theater. It looks like a movie set.
The clock on the courthouse strikes 4 a.m. It surprises all of us. Jeannie, Samantha, and I stand rooted on the spot staring at the clock. We realize we’ve only been dead about four hours or so. It seems much, much longer.
We finally stir ourselves as Jeannie spots some other people, including a man wearing a uniform, standing near the courthouse entrance. She runs over to the man and hugs him. Samantha cries out, does the same. Molly, Sarah, and I walk closer. I see that it’s the flight’s first officer, whose name I didn’t remember. He’s good-looking and all, but you can see in his face he’s been through something that you really shouldn’t ask about.
There are two people dressed like Guides and the woman in black who was sitting behind me is now sitting on a bench by the front courthouse steps. She’s just sitting there, her hands folded in her lap, staring across the square, completely calm. Journalist that I am, I want to ask her some questions. But I leave her alone.
Samantha is explaining to the first officer that I was a passenger who helped her out, calmed her down. He extends his hand, but can’t meet my eyes. A sadness permeates his entire face.
‘I’ve forgotten your name, I’m sorry,’ I say.
‘Jim Hilliker,’ he says.
‘Sean Donnelly,’ I reply.
We stand there a bit awkwardly. The girls aren’t saying anything. Molly and Sarah are standing apart at a discrete distance, giving us space. What is there to say?
Surprisingly, Hilliker starts crying a bit.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he says to Jeannie, and turns to her. She hugs and holds him. Samantha puts her hand on his shoulder.
‘It’s okay, Jim,’ Jeannie says. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Um, yeah,’ I say. ‘It was a tornado or something. I’m sure you did what you could.’
Can you say awkward? But really, it’s not his fault. He probably wasn’t even at the controls.
Nobody says anything else for awhile. This is new. Very new, very raw. As we stand there, I begin to wonder if he and the captain really did everything possible. Shouldn’t we have stayed on the ground in Kansas City until the storm passed? Hell, I was in as big a hurry to get home as anyone else, but it wasn’t worth what happened. I figure that’s what Hilliker is thinking. But I’m going to leave well enough alone. You can’t predict goddamn tornadoes. He surely wouldn’t have flown into it if he’d known, I decide.
Hilliker finally clears his throat.
‘So, they’ve told you the choices? What do you think you’ll do?’ he says.
Samantha speaks first.
‘Hanging around is kind of creepy. I’m no ghost. I think I’ll be on my way as soon as possible,’ she says.
Jeannie nods in agreement.
‘Me too. There’s nothing here for me,’ she says. ‘I’ve done my time as a servant of the people.’
Hilliker looks at me.
‘I’m moving on too, I guess. Like Samantha says, I’m no ghost,’ I say.
‘Yeah, I think I want out of here myself. I feel like I should hang around for awhile though. Maybe help out anybody from the flight or something,’ he says.
Sarah steps forward, touches his arm.
‘You shouldn’t feel an obligation, Mr. Hilliker. There are people here to help. Take care of yourself. You’ve been through a traumatic ordeal. You should do what’s best for you,’ she says.
I’m suddenly aware that there is a small group of four or five people standing on the periphery of the courthouse square. Among them is another man in a uniform.
Hilliker thinks for a minute.
‘I … haven’t seen the captain. We came here pretty quick. I’m not sure what to say to him,’ he says.
‘Well, I think he’s standing over there, if you do think of something,’ I say.
Jeannie lets out a little noise, and starts running over to him. Samantha follows. The Guides and I walk slowly after them.
I decide to ask Sarah, who seems to be full of good advice, what to say.
‘What can you say to the man who may have unintentionally and unwittingly caused your death?’ I ask.
She stops for a second, thinking.
‘I think you shake his hand, and then let him do the talking, ‘ she says.
As we walk up, Jeannie is hugging the captain and crying again, while Samantha stands close and has her hands over her mouth. The captain looks embarrassed. The other people with him are two guides and, I presume, a couple of voyeurs.
I decide it needs to be played diplomatically. I extend my hand.
‘Captain, I’m Sean Donnelly, one of the passengers. I’m not sure what to say, except, well, things will be okay, sounds like.’
Lame, I know.
He shakes my hand firmly, starts to say something.
‘I’m sorry. We didn’t know it was going to be so bad …’ he drifts off. Hilliker is coming up behind me.
They shake hands.
‘Jim, I …’ Pauly starts to say, choking off.
‘Don, it’s okay. How could we have known?’ Hilliker says.
And then we stand there. For what seems an eternity.
Finally, Sarah, god love her, clears her throat.
‘Anyone other than me want some brandy?’ she says.
Again, is the pope Catholic? ★
• 1053 Words written by Steve @ 14:29 | 10-Dec-07 in Death • Critique It
Chapter VI ☯ Choices
Falls City, NE, Aug. 6, 1966, 05:00 CST
And so we stand there and drink brandy. One of the Guides produces some cups, Molly pours from her flask. The brandy again scorches a path down our throats. We start to revive, the awkwardness passing with each sip.
‘Well, folks, you’ll understand if I really don’t want to hang around too long. I think I’ll transition here pretty quick,’ Captain Pauly says.
‘You don’t want to hang around, see what the investigation comes up, find out what happened to us?’ Hilliker says.
‘Won’t that take awhile? Like a couple of years at least?’ I ask.
‘Yes, but I really want to know,’ Hilliker says. ‘Unless the Guides know?’
‘I’m afraid that we only know what we hear. Eventually, the news of the cause will be printed in the paper and we’ll read about it. But we only know cause of death when the medical examiner reveals it. This case is very different, of course, but unless you hang around and follow the investigators, you’re not going to find out anything,’ Sarah says.
‘The choice is yours. I can certainly understand, Mr. Hilliker, you wanting to hang around and find out. Completely understandable. I’d do the same,’ she says.
Captain Pauly thinks, looks at one of the Guides.
‘You mentioned earlier that there are ways that information comes to the other side. We’ll be able to find out later?’ he asks.
‘Yes. Once documents are printed here, they are also included in our readers by Guides on this side every day. People on Dragan read their hometown newspapers and other things all the time,’ the Guide replies.
‘Then that’s good enough for me,’ Captain Pauly says. ‘When can I get out of here?’
‘As soon as you want. The portal is on the other side of the square, an oval with very bright light in the center. You just walk into it,’ the Guide says.
‘I’ll go with you,’ Jeannie says.
Samantha nods. ‘Me too,’ she says.
‘Do we end up in the same place?’ she asks.
‘The portal here in Falls City is connected to an Embarkation Island known as Ashbourne Island. On arrival there, you’ll be taken to the closest Healing House with an open bed. Once you recover enough movement, you’ll be given a reader and you can get in touch with your friends and family anywhere on Dragan. Since you’re going through at the same time, and have had the same experience, there’s a pretty strong chance you’ll end up at the same Healing House,’ Sarah says.
Captain Pauly starts walking, keeping his eyes on the ground. He’s still obviously embarrassed, unwilling to run into other passengers. He hasn’t figured out what I’m beginning to realize; that Earthly human passions that are destructive or deadly, such as rage, guilt, blame, jealousy, don’t exist after the separation. No one, in other words, will say anything to him or Hilliker about the crash. And after the Transition to Dragan, it will be even less consequential.
Still, while you remain on the Earth side, there are some residual emotions of shame and guilt. You lose them eventually, but not as quickly and completely as after you arrive on Dragan.
‘Captain, some unsolicited advice, but just to let you know. There are airplanes flying around Dragan. Go back to flying as soon as you can. It’s very healing,’ Sarah says.
He turns and just looks at her for a minute. It’s probably too soon for her to have said it, and she senses that she’s flubbed a bit for the first time. I throw an arm around her shoulders.
‘And are there newspapers? Jazz music? Good food?’ I ask.
“All of the above, and more,’ Sarah says.
‘Then onward and upward,’ I say. ‘Captain Pauly, I’m right behind you.’
Hilliker is still standing on the square. It’s obvious he’s staying. He lifts his arm and waves at us, then turns and walks over to a group of passengers. The widow in black walks over to us and joins our little procession to the portal.
I can’t say why I’ve decided to go on. Curiosity mainly. The hanging around thing is too much like playing ghost for me. And I’m not really the Guide type. So, let’s do this, I think.
Rounding the corner of the courthouse, we see at the end of an alley just what Sarah described. An oval-shaped door with very intense bright white light in it. Oddly, the light doesn’t shine out and it doesn’t hurt to look at it. As we get close, I turn to Sarah, who I’ve only known about five hours, but to whom I feel strangely very close.
‘So, are you staying here for the duration? Or will we meet up some time?’ I ask.
‘Oh, I’ll be here for a few more years, then make the Transition. I send messages to my husband and others all the time and they’re expecting me sooner than later,’ she says.
‘Great. Look me up,’ I say and hug her tightly.
‘Take care of yourself. It was wonderful to meet you. Quite a pleasant surprise, you falling out of the sky like that,’ she laughs.
‘Take care yourself,’ I laugh.
I turn towards the portal in time to see Captain Pauly disappear through it. Jeannie is right behind him, holding Samantha’s hand. She turns and waves.
‘I’m afraid you can’t hold hands and do it together, dear,’ Sarah calls.
Jeannie hugs Samantha, then steps through.
Samantha smiles at me, says, ‘It’s been strange, guy, but I’ll see ya later.’ She waves and steps through. The lady in black follows her without looking at us or saying anything.
I look at Sarah, eyebrow raised.
‘It’s an interesting story. Look her up soon and she’ll tell you all about it,’ she says.
‘Well, okay then!’ I reply.
I walk forwards, look back for a second, wave at Sarah, then step through myself. It’s quite a step. ★
• 1038 Words written by Steve @ 19:52 | 10-Dec-07 in Transition • Critique It