Train to Heaven

Train to Heaven

By Angie Schirck

Clickity clack, clickity clack, clickity clack. The sound soothes me as I look out the window and watch the world pass by in a blur. My mind is adrift on the events that brought me here.  Today is the day my world changed. It started like any other day, as do most days that change the world. I awoke to the sound of my alarm clock at 6am, showered, ate, navigated the madness that is rush hour and arrived at work 10 minutes early. As I sat in my office on the 83^rd floor of the south tower, I wondered at the view from my office window. The bustling city of New York lies sprawled out below me and the needle of the Empire State Building reaches like a spear into the sky. Today is my birthday, I’m turning 40, it’s a milestone. My wife insists on having a party for me this weekend. I don’t like parties, but I don’t want to disappoint her. She and our two beautiful little girls, Maya who is 8, and Tasha, 6, are my world, I call them “my girls.” 

I glance at my watch, it’s 8:40 am, I have a 9am meeting so I draw myself away from the window and sit at my desk. I open my presentation and begin pouring over my notes. If I can get this contract my girls and I will be set for the rest of the year. Suddenly, and without warning, at precisely 8:46am, I hear a sound like a bomb. I jump out of my seat and rush toward the window.  I watch in horror as the north tower erupts into a ball of flame. Panic and pandemonium are all around me. No one is sure what has happened. In fear, people run toward the exits, I walk out into the lobby and masses are awaiting elevators.  Some people are screaming, some are staring dumbstruck at the devastation to our north.  “Was it a bomb?” some were asking.  Someone yelled, “I thought I saw a plane, I think a plane crashed into the building!” I go back into my office and shut the door. I turn to my computer and look for news, they’re saying it was a plane that crashed into the building. They’re speculating on what could have caused this, planes shouldn’t be flying near here. Was it an accident? Was it intentional? The time is now 9:02am.  I see a plane on the video feed, it’s… I hear loud noise and then nothing. Everything around me is black. I am falling into a dark bottomless abyss. I fall for what seemed like hours but never hit bottom. Suddenly I hear a sound in the distance, clickity clack, clickity clack, woooohooooo. It sounds like a train, could that be a train, in this abyss? The clickity clack of the train and horn grow in intensity until they are right beside me. A conductor wearing flat cap, white shirt, and a vest with a pocket watch leans out of the window and yells “ALL ABOARD!”  As I board I see there are many people already here, some of whom I just saw rushing toward the elevators.  What are they doing here? How did they get here? How did I get here? Where IS hear? My mind abounds with questions which go unanswered. I walk past a woman, “where were you?” she asks. “What do you mean?” I reply. “I was on AA Flight 11,” she says, “I was heading home to Los Angeles, I was supposed to get married this weekend. My fiancé will be devastated.” I stared at her in confusion, “you don’t know?” she asks. “The plane I was on was hijacked; it was intentionally crashed into the north tower. Then another plane, that man over there was on it,” she said pointing, “crashed into the south tower.” I collapse into an empty seat, “I…I…” I stammer, “I was in the south tower.” After a long pause I ask, “am I dead?” The woman nods slightly and walks away. But I can’t be dead, I have kids, I have a wife, what will they do without me? I yell after her, “you’re wrong, you must be wrong! I can’t be dead.” This is just a dream, that’s it, it’s a bad dream. I pinch myself. I scream. I try to wake up. This is not a dream. Reality hits me like a sucker punch to the gut; I…am…dead. The conductor whistles softly as the train moves on, “there are more people to pick up” he says, “many more” and he shakes his head.  The south tower collapses, more people board. Many of these tell how they jumped before the building collapsed, choosing to die that way instead of succumbing to the intense heat and smoke. Others talk of being crushed in crowded stairwells as the building collapsed. “Here come some heroes” someone shouts, I look up, the passengers and crew of UA Flight 93 are boarding. Someone beside me whispers, “I heard they fought the hijackers, caused the plane to crash before it could hit its target! They saved hundreds of lives.” The train continues on its course, AA Flight 77 passengers and crew, with some people who work in the pentagon, board. The north tower collapses, more people board. The train has reached capacity, people are standing, there are not enough seats. “This train was not designed to carry this many people at once,” the conductor explains, “I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.” “More heroes!” exclaims a woman as 343 New York fire fighters and 69 other first responders board.  The conductor is passing through the train, “tickets, I need your tickets please!” he says and he looks at me. I reach in my coat pocket and pull out a paper stub. I don’t know how it got there. It reads, one-way ticket from New York to Heaven. I hand it too the conductor and stare back out the window, clickity clack, clickity clack, clickity clack. The conductor collected 2,977 tickets that day.