Curveball

by Teresa Michaels

  He freezes for a moment and then digs for something in his pocket while hope dances across his face. He pulls out his cell phone and fumbles to turn it on. Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? We can call someone and tell them what’s happened and they will come rescue us!

  I patiently wait for him to make a call, but all too soon my relief vanishes when he mutters a string of profanity under his breath; something about being in the only place in America without cell reception. At least that’s what I think he says. To say I am disappointed would be a gross understatement. Within seconds Drew has composed himself and again seems so in control of his emotions. Somewhat embarrassed by my lack of composure I look over my shoulder trying to conceal a tear that escaped. If we can’t reach out to anyone what the hell are we going to do?

  “We have to keep going,” Drew shouts, trying to get my attention while I fight the urge to throw up. I focus on the leaves that blanket the forest floor and concentrate on breathing in and out.

  “Breanne!” he demands. “Did you hear what I said?” he questions agitated.

  It is taking every ounce of energy I have to keep from falling over. Shit, I feel like I have the spins. I think back to the mimosa I had earlier this morning but know that is not what I’m experiencing, though the feeling is very similar to what I would have felt if I’d had another. My eyelids are so heavy. I want to curl up in a ball and shut all of this out. The stress of our situation is exhausting me and my eyes slowly close.

  He groans loudly, clearly annoyed by my silence and I imagine him throwing his hands in the air with frustration. Resting my weight against a nearby tree and fighting to stay awake, I turn my gaze to him and watch him pace back and forth, clutching his head and muttering something unintelligible under his breath. He must feel me regarding him as he abruptly turns and stomps towards me looking both angry and panicked. Stopping one pace in front of me he sighs deeply. He must see the pool welling up in my sleepy eyes because the anger dissolves instantly and is replaced by compassion, although the panic remains.

  “Listen, I know you’re freaking out. Fuck, I am too! But I didn’t survive a fucking plane wreck only to be tracked down two miles from the site and shot at point blank range,” he proclaims as tension builds, overriding his empathy. He quickly searches my face and continues. “And I know you didn’t either. So pull it together and let’s get going already. There will be plenty of time to think about how fucked up this is later when we are somewhere safe. For Christ’s sake, where is all the feistiness you had earlier?” he asks indignantly before he turns and continues to pace in front of me.

  Is he seriously yelling at me? I am on the verge of passing out, my vision and thoughts are not quite right and he’s going to fucking yell at me?!

  “We don’t even know where we are or where we’re going. We don’t even know what we’re running from!” I scream in hysteria while another tear slides down my cheek.

  “You’re right,” he shouts thrusting his fists down at his sides and takes one long stride in a fury, closing the gap between us to inches. “We don’t know what we are running from. But I’m not ready to find out. It’s not safe,” he shouts, and I’m sure my earlier assessment of his control was wrong. “And we may not know exactly where we are but I know we’re headed east,” he says raising his wrist and points to the compass on his watch. “If we keep walking in this direction we will be closer to home. And more importantly we are headed the opposite direction of the gunmen. We have to come across a town or a cell tower at some point.”

  “I can’t. Just go on without me,” I implore. I say this not to be dramatic, but because I am so out of it I don’t think I could possibly walk, let alone run.

  He recoils at my statement, like he’s offended that I would suggest this. “I am not leaving you here to die,” he sputters.

  For a long minute we are both silent. His jaw tenses. Pursing his lips into a hard line and he quickly shakes his head. He appears to be fighting some urge, and I think it’s the urge to scream at me. Instead, Drew places both hands on my shoulders and bends down so we are eye to eye. In a soft but serious voice he explains, “I just saw four people get murdered. I don’t know the first thing about any of them but I can’t get the images of their lifeless bodies falling to the ground out of my head. You seriously think I want that same fate for you?” he asks in a deep whisper. “If they found you, they would kill you. You would never see your family again and I can’t live with that over my head.”

  He straightens up, shaking his head and drops the hold on my shoulders. “We’re in this together. I am not leaving you.”

  He pauses and I think he’s contemplating whether or not I’ve comprehended what he’s said. He continues to watch my face, waiting for me to respond. I glance back towards the ground trying to find the strength to continue. Minutes go by without a word as my mind continues to think of my family. Their faces, their laughs, their hugs. Drew is right. I have to get home to them. They need me. I raise my head and peer into his eyes hoping he can read the thoughts behind them so I don’t have to speak because I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep the tears back if I do.

  To my relief he does.

  “I’ll slow the pace a bit if you need,” he says, compromising as he dries my cheek with his thumb.

  And then catching me off guard he pulls me into an embrace, giving me a tight squeeze before quickly releasing me. The corners of his mouth pull upwards marginally in encouragement as he takes my hand and pulls me into a jog. His small gesture and words have provided me with renewed focus and energy. I think how odd it is that my survival, physically and mentally, rests heavily in the hands of someone who’s practically a stranger. Though he doesn’t feel like a stranger. He could have easily left me for dead at the crash site and took off on his own. Instead, he saved me and for that I am grateful. This realization, along with a muffled but distinct boom from the direction we came from jumpstarts my second wind.

  Seconds later we are full on running and I am keeping pace instead of being dragged from behind. Tremors of sheer terror course through my body, with the shrieking cry of birds overhead in reaction to the distant explosion. Holy shit. All those people – they are gone. They were likely dead before but now they are really gone. Burned in my memory are the faces of all the people I passed getting on the plane. Why on Earth would someone do this? I feel like I’m going to break down and know I need to push these thoughts from my mind. I look around as we continue running, trying to conjure up images of anything other than the stewardess’s face, which currently has my attention.

  I make a conscious effort to focus on taking in as much detail as possible about our surroundings, keeping thoughts of my family and fellow passengers at bay. I know that when this surge of adrenaline runs out the floodgates will open and right now I cannot risk losing my energy.

  My eyes scan from side to side. There are several kinds of trees in this densely populated forest. I recognize the oversized golden leaves and blotchy white markings on the bark of the towering Sycamore’s. Interspersed with the Sycamore’s are trees with wide trunks and jagged bark that is grayish-brown in color. Many of their leaves have already fallen, but those that remain have a dull yellow or burnt orange color and are five lobed. Some of them seem to have sap coming from the bark but I can’t be sure. Eyeing these trees from the ground up, which tower at least 80 or more feet above me, I’m puzzled by the fact that I know what they are but I can’t put a name to them. It’s like a fog is clouding my thoughts.

  Frustrated, I turn my attention towards the ground ahead of me. All around there are several types of ferns and even random pockets of wildflowers where the sunlight has been given clearance from the tent of leaves overhead. The landscape before me is so beautiful. Under any other circumstances I would enjoy this scenery. Under normal circumstances I would be experiencing this with my family, not running for my life after a plane crash, hand in hand with a professional baseball player. In disbelieve I shake my head to no
one but myself. What are the chances of something so bizarre and tragic happening?

  I allow myself to indulge and envision being here with my kids and picture them curiously picking up leaves and trying to identify them, or perhaps jumping in them. It seems so real, causing a serene air to settle over me. In my brief Zen-like state I completely lose myself, and unfortunately my bearings, but I notice too late to recover. My feet buckle beneath me as my blurred vision turns black. I simultaneously have the sensation of being dragged before I’m aware of my knees, chest and head hitting the ground in succession. It happens so fast and now I’m completely immobile.

  From far away I hear the muted sound of my name being called. I struggle to open my eyes but clinch them together as the pain in my head grows stronger and sharper. The more aware I am of the pain, the stronger the sensation of bile rising in my throat becomes. The sound of my name being called is getting closer and louder, like I’m coming to the end of a tunnel, and each time my name is called a stabbing pain splices though my head with crushing force. Oh shit, I think I am going to puke!

  Blindly, I roll to the side convulsing as vomit burns my esophagus and the intensity of my head exemplifies. While I heave I feel warm hands pull my hair back and then gently rub my back. Even this caring gesture causes me pain and I succumb to darkness.

  I have no idea how long I have been unconscious, but when I wake I’m thrown off by the fact that I’m moving. What the hell is going on? Hearing the rhythmic thudding sound entering through my right ear, clarity prevails and I become cognizant that my head and body are securely held to a man’s body. I am not just moving; I am being carried.

  Startled and confused, I glance up and am comforted by the recognition of Drew’s face. My headache, though still present, has dulled dramatically making it somewhat bearable. When I try to speak I am only able to get out a groan. It’s enough to get Drew’s attention though and he slows down his pace. He pauses for a moment, looking around and then walks towards an embankment where he gently sets me down so that my back and head are supported. Rummaging through my purse he produces a bottle of water that he opens and holds out to me.

  “You should drink some of this,” he suggests in a low voice.

  Try as I may I am unable to move; it’s pathetic but I just don’t have the energy. Wearily my forehead wrinkles and I let out a sigh. Thankfully, he understands my response and slowly lifts the bottle to my lips and holds it while I take a swig. He watches me carefully as I drink and I notice he looks far more concerned now than he did before I passed out…at least from what I can remember.

  “What happened?” I murmur. He looks apologetic but I can’t imagine what for. He avoids my stare and fidgets with the bottle and cap, turning it back and forth, open and close, several times.

  “Are you ok?” I ask, wondering why he looks more distraught.

  “I’m sorry, Breanne,” he says with remorse as he rubs his face. “I can’t believe I didn’t even think to check to see if you had a concussion.”

  Drew lifts the water bottle to my lips again and gestures for me to take another sip.

  “You fell and started throwing up before you passed out. I tried to wake you for a while but you wouldn’t.” It’s clear he was worried I wasn’t going to regain consciousness. “I didn’t know what to do so I picked you up and started walking. I guess I was hoping I’d be able to find help if I kept going.” Looking contrite he admits, “You asked me to stop but I kept pushing. I’m sorry. I was scared. I am scared. I was just trying to get as far away from the crash as possible. But I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

  The recollection of my vision getting fuzzy and hearing my name being called comes back to me. “It’s fine,” I affirm. “I’m sorry you had to carry me. Please tell me I didn’t throw up on you,” I say slightly mortified.

  The corners of his mouth twist up in a wry smile. “No, you didn’t.”

  “Well that’s a relief,” I say dryly. “You saved my life. I can’t afford to add shoes or clothing to the list of things I owe you.”

  He releases a forced laugh and watches me swish the water around like its mouthwash and spit it out in a very unladylike way. I then drink the rest of the water.

  “We can rest a little while, but we’ll have to start walking again soon,” he advises. “And I need you to stay awake, alright?”

  I nod my head in agreement.

  “How far do you think we’ve gone?” I ask.

  “I don’t know, maybe six or seven miles total,” he estimates, and it strikes me that he must have carried me for quite a while.

  For countless minutes we sit in silence. I lean my head back on the rocky embankment, resting my head against its wall and close my eyes. Question after question fills my head. How did this happen? What exactly did happen? Why did those passengers die from using the oxygen masks? Why were the pilot and the others shot? Who shot them? Why did we run and not wait for the authorities? Will they think we died? Will they notice our bodies aren’t there? Who knows about the crash? What about my family?

  My worst fears rise to the top with this last question. What will my family think? Do they already know? I try to slow my breathing and notice for the first time the musky scent of pine in the crisp air is so prominent I can almost taste it. It reminds me of Christmas, and my family. Once again, the thoughts I’ve been keeping at bay cannot be held back any more. This unfathomable reality hits me like a thousand pound weight has been dropped on my chest. I feel like I’m being crushed from within my own body. I pull my legs up to my chest and bury my face in the center of my arms that are wrapped around my legs. The physical pain I’m experiencing from my injuries is nothing compared to this. The floodgates to my fears break open.

  As these thoughts formulate in my mind I feel short of breath. The weight in my chest rises up my throat and chokes me. I can’t keep it together any longer. Warm tears stream down my face and I think I’m hyperventilating. Sturdy arms lift and envelop me. One of Drew’s hands cups my mouth before I realize I am screaming.

  “My kids. My kids. My kids…” I sob, repeatedly and have no idea if he can even understand me. I can barely understand myself.

  I feel so helpless. Fatigue is heavily settling throughout my body and I have no concept of how long I have been crying, no sense of time. Drew lets his hand fall from my mouth and gently wipes the tears from my damp cheeks.

  “Shhh, it’s going to be ok,” he whispers, and I wonder how long he’s been trying to soothe me.

  He repeats this phrase several times while I attempt to get myself under control. Once I’m breathing at a close to normal pace he lifts my chin with his fingers until our eyes are level.

  “Breanne, I promise we’ll get you home to your family,” he calmly tells me. His thumb strokes my cheek to wipe a fallen tear. His eyes, full of conviction, never break from mine. “We are going to get home. I promise you will see your husband and kids again, very soon.”

  He pauses while releasing me and leaning back to gauge my reaction. “Your kids will be ok. They aren’t alone. They have their father and I’m sure other family and friends. Everything will be ok.”

  I feel sick. The tears once again start streaming down my face. My head drops into my hands and I shake it frantically from side to side.

  “No!” I yell. “It’s not ok. You don’t understand.”

  I snap my head upright and look him in the eyes to see confusion cross his face. He tries to reassure me again but he can’t. It’s not his fault. He doesn’t know. He can’t possibly know that I am the single most important person in their life, that they will be lost without me. He doesn’t understand that I am the one who tucks them in every night and wakes to a packed bed. I am the one that knows that Maddie can’t fall asleep without a flashlight because the sounds of our house settling scares her…that Colin won’t eat any food on his plate if the different items blend together….that Aubrey has different stuffed animals she’ll hold depending on her mo
od. These small details are things I know. I know because I have been there every minute of every day, their entire lives. Every day except today.

  A myriad of emotions sweep through me but guilt takes over, closely followed by desperation.

  “Look, I may not have kids but I’m doing my best to put myself in your shoes,” he says, sounding both concerned and a little frustrated.

  This man has saved me and all I can think about is what I’m experiencing. He has feelings and family and friends. Neither of us wanted to be in this situation, although given the alternative to joining the other passengers, this option doesn’t look too bad. Regardless, we are in this together and if we are going to get back to the people we love it will be easier as a team, than alone. I owe him not only an apology, but an explanation. It takes every piece of energy I have left at this moment to say the words I have avoided saying for so long. The thought makes me shudder and I get that choking sensation again in the back of my throat. Wishing again that he could read my mind, I stare deep into his eyes and realize it’s pointless.