“Hurry up!” Zeke said. “The train will be here any minute!”
“I’m trying!” I replied.
I put the phone on the track sideways, but it slid off again. The track was vibrating, which made it harder to keep the phone in one place. I wished I had brought some tape or glue or something to hold it on the track. Too late now.
“It won’t stay!” I shouted.
“Let me do it!” Zeke said frantically.
But he couldn’t do it either. The phone kept sliding off the track. While Zeke was on his hands and knees, I looked up. There were two lights coming toward us in the distance.
“I see it!” I said. “Try again!”
Zeke cursed. The phone slipped off the track again.
“What are we gonna do?” I asked.
The lights were getting closer. I probably had less than thirty seconds left.
“Forget this idea,” Zeke said, picking up my phone. “It’s not going to work. You could lose your hand.”
I looked up. I could see the train now. My heart was racing. In about ten seconds the train would be right on top of us. I could barely hear Zeke shouting at me.
“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” he hollered, handing me the phone. “When the train goes by, toss it under the wheels!”
“What, are you crazy?” I shouted. “Why me?”
“It’s your phone!” Zeke shouted. “You gotta do it.”
“What if I miss?”
“Then you miss,” Zeke shouted. “Enjoy your new life in the Roaring Twenties.”
The train was bearing down on us. It was so loud. I couldn’t communicate with Zeke anymore. He backed away and covered his ears with his hands.
The train seemed like it was right on top of me. I crouched down as it rushed by and tossed the phone underhand into the wheels.
I’m not sure what happened after that. I couldn’t see the phone as it disappeared into the darkness. But I heard a cracking sound when the case shattered, then I saw sparks. Bits of plastic and metal went flying all over. Some of them hit my arms and legs. I put my hands up to protect my face as I dove out of the way, stumbling backward and landing on the rocks next to the tracks. I banged my head against something hard.
And that’s all I remember.
GOING HOME
But when I opened my eyes, I remembered everything.
I could picture every little detail of what had happened leading up to that moment. The headlights. The noise. The train coming right at us. The crunching sound, and the sparks that flew after I tossed the cell phone onto the tracks. I remembered diving out of the way and banging my head. It was so clear.
And just like the first time I woke up after my little adventure at the train tracks, I had a headache and my throat was sore. I felt sore all over. And once again, when I woke up, my mom was holding my hand.
“He’s awake!” she screamed. “Harry woke up! It’s a miracle! Nurse! Nurse!”
As my mother was hugging and kissing me, I looked behind her at the room. I was in the hospital again. It was a different room, but it had pretty much the same kind of machines and stuff as the first time. Flowers, cards, and candy boxes were strewn all over the windowsill. I had an IV and various tubes going in and out of me. But I didn’t seem to have any broken bones or other serious injuries.
“Where am I?” I asked.
“Roosevelt Hospital,” my mother replied, tears of joy streaming down her face. “You were in a coma.”
“Again?”
My mom looked at me like she didn’t know what I was referring to.
A nurse came running in. She gave me a big smile and greeting. She looked at the machines and jotted something down on a clipboard.
“How long was I in a coma?” I asked.
“Almost a week,” my mother said, wiping her eyes. “I didn’t think you were coming back. I thought I lost you.”
“Your mom was in here with you the whole time,” the nurse told me. “I don’t think she ever left. She’s amazing.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I told her.
I felt like I was going to cry too, for all I put her through. We’re supposed to learn from our mistakes, right? My mom didn’t seem mad that I had done such a stupid thing a second time. She just looked so grateful that I was alive.
“I’m just glad you’re here!” she said, squeezing me. And then she started crying again.
A doctor came in. He was tall, and his nametag said DR. MINUTOLI on it.
“Well, if it isn’t Rip Van Winkle!” he said cheerfully as he shook my hand. “I’m so happy to see you awake, Mr. Mancini. I bet the other doctors five bucks that you would come out of it today. You made me money.”
I liked this doctor better than the one I saw the first time I came out of a coma. Dr. Minutoli put his hand on my head and felt around up there.
“The swelling is down considerably,” he said. “That’s good. So it’s unlikely that your head is going to explode. How are you feeling?”
“Weird,” I told him.
“That’s normal,” he explained. “I would be concerned if you didn’t feel a little weird after being in a coma.”
The doctor shined a light in my eyes.
“Harry, can you spell chrysanthemum?” he asked.
“Uh…no,” I told him.
“Good,” he replied, winking at me. “Nobody can. You’re perfectly normal. Are you hungry?”
“Yes!”
“Get this boy something to eat!”
He told the nurse to remove my tubes and wrote something on the clipboard before he got up to leave.
“I guess I still have to stay here for a night?” I asked, as the nurse pulled out my IV.
“Just one,” Dr. Minutoli said, “For observation. Then do yourself a favor and take it easy for a few weeks. And stay away from the railroad tracks.”
“I’m never going back there again, I promise,” I told him.
“Good. I don’t ever
