The Mission

I saw him moving his mouth but somehow he sounded like a muffled voice coming from deep inside a trash can. My mind was in another, safer place. I decided he reminded me of Frank Reagan, the NYC chief of police in Blue Blood. Besides the huge bushy mustache he had the wrinkles of wisdom. Each crack and crevice in that facial canvas stood for a successful, though hard fought mission. 

Being the brilliant commander, he sensed my brief mental absence. He leaned forward scanning me intensely. I was shaken out of my trance like a rag doll about to be grabbed by pit bull. I was brought back to harsh reality. His laser beam eyes seared into my soul. In a calm, monotone and low voice like a funeral director preparing me for examination of the body before burial- he spoke- “Are you ready for this?” There was only one possible answer, of course- “Yes, Sir”. 

I really wanted to yell “Hell no- I’m nowhere near ready- you must be out of your mind- there’s no way I’m going out there”. But those words never were uttered. My mouth wouldn’t cooperate. I considered simply turning and running. My legs remained frozen. I thought I might add a few minutes to my life by reaching down to adjust my socks and tie my shoes. My arms wouldn’t budge- they have surrendered to Frank. I prayed for an angel to swoop down and lift me away from the terrible fate that awaited me. No angels. 

I caught split second pictures of my pet dog sleeping on my bed at age 5, myself jumping into a big wave on a Cape Cod beach at 6 and my first bike at age 7. Snapshots of me flying a kite in a field, eating fresh, warm blueberry pie cooked by my mother, and my father helping me pull in a huge 8 inch brook trout- all sprang into view. I guess it’s true that you have flashbacks at the end.  

But maybe this was different because my snapshots shifted quickly to my training over the past few months. The tools of the trade, the emergency lights and escape paths all flashed before me. I took that as a good sign. Maybe these pictures were the covers of operation manuals in my brain. Just tap on them and all of the procedures needed to handle each and every situation would suddenly open up. This might not be my end after all. I may yet survive. 

Still, I regret not writing a farewell note, leaving it on my pillow. It would be labeled- “Open only if I do not return”. I would have thanked Mom for making those delicious blueberry pies. I would have thanked Dad for showing me how to wade through remote streams to catch those elusive brookies. I would apologize to both of them for breaking a window or two, for staying out too late- worrying them and for not studying harder. 

In an act of kindness or pity- Frank reached over to hand me a bottle of water. I would have preferred an adult beverage, but he couldn’t do that since I had to be alert for the mission. I mumbled “Thanks”. I could hardly swallow from the stress. My heart rate was approaching the limit. I might just collapse and fall to the floor. The image of Frank blowing me up like a deflated CPR training mannequin brought me right back to reality. 

I was shocked when he showed a brief glimpse of humanity and kindness. “I know you can do this- you’ll be fine”. I let out an inaudible chuckle thinking “that must be his quota for the year for saying nice things”. I looked at his Mount Rushmore face and just sat there like a silent puppet with my mouth slightly open ready to speak his words. Speechless I took another swig of the water bottle to delay the inevitable. Frank’s smile and kind words began to fade. He reached into his pocket and handed it to me. 

“Here’s the key. Start the engine. It’s time for your first driving lesson”.