The day started same as always. I made coffee. Took a shower. Drove to work. Tried to forget my difference.
I greeted Debbie, the receptionist, and rode the elevator to the eighth floor. The doors opened and I walked out. My office was on the far side of the building. It wasn't spacious, but I had my own window. Paperwork littered the desk. There were nine new voicemails. I sighed.
Plunging into work, the rhythm of productivity set in. My mind was empty, though my job was entirely mental. I knew I needed to be calm. At some point in the day, as usual, the itch to use it would occur. I'd resisted successfully for seventeen years. Now was no different.
After a few hours, it became apparent there was one thing I couldn't get past: distraction. I was supposed to be preparing a written summary of our recent staff meeting. But my mind kept wandering. Why today? I got up and walked to my window. A bustling train station lay below. Skyscrapers loomed above the streets.
Suddenly, I noticed a small figure fall into the train tracks. It was a little girl. My brow furrowed with worry. Nobody else was nearby. Didn't this kid have parents? I kept watching. Just then, I saw what I feared most. The train.
The commuter train was approaching at an expedient rate. The girl needed to get off the tracks, but she couldn't get up by herself. I glanced at my cell phone. No one I could call would get there before it was too late. The train couldn't be stopped on time either, even if the engineer saw the girl. My heart was beating rapidly. Sweat covered my forehead. I knew what had to be done.
It had been so long since I'd used it. Would it even work? And if it did, would my life be filled with pain like it did those years ago? But it wasn't my life on the line. It was hers. I knew that even if I had to suffer, she needed to be rescued.
I took a deep breath. Clenched my teeth. And I did it.
I opened my eyes slowly. A sustained tone filled my ears. Taking a step forward, I felt as though I was walking through jelly. Outside the window, the train had halted. Everything was at a stand still, frozen in mid-motion. Time had stopped.
I pushed open my office door and trudged through the air to the stairwell. My colleagues were all perfectly still. There was no sound, save that sustained tone. The world has a tone, I discovered decades ago. It just takes stopping time to hear it.
When I arrived at the staircase door, I groaned. The sound echoed weirdly in the frozen air. All for the greater cause, I thought. My power required me to be a hero. I was supposed to use it for good. Even at the age of fifty, that was my never ending duty.
The eight-story descent was brutal. I was out of shape, and wading through this invisible molasses made everything twice as bad. By the time I finally reached the first floor, I had to stop to catch my breath. It was a blessing that air unfroze when it entered my lungs. I had always taken that odd phenomenon for granted. Otherwise, I probably would have died and time would be frozen forever.
I recovered and shoved my way into the street. My pace was slow. At a turtle-like speed, I moved around the cars halted on the street. I paused. The faces of people frozen were always fascinating. A woman in a blue Prius was looking down. Her jaw was hanging open slightly. I ambled over to her window and peered inside. She was holding her phone in both hands and was texting. I shook my head. I tried to open the door, but it was locked. Well, there was something I could do.
Going back inside my building, I found some paper and tape in the front desk. I had a sharpie in my pocket. I wrote on four pieces of paper in block letters "I'm texting!" and taped one to each of the sides of the car. That was much better.
And now to the task at hand. The girl. I reached the train station and walked past hundreds of people, all of them rushing to get to their destinations. There was no rush now. Finally, I came to the tracks. Only a little ways off, the train laid ominously. I peered over the railing. The little girl was pressed against the wall in terror. Her face was red and streaked with tears. She didn't look any older than my granddaughter in third grade.
I was saddened by the image before me. I knew I could save this girl and make her think it was all a dream or her imagination. But the trauma wouldn't go away.
I sighed internally. I felt heavy all of a sudden, and it wasn't from the air. Lumbering over the railing, I dropped into the track. The girl's small frame was surprisingly difficult to push up into the walkway, but I managed. Gathering all my strength, I barely hoisted myself up and out the path of the train. Again, a break was required to recover. I was getting old.
But my mission was not completed. This girl was alone and afraid, frozen though she was. I had an idea. Nearby was a metro security guard. I carried the girl over to the security personnel and sat her down on a bench close behind him. Carefully, I closed her eyelids.
I didn't go back to the office. Eight flights of stairs were not appealing when time was stopped. Looking at the girl one last time, I ducked behind a pay phone.
I exhaled. Relaxed my jaw. And I undid it.
My ears popped slightly, and the world resumed abruptly. Tires screeched. Hundreds of busy people scurried by. The train zoomed past. I looked at my hands, which were shaking. The sickness was already setting in.
The girl was breathing hard and looking around, confused and frightened. Then she noticed the security guard. "Hey, Dad!"
❤️❤️❤️👍
Incredible. so good.