“You know, I dream of dying,” the bleary-eyed stranger said, leaning over into the aisle between the seats. He had woken suddenly as if the plane had hit a pocket of turbulence, but so far the red-eye flight from Chicago had been a smooth flight.
Beverly held her folded magazine to her chest, smiling patiently at the strange little man. She had been a social worker and nurse for most of her career, so she intuitively knew how to talk to people. Especially people that carried a hint of instability about them, like a reek of body odor. “Oh do you now?”
The bald stranger ducked his quickly in a nod. “All the time. Just now in fact.”
“It was just a dream,” Beverly said in her best comforting tone.
The stranger shook his head slowly. “No, it is always the same. I have the dream about dying, wake up and tell someone. Then I fall back asleep again… somehow I avoid the death. I wake up somewhere else, in some other place, in some other time.”
“Time?” Beverly responded flatly, as she was only half listening, already focusing on the People article about Johnny Depp’s recent divorce.
“Yes. I think it is another timeline actually. I am not sure.”
Beverly was fully ignoring him now. “Oh, that’s nice dear.”
The stranger cocked his head listening for something. He touched Beverly’s armrest, but did not reach far enough to make contact with her directly. “Did you ever watch that movie Sliding Doors?”
“I’m sorry?” She replied.
“I think that was the name of it. Sliding Doors? Something like that. It was about how a single choice is made and completely changes a person’s life. They live this one life, and then see how this other life is better, and that is the moral of the movie. Bunch of movies have a similar premise. Exploring how a single choice affects everything.”
“I suppose I have seen something like that,” Beverly conceded. No one around them noticed the conversation, as almost all of them were sleeping.
“I will be honest with you, I think that is how my life is.”
Beverly folded her magazine into her lap. If this strange man wanted to have a conversation, there was no stopping him. “Why do you think that?”
The man leaned closer, whispering. “Did you hear about that railroad derailment in Jersey last year? That train took a curve and double the speed and everyone aboard died?”
“Yes, I remember something about that.”
“I was on that train. I fell asleep, had the dream, woke up to find everyone around me safe and sound. I fell back asleep, and then woke up in my bed. That version of me had not set the alarm, so I had accidentally slept in. But that is not what I remember. I remember getting a cab to the rail station, buying a ticket into the city, boarding the commuter, and the people around me. I remember my seat number, even.”
“That is a strange dream, I suppose. Have you seen a doctor?” Beverly tried.
“Like a therapist?” The man made a face.
“Maybe. It sounds like it was upsetting, perhaps talking to someone about it would help?”
“I have talked to people about it.”
“But not a therapist.”
The man shook his head. “No.”
Beverly looked at her lap, to the window with a black sky beyond, only the blinking glow of the wing light was visible. A thought popped into her head. “Why do you remember the seat number?”
“Because I remember looking at my ticket. The crazy thing is that when I did a bunch of digging with the transit authority, they had no record of selling that seat. It was empty.”
Beverly smiled. “That makes perfect sense though, since you never bought it. You weren’t there, and it only was a strange coincidence.”
“If the one time, maybe,” the man crossed his arms and tucked his hands against his sides. “But that is not the only time.”
Beverly felt a chill run up her arms. “How many times?”
“At least thirty that I can remember. I have started keeping a diary, but I cannot remember all of them. Some of the events happened inside of other events, so the choices I made to get to other choices were all negated. I remember a ferry sinking in the Sound, but that never happened, because the turnpike had a massive pile-up, but since I died in the pile-up too, I woke up at my kitchen table, a puddle of drool under my cheek. The pile-up happened, but the Ferry didn’t. I never found out why.”
“And in the ones that did happen in your real life?”
“I was supposed to be there, but I wasn’t. I was always in the time when I was late, or spilled something, or ran into an old friend. Sometimes being early saved me. I would wake up on the other side of the event, thinking I had died, but in reality, it happened afterwards.”
“You have the quite the imagination, Mister?”
“Jerry Katchowski.”
“Beverly Waterson. Nice to meet you Jerry.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
Beverly inwardly rolled a pair of imaginary eyes and went back to her magazine. Another hour passed before she looked over to see Mr. Katchowski sleeping soundly again, his head lolling downwards, chin pressed firmly against her chest.
“Hello everyone, this is the Captain,” the overhead PA stated calmly. “I just wanted to let you know that we have some turbulence coming up, so I am going to turn on the overhead signs to fasten your belt when you are sitting in your seats.”
The panels above made their ding noise, and Beverly looked back at Mr. Katchowski to make sure his seatbelt was fastened. He was no longer in his seat. Beverly bit her bottom lip, wondering how the gentleman could get up and go to the lavatory without her noticing. She felt her years, realizing that a man sneaking from his seat could go unnoticed.
The flight attendant pushed the drink cart past slowly, and Beverly made eye contact.
“Yes, Ma’am?” The attendant smiled graciously, albeit tiredly.
“The gentleman that was sitting here, did you happen to see him get up?”
The flight attendant tilted her head questioningly. “No, Ma’am. That seat has been empty. This was not a full flight.”
Beverly felt her stomach drop for a moment. Perhaps she was going senile after all. “I must have made a mistake.”
There was a pop from behind, and then the sound of a roar from a dinosaur, immediately all the pressure in the cabin was gone, and the floor buckled and tipped violently. Beverly put a hand to her bleeding head from the sharp impact against the now missing drink cart. As her head cleared of the flashing, Beverly realized the scream she had heard wasn’t her own voice but that of the young attendant being sucked out of the plane. The cockpit skewed wildly to left, as the roof tore above her like a giant was pulling it a part like a sandwich The air rushing around her was a malevolent, living thing, tearing at her face and her clothes and her hair, as her seat spun freely through the air, the burning chunks of her plane going brightly in all directions of the bottomless night sky.
Her last thought was of a strange little man waking up in his bed, safe and sound.