Michael and Me

INSUFFICIENT FARE: ON THE SHORE OF NIGHTMARES Things had gone so well the previous day that Molly woke up the next morning thinking of fellow band “groupie” David Lawson. She felt encouraged to call him with a report on the outcome of the letter she had delivered to Michael, the guitarist. To her surprise, he asked if they could meet later that night after work. Her unusually short 58” frame and less than lovely face and figure did not stop this avid fan from being seen with her, a fact she truly appreciated. Molly headed into a swank section of London she hadn't seen yet where David tended bar in an expensive restaurant. Twenty-four hours after they talked, David could see Molly was still flying high from an experience he certainly wouldn't mind having for himself, and he listened with interest. They sat in the hotel lobby for a few minutes and then went out for a stroll. David licked his chocolate ice cream cone, while Molly finished an Italian ice. "So it was great?" he asked her. "What you expected?" "Oh, yes. We didn't talk that long, but I’m sure I put everything I ever wanted to say in the letter," Molly answered. "Wonderful. Even if you don't end up talking to Michael again, it seems like it's all been worth it." "Yes, it’s enough," Molly had to admit. At the Underground station near his bar, he checked his watch. "It's late. We should probably take this train back." Molly looked down the steps leading to the station as a refreshing evening breeze caressed her face. "If you don't mind, I'd like to stay out a while," she told him. "I feel so pumped up about having to go back to New York tomorrow." "Oh. Yeah, I understand. It was good seeing you again. I'm so glad things worked out. And: well... happy landings tomorrow." "Thanks for everything," she smiled. "We'll keep in touch." Molly waved goodbye and threw her empty Italian ice cup with its little wooden spoon into a nearby sidewalk trash bin. She turned a corner when suddenly a mid-sized, darkly colored car came speeding past and was about to roar by her. She nearly jumped at the sight of something being thrown out of the car and into the window of a restaurant to her right. Glass shattered. Tires screeched. It accelerated to get away. In a horrific second she instinctively knew. She cried out frantically, "It's a BOMB! It's a bomb! Oh!" while her shaking hand pointed toward the broken window. People screamed and scattered. Molly froze, looked at the restaurant, stalled a moment, and turned to run away. BOOM! The blast shattered the calm of the evening. She felt heat and bright light behind her as she fell forward, screaming. Her hands stung as she hit the pavement with palms open. Her knee felt sharp pain as it banged down on the concrete. Dirt, flying concrete and glass pelted her from the direction of the shattered building. A brick hit her head, and something mashed down on her foot. She lay there numb and stunned. The smoke began to clear. Others stumbled out of the restaurant gasping and coughing. Flames and smoke engulfed the building. Molly could barely lift her head. She lay there, waited and began to drift away feeling numb. She remembered sirens coming ever closer. Through her half-opened eyes she saw shoes running by. A fire engine and several ambulances arrived first. The police yelled, "Get back!" at a curious crowd of spectators. Red lights swept across buildings causing her to feel dizzy. White-uniformed paramedics arrived to help victims. White hot lights flooded the scene. A TV news van sent in a camera crew. In this confusion Molly heard a cultured, delicate female English voice, "Are you all right, love? Can you move or get up at all?" Molly nodded her head weakly and grunted slightly, though it was far from certain if she could. She gripped and pulled hard as she struggled to a nearly standing position. The paramedic brushed some dirt off of her; she never saw the woman's face but did catch a glimpse of her finger pointing to police talking to witnesses and less injured victims. She lost focus in a blurry haze. Molly barely took a step, her eyes looking lifeless, and fell back to the ground with a thud. The paramedic turned to see this and bent down beside Molly. Holding the victim around the shoulders, she lifted Molly's head to check her eyes. She turned toward an ambulance. "Over here, quick! This one's going into shock," she called out. “Let’s be cautious in case there’s internal bleeding,” one worker whispered as she was lifted on the stretcher. Another placed an oxygen mask over Molly's face as the ambulance's back doors were shut. The ambulance left this scene of hell on earth: fire, smoke, confusion, and people running, screaming and crying, siren wailing loudly. Molly lay on a table, though she could not feel the coldness of the emergency room slab. The doctor tore the shirt from her chest, yet she knew no embarrassment. Another doctor spoke in hushed tones, “The face is turning blue,” and noted it was strangely still and peaceful. There was no motion at all, yet somehow she was seeing it all from above her: The heartbeat monitor was going into a straight flat line. Those around the table looked at each other helplessly. A doctor sadly nodded his head and she dimly saw him mouth the words, "Call it," then turned to leave the room. It was as though her spirit had peeled off from her body and became lifeless, but somehow there was still awareness. As she ascended, the sights faded farther and farther away through a hazy halo glow. A nurse pulled a white sheet over her body, including the face. Now Molly was in solid blackness and was floating forward through a tunnel.