Miles To Go Before I Sleep (7 page)

They came for Patrick first. One of the EgyptAir security guards who was forced to help the two hijackers approached Patrick and lifted him up out of his seat. The helper walked Patrick to the front door of the aircraft and out onto the platform. At that point, a hijacker stepped forward and pressed his gun to Patrick's head.

There was a loud
Bang!
followed by the sound of Patrick's body thumping down the staircase.

Again, I closed my eyes and turned away, trying desperately to deny the awful reality of the scene. Since I was in the front, I could see and hear everything.

The procedure was always the same. Every fifteen minutes, the hijackers' helper came to lift us out of our seats and walk us down the aisle to the front door of the plane. Then the executioner placed his .38 caliber revolver to our head and squeezed the trigger. After he shot us, he pushed us twenty-five feet down the metal steps to the tarmac.

After Patrick was shot, Scarlett and I were alone. Who would be next?

Every few minutes, the executioner came out of the cockpit to the passenger section to check on his prey. He seemed like a crazy person to me. I could see in his eyes that something was wrong with him. He stationed himself at the front of the plane and, once when I looked up, he was staring coldly back at me.

What's the point?
I thought to myself.
We're not going anywhere.

Whenever I heard the sound of the door opening, my head went down. I didn't want to look at the hijacker.

“He keeps looking at me,” Scarlett said frantically. “Every time he comes out, he's looking right at me.”

“Don't look at him,” I said. “Just keep your head down. Whatever you do, don't look at him.”

“It's those eyes,” Scarlett said, sobbing, “those eyes.”

“Don't look at him,” I repeated, firmly. “Don't make eye contact.”

My strategy was to avoid eye contact with the hijackers at all times. Whenever one of them looked at me, I turned away. I didn't want to draw any attention to myself. I wanted to be as invisible as I could be.

I leaned my head up against the window and prayed. I didn't know what else to do.

Faith was an important part of my home life growing up. My parents, my two sisters, Gloria and Mary, and I regularly attended a Catholic church. My Roman Catholic upbringing gave me a strong faith and belief in a loving God. I learned that our souls never die, that we all go somewhere after death. I also learned that we can ask other people to pray for us. I learned about angels and that we can call on angels to comfort and protect us.

My parents taught me that life was a gift, that I shouldn't misuse it. Maybe that's why, as a child, I was always talking to people and making new friends. Life was so precious to me that I wanted to enjoy it with others.

At one point, Scarlett nudged over to me. “What are you doing?” she asked through her tears.

“I'm praying,” I said.

“Would you say some prayers for me?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Would you say the ‘Hail Mary'?” she asked.

I hadn't said it in years, but I remembered every word.

Scarlett and I squeezed our bodies together. Our hands were tied, so we couldn't hold each other. Our faces were right next to each other. I was close enough to hear her slow, regular breathing.

There were tears in both our eyes as we sat huddled together. It's impossible to communicate the feelings we both had in those precious moments we spent preparing to die. Scarlett would be the last person to see me alive. And I would be the last person to see Scarlett alive. A few hours ago, we were perfect strangers. Now the bond between us was strong and deep.

I said the prayer again.

Then I said the “Lord's Prayer” to myself:

After praying, I continued to steel myself, determined not to give in to the hijacker's terror and intimidation. I wanted to comfort Scarlett more, but I didn't dare. If I let myself become emotionally involved, I might break down. I leaned my head up against the window again and just sat there and waited.

Be strong. Don't break down. Don't show your fear or weakness. Be aware.

A few minutes later, the hijacker who was shooting everyone came toward us, waving my passport. I assumed I was next.

Instead, they took Scarlett.

It was about 5 or 6
A.M
. when the two hijackers lifted Scarlett out of her seat and walked her a few paces to the front door. The straight-haired man with the gun hummed and sang as he pressed the revolver to her head.

He fired a single shot at point-blank range and Scarlett died instantly. As her body went limp, he pushed her out the door, and her body thumped down the metal staircase onto the tarmac.

I was next. There were tears in my eyes. I looked at my wedding ring and prayed that, by some miracle, I'd see Scott again.

For some reason I'll never know, there was an unexpected pause in the shootings. I kept looking out the window for some sign of hope.

There wasn't much to see. Captain Galal had pulled the plane onto a deserted stretch of Luqa Airport, to reduce the risk to other passengers and airport personnel.

In the haze, I could barely make out a few big military trucks with tarps on top in the distance. These dark trucks looked like military vehicles I'd seen in the movies. I hoped to see someone step out of one of these trucks and silently mouth the reassuring words, “Everything's going to be okay.” Or I wanted to see a small troop of men with guns slithering on the ground, out of the hijackers' sight.

But I didn't see a soul. The trucks looked deserted.

I was totally alone now, with no one to comfort or distract me from my agony.
I'm going to die
, I thought,
and neither Scott nor my students will ever know what happened to me. I'll never get to say good-bye.

I looked across the aisle and saw the dead hijacker's body lying over some seats. The hijacker's helper came over and scrunched the hijacker's legs into his body. I could tell that rigor mortis had already set in by the effort it took to bend the stiffened limbs and the loud cracking sound it made. The helper looked over to me and smiled, as if to say, “Can you believe his legs just did that?”

About nine hours had passed since we left Athens, and some people raised their hands and asked for permission to use the toilet. The hijacker in the back of the plane, the one with the glasses, signaled to people, one at a time, to get up and go. I had to go to the bathroom so badly, but I didn't dare raise my hand. I still didn't want to draw any attention to myself…. I didn't want the hijackers to know anything more about me than they already did.

Minutes stretched into hours as I continued waiting to die. I knew there would be little or no warning when the time came. Each breath might be my last.

At one point, the hijackers allowed food to be distributed among the passengers. A heavyset woman with long dark hair, the chief flight attendant on the plane, walked up and down the aisle passing out deli sandwiches wrapped in clear plastic. Many of us hadn't eaten for twenty-four hours and were famished.

The flight attendant tossed a deli sandwich on the seat next to me, where Scarlett had been sitting.

“I can't eat that,” I said.

I couldn't pick it up because my hands were tied behind my back.

The flight attendant didn't hear me and just kept walking.

Another flight attendant, much younger, saw the sandwich sitting on the seat. She came over to me and said, “Would you like to eat?”

“Yes,” I said.

She picked up the sandwich and fed it to me in little bites. The younger flight attendant had dark hair and was very pretty. She looked Egyptian.

“Are you thirsty?” she asked me.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Would you like some water?”

“That sounds good.”

She went and filled a cup with some water and held it up to my mouth so I could drink.

As I waited my turn to die, I reflected on the meaning and direction my life had taken. This was no idle exercise. It was time to be totally honest with myself.

Did I like the life I had been leading?

Continuing to review my life, I felt that the answer was yes. I was especially proud of all the work I'd done to free my spirit in the previous two years. After years of self-doubt and second-guessing myself, I had acted on my lifelong dream of living in a foreign country.

In February 1984, I'd finally gotten up the nerve to attend a job fair in New York City for teachers interested in working overseas.

I sure seemed to be in the right place at the right time. Many schools at the job fair were just starting special education programs and were looking to hire someone with my background in education and diagnostics. Everything was working out better than I could have ever hoped or planned.

A few weeks after flying back to Houston, the job offers started rolling in. Eventually, I accepted a position with the American School in Stavanger, Norway. In August 1984, my long-postponed dreams were coming true: I was going to live overseas and in a place where it snowed.

I remember talking with my dad out in the garage after my bags were all packed. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Dad asked.

I said, “Yeah, Dad, this is what I really want to do. I have to do this. I have to go out and see the world. It's what I have been dreaming about. I don't know what I'm after, but I have to do it.”

He saw the excitement and commitment in my eyes. “I know how you feel,” he said. “When I joined the navy after high school, I loved traveling around and seeing all those places. Sometimes, I wish I'd had a chance to travel more.”

My dad is a man of few words, but I knew he'd just given me his blessing.

Once I made the decision to follow my dream of going overseas, I experienced a major personal growth spurt. I started erasing some of the old tapes from childhood that had been blocking me from doing the things I really wanted to do. For the first time in my life, I was deciding what was right for me. I wasn't letting others' opinions and beliefs about who I was control me.

Living in Norway was the first time I'd ever really lived away from home for an extended period. I'd set up the school's first special education program. I'd gone hiking in the fjords near Oslo, cross-country skiing near Stavanger, and spent Christmas break downhill skiing on the slopes of Innsbruck, Austria.

The world was opening up to me and I was drinking it all in.

I felt stronger and more mature after braving the hardships of daily life in Cairo. I'd also gone through a lot of changes in the past few months: I'd started a new job, adjusted to a new country and culture, gotten married, and made new friends. Making it in a country so different from my own did wonders for my confidence and self-esteem. I was growing a lot and had lots to be thankful for: a new husband, a great job, students I really loved, and the chance to travel.