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Kyle’s Final Moments

It was another ordinary work day. Kyle showered, dressed, and drank his coffee in two large gulps before heading to the subway. It was the kind of day New Yorkers loved to hate: hazy, hot and humid. Kyle’s thoughts were all over the place; yesterday’s work screw-ups, not answering Lily’s texts, the laundry he hadn’t touched in two weeks and all of the other potential calamities he had no control over. The subway platform was crammed with faceless commuters he was happy to never meet. Large droplets of sweat ran down his back as he boarded the train. With only a tiny bit of space between two other passengers, Kyle closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

About 10 minutes into his ride, the train screeched to a grinding halt. Everyone in his subway car was propelled forward and then backwards. He had to apologize to several people whom he nearly knocked to the ground. Subway riders normally show no signs of concern when this happens; it being an almost daily occurrence. Seconds after the stop, all of the lights in Kyle’s car went dark — this too happens often. Everyone held their breath while they waited for the lights to go back on and for the train to start moving again.

Kyle started feeling anxious after several minutes of no lights and no announcement. It was normally the one thing you could count on, a moment of quiet and then you’re on your way.

“Passengers, we are experiencing some signal problems, but we will be moving momentarily.”

What Kyle waited for, but no announcement was heard. Passengers began talking to one another. The AC had gone out when the lights went out, the subway car was quickly becoming sweltering hot — it felt as if the air was being sucked out of the train. It was a faint odor, but Kyle thought he smelled smoke. Someone yelled,

“Does anyone else smell smoke?”

At this point they’d been sitting in the dark for about eight minutes. Kyle asked the people around them if they were okay. He assured one of his fellow passengers that this happened all the time and he was certain they’d start moving in a matter of moments. A very pregnant woman on his right seemed distressed. He asked her if she was okay and she shook her head from side-to-side.

People started coughing as the subway car filled with smoke. The emergency lights had come on, but it was too dark and smoky to see anything. It wasn’t until that moment, that Kyle realized they were in a tunnel. He was surprised how quiet the car was despite the circumstances. Coughing and sniffling were the only sounds heard. And then finally an announcement:

“Passengers, this is your conductor, please remain calm as we assess our situation. I’ll be back with another update soon.”

I began to sense panic all around me. People were opening the doors between the two subway cars only to discover the car next to us was also filled with smoke. The pregnant woman grabbed my arm and spoke,

“Estoy embarazada de ocho meses y tengo mucho miedo.”

My high school Spanish kicked in and I told her to stay calm. I let her know that I would help her.

“No te preocupes, solo quédate cerca.”

She squeezed my arm and put her head down. I was happy to see that she had a bottle of water. She held it out to offer me some, but I was too preoccupied to think about how thirsty I was. It had to be 110 degrees and there was no ventilation. A few passengers managed to open the windows, but the smoke had filled the tunnel as well, so it made no difference.

“Okay people, here’s the situation: there is a fire about 50 feet in front of the train. The fire department has been notified and they’re on their way. Sit tight and drink water if you have any; and if you have extra, share it. The train can’t move so we just have to wait for help.”

After the announcement people started screaming. Kyle was concerned about the amount of smoke filling the subway car and how packed it was. He could hear children crying in another part of the car.

He started thinking he might not get out of this alive. He looked at his cell phone, but he had no bars; who would he call anyway? Kyle was a low-key kind of guy, but he loved outdoor adventures; he hadn’t yet had a chance to skydive, hang glide, or rock climb in Thailand. These thoughts entered and exited quickly, bringing him sadness and remorse. Why hadn’t he been more aggressive about pursuing his dreams.

Of course he knew the answer. He just buried his father weeks ago. Sam, Kyle’s father, had been suffering with a rare bone disease for the past two years. At first it was just minor aches and pains, but by the time they figured out what was wrong, Sam was in a wheelchair and his bones were brittle. Kyle made the decision to spend every weekend and all of his free time with his father. That was a decision he’d never regret. Another announcement interrupted his thoughts:

“Okay people, help is on the way. They’re putting out the track fire, but we won’t be able to move. We’re going to have to evacuate the train and make our way through the tunnel to the station. The good news is that the station is not far away.”

The pregnant woman holding onto Kyle started quietly crying into his elbow. At that moment, he stopped caring about his own escape; his life. This young woman needed him, that’s what mattered. He asked her what her name was. She told him it was Cara. He calmly whispered,

“Listen Cara, we’re going to get out of here. I promise I won’t let you go. You’ll be breathing fresh air in a few minutes.”

Cara nodded and moved closer to Kyle. Everyone around them was crying. The heat and smoke were causing some people to pass out; Kyle was hoping Cara would stay awake. He removed his t-shirt and told Cara to cover her mouth with it. She did as he asked and once again offered Kyle some water — this time he took a big gulp.

A commotion could be heard in the tunnel. Kyle wasn’t sure if they’d started rescuing the passengers, every second seemed like an eternity. Kyle heard one of the doors of the subway car opening. People were slowly exiting the car; the hacking coughing sounds were drowning out all of the other sounds. The smoke inhalation was keeping the passengers from rushing to the open door. Kyle signaled Cara to walk toward the door. She held onto his arm and motioned for him to lead. When they reached the door it was too smoky to see the inside of the tunnel, but someone was telling them to step down carefully.

Once in the tunnel, people were shouting:

“Get as close to the ground as possible.”

Kyle was hoping the smoke was killing the rats — he hated rats and he knew from seeing them race across the tracks daily, that they were well fed and large. For now, getting Cara to safety was his priority; he erased all other thoughts.

“Stand wherever you are and wait for a first responder to get to you. If the electricity returns, you could be killed by the third rail.”

Cara was shaking at this point and he could feel her tear drops on his arm. They stood in silence for a long time. Kyle decided he should shout out to the rescuers:

“There is a very pregnant woman here. Please come for her first.”

Cara seemed to understand the message. Moments later a masked first responder was asking where she was.

“She’s here, she’s here.”

The responder approached them asking for the woman to wave her arms in the air; Kyle did it for her. He stepped up to them saying,

“Put this mask on and hold onto my belt.”

The man told Kyle to wait and someone would get to him. It was too dangerous to walk in a group. Kyle told Cara in Spanish that he’d see her soon. She didn’t want to leave him and he had to almost push her away. Cara reached over and kissed him on the cheek,

“Muchas gracias, amigo. Nos vemos pronto.”

He hoped Cara was right. People all around Kyle were being led away, he’d assumed to safety. Each time an emergency worker in a mask approached him, he told them to go to someone else. After some time Kyle felt sleepy. He got down onto the edge of the tracks and closed his eyes. He knew at this point that he wouldn’t make it out alive, but he was certain Cara would. He was grateful to his family and friends for having been in his life. Kyle was not a religious man; however, he knew that the natural order of things would make things right. The thought that gave him comfort, was that he’d made a difference; he closed his eyes with the absence of fear and regret.

_________________________

When I lived in New York City, there were two things I thought about every time I took the subway: fire and rats. This fictional story has probably actually taken place in reality several times. We live among heroes.

Current State-of-Mind

A bit anxious about Barcelona on the 9th. Portugal’s airport staff is striking until midnight on the 9th and apparently they will be cancelling many flights. If mine gets cancelled, I’m not sure how I’d get there. I haven’t travelled for a while and I’ve been looking forward to this trip. And even if they don’t cancel my flight, the strike starts back up the day before I’m scheduled to return home. Not much I can do except wait and hope that it works out. I wish there were other ways for workers to impact corporate management. I can’t say I wasn’t warned.

My Paco has had a left ear and left nostril infection for six months. Two different vets have tried multiple medications and the problem is not going away. It’s either a resistant bacteria, mites, allergies, or a bigger issue in his ear canal or nostril. They’ve suggested invasive surgery, but for me, that’s a last resort. It bothers me because it bothers him.

The political situation has me wondering how bad it will get before it gets better. When I consider the plight of the people of Gaza and Ukraine; my personal concerns seem small in comparison.

“We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorns have roses.” – Alphonse Karr

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One Dog’s POV

Author: Paco Papagni

I want to be clear that I’m writing this to set the record straight; not for recognition or because I have nothing better to do. Dogs have historically contributed more to humankind than we are given credit for; we all have a story. My name is Paco and I belong to Chris. I don’t like the “belong” verb, but it’s better than “owned by” or “property of.”

More than three years ago I was abandoned and left for dead in a wooded area in Estoi, Portugal. There is not much I can say about my former owners, except that they are pond scum who had no business taking me into their home in the first place. I had a chip that was never registered. I suspect my mother was a stray who either lived on the derelict property or wandered close to it by mistake when she was pregnant with me and my siblings. Some of this is me filling in the gaps — it was a difficult introduction to the world and I’ve blocked the bad bits out.

I’m four years old (that’s a guess) and I’ve survived a lifetime of trauma already. After being left to fend for myself in a place where rats, wild dogs, poisonous insects, and who knows what else, thrive; I kept myself alive and I’m ready to tell you how it all went down. Please don’t feel sorry for me, I’m a dog, having a survival instinct is my secret weapon. It’s a world where humans rule and some of us pets get to help make their lives more livable — our sole purpose. Where, how and when this pairing-up situation plays out, is purely random. We know this at birth, even before we learn to speak.

There are things about me that made it somewhat easier to be paired with a human: I am blond, my hair is as soft as cotton, I am tiny, and my eyes are soulful. I only know these things about myself because others have told me. I’ve heard stories of ugly dogs being put down because nobody wanted them. I knew I was not of that variety very early on — this explains why I prance when I walk. I know who I am.

Still, I was literally thrown into a dire situation and before I could even try to find my person, I had to survive despicable humans and the wrath of nature. I awoke before the sun one morning not long after I was cast out into the wild. Small parasites discovered I was a host without protection. They attached themselves to my body and left me defenseless against their harmful pathogens. As a result, I became weak and unable to hunt for food. I feared my mother and siblings were far away and the wooded brush was my only blanket. Days and weeks passed and I became quite delirious — a state I was grateful for . . . for obvious reasons.

Weeks after the start of my affliction, I wandered onto a dirt road; a shipping container used as a house in the distance. Although it was a cold and rainy December day, I could smell a dog who may have been guarding the property. I approached the container hoping I would be seen or smelled. Hours passed as I shivered in the storm, breathing what I was fairly certain were my final breaths. Nearby voices woke me from my stupor and warm hands scooped me up from the side of the road. Two humans gently lifted me up and carried me to their home. The dog I’d smelled earlier kept trying to attack, although he did not know I was not a threat. I was weak, wet, and tired, and these humans thankfully kept this dog away from me. They tried to feed me, but eating was impossible. My instincts told me that this illness had made it certain that I would perish. All I wanted was to sleep.

A night passed and the humans took me to a place they thought might help. I was starving, thin, weak, and my breathing was labored. A gentle woman examined me and told the couple that there were tests she could do to determine why I was dying. The kind humans had no money, therefore, the best they could do was take me home and hope for the best. In the meantime, they spread the word that they had found me hoping to locate my owner — that would never happen. Some humans view us as expendable.

It must have been difficult to keep that other dog away from me because the humans seemed anxious all the time. They also mentioned taking me to the doctor, but they didn’t have the means. Someone who lived nearby told them that there was a local American man on Facebook looking for a dog in need of a home. This person said that he couldn’t come to meet me for two weeks, but she seemed to think that he would want me and that he’d be able to take me to the doctor. Knowing that I might soon have a forever home made me feel a little better. I started to eat a little and I know that I slept most of the time. The Scots, I believe they were Scots, had named me Whisper and I thought that sounded sort of lame. Still, I knew that I should be grateful.

Time passed slowly and I started to believe that I might die before this man came to meet me. One day one of the Scots answered the phone and it was Chris, the American they’d heard about. They told me that he’d be there to meet me later that day. At least I think that’s what they said.

Indeed, a car pulled into the driveway and two tall men and a woman got out. They seemed excited to see me and each of them held me in their arms. They were nice humans. I knew which one was Chris right away, because when he held me tears ran down his face and he kissed me about twenty times. I was pretty grungy from living in the woods, so I was a bit embarrassed. Before they left me, Chris said he would be back for me and I believed him. The Scots seemed relieved and happy, so was I.

I’m not 100% certain this part is true, but I seem to recall that my first owners (the scum) spoke Portuguese. When I was rescued by the Scots on the road by their house, they spoke funny; it might have been English. I was grateful that they’d found me, but I couldn’t understand anything they said. Then when Chris came to get me, I was pretty certain he spoke English. His words in the beginning made him sound angry, but I later learned that he was from Brooklyn and I’ve overheard his friends tease him about that; apparently Italian Brooklyn men sometimes come off as gruff. He’s a big guy so he can be intimidating. It doesn’t really matter, I understand everything now.

Chris took me to a doctor the day he brought me home. Maria (vet) told him I had a serious viral infection and that because I was so weak and my red blood count low, I might not make it. She said I was about 11 months old. Maria said she would do what she could to make me well. Chris’ friend Michele removed all the matted parts of my coat and gave me a bath. Being that I was matted everywhere, she had to remove most of it, but I didn’t mind. I already knew I was one of the fortunate ones.

My dad is a good human for the most part. I think he travels way too much and he often seems to get upset about how slow things move in Portugal. I know that no human or animal for that matter, is perfect, so I forgive him. The other thing he does that I wish he wouldn’t do, is fool with this little cellular thing. He’s constantly pushing on it and is talking to it and it mumbles back to him. I think he may be more in love with that thing than he is me, but again, nobody’s perfect.

It’s been three years now. Early on we had this government enforced stay at home restriction called a lockdown and it was just Chris and I, all day every day, for a long time — this happened twice. I liked that time with Chris. We would go outside and the streets would be empty. There is a dog park near our apartment and we would go there to run around. Everything was still and it was peaceful. I hoped it would last forever, but it didn’t.

I’ve been deathly ill several times. Aside from that killer virus I had when they found me, I’ve had an operable tumor on my paw, bronchitis I caught from a stray that came close to ending me, and one time we even had to go to a hospital in the middle of the night because I was having trouble breathing. Chris cries whenever I’m very sick. I wish that I could tell him that I’ll be okay and that I’m not going anywhere. I don’t think I could ever leave our home; it’s warm, quiet, and has a lot of soft surfaces. I have a bowl full of toys I play with everyday. I eat really well and apparently the doctor says that even though I could have died from that tick bite in the woods, I am now 100% healthy.

This was during lockdown. Chris talks to with a silly voice sometimes.

Things can get a bit crazy on our street. Two weeks ago a dog that I used to play with, Loki, was attacked by a big dog who got loose from his owner. The dog broke Loki’s spine in several places and he died; the owner was bitten as well. Some dog’s instincts tell them to attack, I was born to comfort. I’m sad about Loki because I know his owner would have prevented the attack if he could. I know Chris would be very sad if that had happened to me; we’re both extra careful now. All animals, including humans, are unpredictable.

I have a friend, Patricia, who stays with me whenever Chris leaves town. She has a dog named Petucha; she’s like a sister (see photo below). Petucha lives across the street, so I get to see her a lot. I’m glad she doesn’t live with us, I like things just the way they are.

I think I might be the happiest dog alive. There are only two things I truly need in my life: treats and Chris, in that order. My dad tells me he loves me a lot; even though I can’t say the words, I let him know, in my own way, that I love him too. Blond and tiny or not, I know that I’m a pretty lucky dog. Lastly, Chris renamed me Paco the day he brought me home; my new name suits me just fine.

Patucha and me on my terrace