DESTINY
By Marti Linder
Copyright 1996
She stood in line, outwardly patient, but inwardly seething. Just another impassive commuter, one of thousands waiting for the Zip-Train to Mexico City. Her high cheekbones, slant eyes and small mouth, like those of so many others of Aztec descent, were perfectly suited for hiding her interior emotions.
She was lost in her own thoughts. “Late again. Where’s the damn train? Why is it everything, but everything, is always so damn unpredictable in this miserable, god-forsaken part of the world? If I had any sense I’d move back to Dallas. But, the pay’s bad and it costs too much to live up there... Her thoughts went ‘round and ‘round -- as usual. She shifted from one foot to the other in her stylish shoes. And, why did I choose a stupid Wednesday to dress up so much? God, my feet are killing me already. Today’s going to be murder.”
Almost convulsively, she gripped her handbag tightly to her chest. Token ready? “Yes, in my right hand,” she silently answered her own question. “If that guy behind me bumps me with his briefcase one more time, I’m gonna’ step back on his foot. Hard!” She made the useless promise to herself, knowing full well she’d never do it. Too dangerous to start a fight in the terminal. At the worst, he’d kill her with one quick chop to the neck; at best, she’d be banned from ever riding the Zip-Train again.
She turned slightly to glare at the man from the corner of her right eye. An involuntary thrill shivered down her spine. God! He’s gorgeous, she thought. Just my type: Fairly tall, medium build, brown hair and blue eyes, good suit and polished shoes. She took it all in with just a glance.
Quickly, but subtly, she shifted her purse to a secure position under her right arm, straightened her posture to throw out her ample bosom and fluffed her luxuriant dark hair with her left hand. She swiveled sideways, as if looking at the posted departure times, although she’d memorized in the last few months. “Show him my best side,” she thought, glad now that she had on new, sexy shoes and her good black suit. She lifted her chin to display her striking profile and slender neck to the gentleman behind her. She licked her bright red lips as she turned her head to look slowly and openly in his direction.
He smiled. “Trains always late here?” he asked as he took inventory of her slender hips and straight back (and all the rest of her) from beneath his lowered lashes.
Certain of herself now, sure his look was one of approval, she smiled. In a low and pleasant voice, she answered, “Not always. That’s the problem. We never know when they’re going to be late, so we have to get here on time, even when we might have to wait over an hour in line.”
He glanced at an expensive timepiece on his left wrist. “What would happen if we were to step out of line for a quick cup of coffee? Would we be able to catch the train anyway?”
She hesitated, considering her alternatives. “No,” she said, with a note of regret in her voice as she answered honestly. “They’re so many people here already for this train that it’ll be filled to capacity -- with people even standing in the aisles. It’s been this way ever since the authorities banned anyone actually living in Mexico City.”
He grinned at her, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Will you lose your job if you catch a later one? I’m from Seattle, here on business, and I don’t really have to be anywhere ‘til noon. What d’you say we hang back and relax for awhile? Call it ‘good for tourism’, if you want. And, I really COULD use some help. I’ve never been here before.”
He fumbled in his inside coat pocket as she, once again, paused to think. “Here,” he said, as he proffered a heavy gray, obviously expensive, business card.
“The name on the card’s Bradley, but you can just call me Brad.”
Still silent, she carefully read his business card and took in the splendid leather brief case in his left hand. “Bradley A. Conver, Sr. Vice-President, Multiform Structural Engineering, Inc., Internat’l Consultants” with a sure-enough Seattle address and many communications numbers at the bottom. Seemed like the real thing.... She deliberated for another moment, then made the decision she knew she’d make all along. “Sure. Just give me a minute to call my office and let them know the train’s late again. Come on -- There’s a communications station over there.”
***
They were sitting in the train terminal coffee shop, gently flirting, trading background stories (both divorced, no kids) and personal anecdotes when they first heard the announcement. It was 9:37 exactly, on the 23rd of May, 2028. A day she’d never forget.
A choked male voice on the loud speaker announced. “Ladies and Gentlemen, DO NOT PANIC. Please, bear with us as we try to learn the facts. I’m sorry, so sorry... to announce, to HAVE to announce... that Train 61 on Track 37, bound for Mexico City... has been the victim of a gas attack. Again, I must plead for your forbearance. Please do not panic. We’ll be making further announcements as the facts become known. This, I promise to you. Stay where you are, PLEASE, and listen for further information.” The announcement was repeated in five other languages. Then, within half an hour that seemed like three days of anguish, came the rest of it. Terrorists. Multiple gas bombs. There were no known survivors.
Except for Brad and Connie. They clung to one-another as they sobbed openly for the strangers whom they would never meet. They became hysterical, weeping giddy tears of relief and inexplicable guilt over their escape from death on a train. They LIVED more fully in that short span of time than ever before in their entire lives.