Part One: The Part Where It Happens

Peter was on his way to work. He lived in the heart of a large city where the traffic was worst, so he always walked with his work friend Trent. They sauntered on, chatting, taking no notice of the familiar sounds brought on by the bustling city.

As they arrived in front of their building, Peter heard a woman yell. Her son, a small boy no older than three, had broken free from his stroller and was carelessly hobbling toward the street, fixated on something he saw on the other side. Then what happened next seemed to occur so quickly, that it took Peter a moment to process exactly what had taken place.

There was a bus, the screeching of tires, and without thought or hesitation, Peter leapt forward and shoved the boy out of the street onto the sidewalk. Next Peter knew, his back was to the asphalt.

There were people standing over him. Trent was saying something to him, but Peter couldn’t discern it from the surrounding noise. He saw Trent’s lips form the words, “You’re gonna be ok,” but Peter knew this wasn’t true, and he was pretty sure Trent knew it too. The bus had broken his right arm, snapped his legs like twigs, and shattered his ribcage, which had collapsed and pierced his lungs. He didn’t know all this, of course, he was no doctor, but holy hell did it hurt.

    Blood now streamed from his temple where his skull had cracked against the asphalt. His vision was blurry and the sound of people crowding around him was muffled as though he was underwater. There would be no miraculous recovery. This was it.

Part 2: The Part About Trent

Trent was a good person. Not the kind of good person that donated everything he had to charity, or the kind that saved people from burning buildings, or even the kind that was always careful about recycling and picking up litter left on the street. He was just your average, everyday good person. He was respectful of those around him - usually. He worked hard at his job - most of the time. And he remembered to take the trash out - occasionally.

Trent lived with his slightly younger sister. They had moved in together because it was the only way they could afford an apartment in the city, and neither could imagine living anywhere else. Interestingly enough, despite living his entire life in the heart of a bustling city, Trent was a huge fan of hiking. His job gave him very little vacation time, but he always spent every second of it he could in the mountains. He loved the smell of the pine trees and the dry, cold air of the altitude. He wouldn’t live there of course, he couldn’t imagine living anywhere other than the city. It was just nice for visiting. In fact, he was already making plans for his next trip. Just a trip, he couldn’t imagine living anywhere other than the city. He would think about all the best places for building a cabin with a fireplace, by a lake, with his own private dock. Not really though, because he couldn’t imagine living anywhere other than the city.

Trent thought a lot about living in the mountains and then how he couldn’t imagine… well you get the picture. This was where his mind drifted as he walked with Peter. He looked up, picturing the buildings as towering redwoods. Then he wondered if Peter would be interested in going hiking with him sometime. He thought about it, but wasn’t sure. Peter was… not exactly rude, but perhaps just a bit too… serious. If he didn’t want to do something he could be just a bit blunt, but Trent decided to ask anyway. He turned his head and said, “Hey Peter-,” but just then, he heard a yell and, before he realized what was happening, saw Peter run out into the street.

Part 3: The Part About The Woman

The woman was young, no older than 25. Her name was Crystal, but she always hated that name. She had thought about changing it, but decided to just go by her middle name, Mark. The name Mark always reminded her of her father. She didn’t know why, seeing as his name had been Alvin, but it did, so she kept it. “Isn’t Mark a man’s name?” people would ask her. Her response was always the same. You see, Mark’s mother always told her that people required patience in such things. “Peculiarities require practice, and practice takes patience.” So anytime someone asked Mark about her name, she would give a slight grin, and calmly tell them to piss off. Then she would patiently sit through their response. Mark wasn’t very good in job interviews.

It also didn’t help that she always brought her two-year-old son with her and insisted he needed to be with her in her workplace. Her fiance, Drew, had passed away just before their son was born. The selfish prick, she would think to herself, just had to go and crash his car and leave me to raise our son. She knew she was a bit irrational sometimes, but thinking like this helped her to move on. Regardless of these thoughts, this meant there was no-one to take care of her son during the day, and she was absolutely unwilling to let anyone babysit her son. Mostly because she couldn't afford it. Her mother frequently offered, but Mark always refused. She found it unsettling that her mother always referred to her son as, “The twins,” when Mark was pretty sure she’d only ever had the one.

On this particular morning, she had just left an interview with a company that specialized in the manufacturing and repair of air conditioners. All had gone well until her son vomited on the interviewer's shoes. Now she was walking to her second favorite coffee shop, pushing her son in his stroller. Mark had just had a particularly frustrating day, and had to leave the interview quickly after her son’s little ‘accident,’ so she didn't realize she'd forgotten to buckle him in until he was running for the street.

Part 4: The Part About The Boy

The boy was named Max. He’d been having a perfectly fine day. He had gotten up and been pushed in his stroller by his mom. He had successfully avoided sitting in an office with a strange man by throwing up on his shoes, and now he was on his way with his mom to get pastries from their second favorite coffee shop. His mom never went there with the intention of buying pastries, but Max knew just the right look that always landed him a muffin.

Most days were good from Max’s point of view. His mom would push him in his stroller while she walked. She’d go to a building and talk to people in suits. He’d throw up on the most important looking person, and they’d be on their way. He saw many things when they walked through the city. One time he saw a pigeon eating a moldy slice of pizza. Another time he saw a man with a guitar. Today, though, he saw something incredible. He didn’t know what it was, but it was shiny. The only problem, was his mom was pushing him away from it, and this simply would not do. Fortunately, luck was on his side, for his mom had forgotten to buckle him in to the stroller, allowing for a hasty escape. With unimaginable speed, Max thrust himself from his seat and charged for whatever the shiny thing was across the street. This was when his whole day was ruined.

Before he could even get 5 steps onto the street, some jerk shoved him back to the sidewalk, allowing his mom to scoop him up, holding him firmly, never to reach the glimmering wonder that sat upon the opposing sidewalk. Even worse, he had bumped his elbow when he fell. He turned his head in momentary rage; he needed to see the man who had caused him this great turmoil.

When he looked, he saw the man lying on the ground. A bus had seen him shove Max and had shoved the man to show him what it felt like. “Thanks bus,” he thought to himself.

Part 5: The Part Where It Ends

Peter had always heard people say that in your final moments, you see your whole life flash before your eyes, or even that you relive your entire life in just an instant, and while Peter didn’t find this to be entirely true, time seemed to slow drastically, giving him the time he needed to reflect.

He thought back to his childhood memories. He remembered birthdays and sleepovers. All the preschool friends and the scary custodians. He remembered skinned knees and bruises. And he remembered sick grandparents and divorce.

With all the time that these few dying moments provided, Peter could think back to nearly every significant moment in his life. And of course there were also those that held no significance whatsoever. He remembered the time he’d dropped his hat in a pond, and stepped in gum at a baseball game. Also, he remembered the way he couldn’t stand his 3rd grade teacher’s voice, and all the stupid things he’d said in high school. Humans are strange, Peter thought to himself, why is it that we remember the such unimportant moments when there is so much more we could focus on?

Peter did a lot of thinking in these few moments that seemed to stretch on forever, but the thought that kept crossing his mind was, I’m not ready. He knew his time had come, mostly because the people around him kept telling him he was alright. No one says “you’re gonna be ok” this much unless you’re definitely not ok, he speculated. It was difficult to wrap his head around. Soon, very soon, he would be dead, gone, erased from the world. He didn’t believe in an afterlife, so the only way he could picture death was as an eternal, dreamless sleep. This terrified him, knowing he’d never do… anything ever again. I’m not ready, he thought again.

Peter had dreams and ambitions, only he could never really figure out what they were. All he knew was that he wanted to do something more. His nine to five desk job was far from fulfilling, and he had barely ever been out of the city. I’m not ready, he thought. He’d never gotten to see the world, never found his dream job, never been able to retire to the suburbs, and never found true love. Wow, I’m really going through all the cliches, Peter thought, but he didn’t care, the cliches were all that came to mind and he wanted them now more than ever. I’m not ready, he thought again.

What do I do now? There’s no time left for anything. This can’t really be it, can it? There has to be something I can do, I’m not ready! Peter slipped back into his memories. He thought of days at the lake, nights at the bar with Trent, the thrill of his first sale at work, distraught of his first car accident, exhilaration of the pool high-dive, the feeling of carpet on bare feet, the smell of burning logs, the itch of fresh-cut grass, the soreness of the flu, the warmth of chicken soup, the gentle light of a street lamp at night, and a great many more things.

Just then, he snapped back into his surroundings. He heard every car horn, registered, every panicked word, felt every gust of wind. The woman was standing a few feet to his right, holding her son tightly against herself. Max was staring angrily at Peter, his tiny, pudgy face contorted into a scowl. Peter might have laughed if he’d had the air in his lungs.

The woman was scared, reminded of her past. She looked as though she wasn’t sure whether to cry or yell. “Ma’am,” Peter choked out, much to Mark’s surprise, “do keep that stroller buckled.” Mark took a moment, then gave a small nod and said, “I will, Drew.” Peter sensed the significance behind the name, and made no attempt to correct her.

Finally he turned to Trent, who was kneeled next to him, in a state of intense shock. Peter wanted to say something, but was struggling to return air to his chest. “You’re- you’ll… it’s gonna be ok Peter. The doctor will get you patched up.” Peter shook his head slowly, they both knew the truth. He slowly raised his unbroken arm, then in a jerking motion, rested it on Trent’s shoulder. Trent didn’t know what to say. He was still in shock and was having a hard time piecing together what had just happened, so he steadied his voice and calmly said, “Hey Peter,” Peter let his head roll slightly to look him in the eye. “Do you want to go hiking sometime?” Trent continued, “There’s this great spot, up in the mountains.” Peter grinned slightly, and with what little air he had, asked, “Why don’t you just move up there already?”

“What? Me? No, no, I can’t even imagine living anywhere other than the city.”

Peter grinned again. Now he turned his head to look up at the sky. He felt his shallow breaths getting shorter. He closed his eyes and heard Trent say, “What is it Peter?” He took as deep a breath as he could possibly muster with his destroyed lungs and responded, “I’m ready.”