Pardon my English, I am not a native speaker nor writer. But, I am like most of you in that I love watching them. It is unfair though, because I know when the vehicle will come; I know what it will do, and I even know who will scream. Life is pretty easy… when you’re dead. It all gets explained in a handy dandy notebook, the intricacies of life that is. But, see that is all written down in a spreadsheet in the notebook. We lack the flair of the event, that moment when brake lines snap, lug nuts come lose, all of these “random” events. So, if you are in the spread sheet, go to species 2,453,978 item 11,587,364,897 and 11,587,365,437 in sector 336, we will be following these two logs. Oh, and I have an additional partner who is going to join me in the process since I can’t be in two places at once. He will be following incident 11,587,364,897 and I will be following 11,587,365,437, enjoy!
“Bob, you should begin making arrangements.” This is where my story begins and his starts ending – 11,587,365,437.
It was my first time in the states and it was shockingly similar and foreign all at the same time. I guess it was the lack of accents, English is such a horrid language. I prefer my traditional Madani. I also don’t like Bob, but that could be because Bob was given a range in time, a moment, a period of preparation, and the ability to get his affairs in order.
“I figured as much, thanks Ken.” Bob smiled, “Tell the wife I’ll be over for my last supper.” I wonder what my mouth looked like when I learned I was going to die. Thinking back, I think I was in the middle of yelling as the first rocket hit nearby. That means, my mouth was probably inelegant and misshapen. Then again, no one ever saw my face, so, I have that to comfort me.
“You’re Jewish—“
“So was Jesus.” Bob didn’t seem religious but was humorous. He waved over his shoulder as he pulled his phone out of his pocket with his other hand. Ken forced a sad smile, they were clearly friends.
With the phone in one hand, Bob began sending a text to his daughter. It lacked any vital information: “Out of doctor’s office heading home” – he missed a comma. After sending, he sighed and walked towards the exit for the last time. On the way, he saw a little boy grabbing for lollipops in a giant bowl atop the nurses station. No one was around, he stared at the tiny child – the boy reminded him of his granddaughter – and an authentic smile appeared on the old man’s face. If I was there, I would have yanked my daughter down the hallway and into a room. But there the child stood, alone, groping at candies. Snapping out of it, Bob’s eyes darted around the hallway, and he slowly crept up on the boy. The old man activate an old training, and he moved like a cat ready to pounce. A tiny tongue poked from the side of the boy’s lips, his brow was furrowed, and desire glinted in his eyes; the boy missed Bob’s approach. Eventually, Bob stood over his target. Another quick scan, and Bob grabbed the bowl and put it on the ground. The boy, unaware that Bob had moved down the hallway squealed with glee. Then, right then, I wished my daughter could have been that little boy. For reference, she is still alive and you know her as 11,588,412,946. But back to the story, Bob said nothing but grabbed two orange lollipops – both for his granddaughter – and slowly sauntered out of the doctor’s office and towards the bus stop.
“Thanks for coming Zoe, we hope you enjoy the candles.” A child pawed at her mother’s skirt as American dollars exchanged hands. Oh sorry, I forgot to introduce myself; I am the other narrator – Balfour. I know, it’s weird that me and Aqsa are working together, but she can’t follow incident 11,587,364,897. Also, we are dead, so who cares about Earthly matters. Now, where was I?
“These are for my Dad, he has had some pain recently. I’m hoping the lavender helps him sleep.” The tiny daughter was zigzagging through her mother’s legs as clerk and parent spoke about the candles. Zoe smiled and turned, “Thank you for everything!”
“Hope he feels better!” The mother daughter combo put their hands together as they moved to the exit.
“So do I.” The mother said. Before they made it through the opening, a notification pinged from the woman’s large purse. An iPhone – I had an old Blackberry when I was beheaded – popped out with a notification: “Dad – Out of doctor’s office heading home.” She put the bag of candles in her child’s arms and said, “It’s from grandpa.” The little girl beamed with a giant grin. After clearing the notification, she responded: “We’ll meet you at your house :). Good news!?” Instead of putting the phone away, she kept it in her hand and left her daughter to carry the bag full of candles.
The little girl didn’t talk much, as they began their journey towards the grandfather’s house. Not because she didn’t want to, but because, her mother was swimming in her own thoughts. Really, her mother was planning what activities she would add her daughter to in the next year. Zoe’s father had been adamant about getting his granddaughter involved in football or what American’s call soccer, swimming, and painting classes. So, as a homage to her father, Zoe was going to begin introducing her daughter to these activities before he slipped into the afterlife.
He got on the bus and typed: “terminal, we will talk later”. It wasn’t to be mean, he wanted to tell her in person but knew making her wait would be worse. He muttered about her lack of patience. Still, I’m a little disgruntled that this man was given a time frame to warn his children. My daughter still moans for me in the shelter.
Again, he wore a smile on his face as he began scrolling through photo albums on his smart phone. It was one of the lesser models, and I assume that he chose it because it was free. It did what he wanted it to do, show him that he had accomplished many things. There were old black and white photos of him on a snow covered peak (could have been Mount Everest), deep sea fishing on his friends yacht, holding the piñata for his daughter’s child, him young napping with his daughter on his belly, and all sorts of memories. He was living a full life.
A slight gasp and the phone slipped from Zoe’s hand. It hit the concrete at the intersection and popped the case off. The phone plopped down as the case spun on a corner. It was actually a fun sight, but then again I was playing it in slow motion. I knew the phone would hit the ground; I knew the case would spin; I knew it would all happen in slow motion. The time distortion only affected my perspective of the event, because I planned it to take affect when she read the text from her father. The little girl stared dumbly at the phone as her mother cleaned up the two parts and snapped them together. Zoe’s daughter wasn’t dumb, just didn’t understand the concept of currency and how much that single device was worth. To her, the beautiful smelling candles were worth more than the picture box.
“Momma?”
Zoe was busy putting the case back on the phone and spoke absently, “Yes.”
“Momma, what wong?” It was cute baby speak. Zoe continued to fumble with the phone and failed to realize that she was ignoring her child. Eventually, she got the phone together and turned it on. As it booted, she looked at her daughter and forced a smile. Her thoughts went to all the activities she needed to get her in immediately. First it would be art, her dad had been an amateur artist. Maybe there was a hidden talent in her baby. *For transparency: readers, I have simplified her thoughts for you. If you want the disjunctive and tangented version it is included in the documentation on this incident. Eventually, her daughter yanked on her mom’s dress and asked again, “Momma, what wong?”
“Oh nothing”—her voice was shaking—“we just gotta go and see Grandpa.” Zoe began her response: “How long? I’m putting Vanessa in art classes. You gotta help her with her projects”.
As it began its journey around the world, Vanessa pulled on her mom’s hand. Zoe looked down to a tiny hand holding the bag up to her, “Heavy!” Zoe grabbed it and put the straps in her hand with her phone. The walk sign appeared and they both crossed without looking both ways.
Bob wasn’t pleased by the text message he received. I could tell because of his groan and how he yanked on his gray hair. As he watched the surrounding area stream past the window, I grew displeased with the site. When I used to be the bus, no matter where I was, I could see the Mediterranean. I miss that, in America, it was all billboards or concrete structures. We had a lot of concrete back home, it didn’t protect you from rockets. But I digress, eventually he responded: “A year. don’t push my little Nessa”. He smiled when he typed her name into his phone. It was his stop and he looked out the window and saw his daughter and Vanessa. Vanessa saw her grandpa and smiled while waving. His daughter had her face buried in her phone, and he watched as a bag slipped from her grasp.
I didn’t want this to be in slow motion for obvious reasons. With one hand on the phone, she released her daughters hand to grab for the bag. She was lucky, her reflexes were sharp and the bag was stopped before its contents could be shattered against the hard ground. Zoe went back to her phone, the weight of the bag corrupting her subconscious into thinking it was her child’s hand. Her text was jumbled from the juggle with the bag. It read: “She is my daughter and I want her to try it. She has so many possibilities with her life, we @3ad” and then came the thump.
The car saw the tiny human but the driver didn’t. It is odd, you do something a hundred times. You learn patterns, understand the distance you can be distracted, and you use that knowledge to take mental breaks from driving. Or say, you turn and your phone slips off your lap and in-between the center console and seat. In that moment, you try and grasp at it blindly but grow frustrated. So, you make the calculations between the cars, pedestrians, stop lights, and all other variables that are currently on the street. Your mind goes: “Yes, you have three seconds before anything bad can happen” but an unknown variable appears. You miss the grandfather screaming and pounding on the window of his bus. You miss the mom focused on her phone. Because you are on already in the three second count of the incident. You feel a bump on the left side of the vehicle and slam on your brakes and grab the wheel. After a quick review, you see a doll like body sprawled across the concrete. A man, with disheveled white hair is tearing in front of your vehicle.
“Vanessa!” It was Zoe’s dad’s voice. He was crouching over a body as he felt her pulse. It was too late, and incident 11,587,364,897 had transpired the moment the vehicle bumped the child. For those of you who are gripping your mouths, I will try and make it seem less horrifying. It is similar to my friend Aqsa – the death was instant. Vanessa didn’t know what happened or that there was a single issue. One moment she saw her grandfather, and the next she was sitting beside me. I am holding her hand, and we are both waiting for incident 11,587,365,437.
Zoe was besides her father. She was cradling her daughter as the man stepped from his vehicle. He was combing his hand through his hair but couldn’t say anything. Another person was calling nine-one-one. Bob grabbed his chest, the year had come early. He groped for his daughter and pulled her towards him. Her wide eyes struck him as odd, but he slipped out something important, “You have my estate. Use it to travel.” He smiled and fell forwards onto her lap. With that – I knew there were no more activities to watch because of the spreadsheet – I floated across the street and joined Balfour and waited. Vanessa and Balfour spoke together as I watched Bob. After five minutes, and a lot of pain, incident 11,587,365,437 transpired. Balfour turned towards Bob and greeted him. I turned towards Vanessa’s mom and began tracking incident number: 11,588,412,947.