By: Shannon Mo
Tom Higginsby was a man of punctuality and order. Covered head-to-toe in gray, (gray
slacks, gray vest, gray hat)he would board the N every Thursday morning on his way to
his office in Astoria. He’d duck into the car, weaving his way through crowds of mothers,
businessmen, and sweaty subway performers. He’d retrieve his gray monogrammed
handkerchief from his jacket pocket and quickly dust off the seat before settling down,
left leg crossed over right. He’d carefully unfold his newspaper to check the stock
prices—he never cared much for current events or political happenings. Higginsby never
intended to leave his mark on the world or change it whatsoever. He followed his
routines, timed nearly to the millisecond. And though he would never admit it, his
commitment to order kept him from what he craved most: connection.
What would you do given the chance to start anew? Tom Higginsby was about to find
out…
“Comin’ through…watch yourself, young man” Tom muttered under his breath. He
couldn’t stand the subway—the suffocating stench of bodies packed together like
sardines on a hot summer day. He finally made his way to his usual seat by the window
only to find it had been occupied by a young couple laughing softly to one another. The
boy had his arm resting casually over the shoulder of the girl, whose chocolate brown
hair fell in perfect ringlets down her back. Tom shuddered in disgust and walked to the
next car. With a sigh of relief, Tom took the nearest seat, adjusted his reading glasses on
the bridge of his nose, and began reading the Times.
The car was unusually silent–you could hear a pin drop. Tom didn’t mind, however; he
quite enjoyed solitude. (perhaps more than any man should)The dull, rhythmic hum of
the train engine soothed him as he read. Checking his watch, he folded the paper once
again and reached to tuck it back into his briefcase–but something peculiar caught his
eye—on the front page of the paper, in bold font, the headline read: “Unsung Hero Tom
Higginsby Rescues Young Couple From Train Derailment”
Perplexed, Tom began reading the story:
slacks, gray vest, gray hat)he would board the N every Thursday morning on his way to
his office in Astoria. He’d duck into the car, weaving his way through crowds of mothers,
businessmen, and sweaty subway performers. He’d retrieve his gray monogrammed
handkerchief from his jacket pocket and quickly dust off the seat before settling down,
left leg crossed over right. He’d carefully unfold his newspaper to check the stock
prices—he never cared much for current events or political happenings. Higginsby never
intended to leave his mark on the world or change it whatsoever. He followed his
routines, timed nearly to the millisecond. And though he would never admit it, his
commitment to order kept him from what he craved most: connection.
What would you do given the chance to start anew? Tom Higginsby was about to find
out…
“Comin’ through…watch yourself, young man” Tom muttered under his breath. He
couldn’t stand the subway—the suffocating stench of bodies packed together like
sardines on a hot summer day. He finally made his way to his usual seat by the window
only to find it had been occupied by a young couple laughing softly to one another. The
boy had his arm resting casually over the shoulder of the girl, whose chocolate brown
hair fell in perfect ringlets down her back. Tom shuddered in disgust and walked to the
next car. With a sigh of relief, Tom took the nearest seat, adjusted his reading glasses on
the bridge of his nose, and began reading the Times.
The car was unusually silent–you could hear a pin drop. Tom didn’t mind, however; he
quite enjoyed solitude. (perhaps more than any man should)The dull, rhythmic hum of
the train engine soothed him as he read. Checking his watch, he folded the paper once
again and reached to tuck it back into his briefcase–but something peculiar caught his
eye—on the front page of the paper, in bold font, the headline read: “Unsung Hero Tom
Higginsby Rescues Young Couple From Train Derailment”
Perplexed, Tom began reading the story:
“On Thursday, June 8, 2023, local businessman Tom Higginsby rescued Felix St.
James (25) and fiancé Ruby Lei (23). The two were shoved out of harm’s way by
Higginsby when debris came crashing down. The accident was caused by an ill-
maintained switch, leading to the derailment of the eastbound N train. The car then
collided with the pillars on both sides of the track, causing irreparable damage to the
subway train. Over 100 passengers were injured in the crash, but fortunately, and
thanks to Higginsby, no casualties were reported. Friends and neighbors of Higginsby
all attest to his immense compassion for others and infectious positive character as an
upstanding member of his community…”
Tom scoffed in pure disbelief. To think he could ever be known for an “infectious
positive character”; how absurd! He thought back to the times he’d scorned wide-eyed
grocery bag boys and desperate tourists asking for directions to Times Square. No,
compassion certainly wasn’t the word. Perhaps there was a second Tom Higginsby in the
city; one who rescued cats from trees and held doors for strangers—and seemed his
polar opposite. His gaze fell to the photo under the headline; there, unmistakably, was a
picture of himself, grinning ear to ear embracing a young woman; he recognized her
curly hair and warm smile immediately—it was the very girl he had seen earlier on the
subway in his seat. “Heavens,” Tom gasped.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” a voice responded. Skin crawling, Tom whipped his head around to
identify the mysterious figure; he wasn’t aware he had had company. Before him stood a
tall silver-headed man, clad in a navy coat and black slacks. “May I?” the stranger asked,
gesturing to the empty seat beside him. Bewildered, Tom examined the man; he noticed
a pair of intricately carved ivory cufflinks adorning the man’s sleeves—certainly
expensive. The man took the paper from Tom’s shaking hands. “Tom, is it?” He glanced
down at the page. “You really should smile more, you look dashing…”
“Who are you?” Tom demanded, pressing his back into the window.
The stranger smiled kindly, but it only put Tom at even more unease. “Patience, Tom.
Once I finish speaking you won’t care who I am. You’ll be much more concerned with
what it is I have to offer.”
Higginsby when debris came crashing down. The accident was caused by an ill-
maintained switch, leading to the derailment of the eastbound N train. The car then
collided with the pillars on both sides of the track, causing irreparable damage to the
subway train. Over 100 passengers were injured in the crash, but fortunately, and
thanks to Higginsby, no casualties were reported. Friends and neighbors of Higginsby
all attest to his immense compassion for others and infectious positive character as an
upstanding member of his community…”
Tom scoffed in pure disbelief. To think he could ever be known for an “infectious
positive character”; how absurd! He thought back to the times he’d scorned wide-eyed
grocery bag boys and desperate tourists asking for directions to Times Square. No,
compassion certainly wasn’t the word. Perhaps there was a second Tom Higginsby in the
city; one who rescued cats from trees and held doors for strangers—and seemed his
polar opposite. His gaze fell to the photo under the headline; there, unmistakably, was a
picture of himself, grinning ear to ear embracing a young woman; he recognized her
curly hair and warm smile immediately—it was the very girl he had seen earlier on the
subway in his seat. “Heavens,” Tom gasped.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” a voice responded. Skin crawling, Tom whipped his head around to
identify the mysterious figure; he wasn’t aware he had had company. Before him stood a
tall silver-headed man, clad in a navy coat and black slacks. “May I?” the stranger asked,
gesturing to the empty seat beside him. Bewildered, Tom examined the man; he noticed
a pair of intricately carved ivory cufflinks adorning the man’s sleeves—certainly
expensive. The man took the paper from Tom’s shaking hands. “Tom, is it?” He glanced
down at the page. “You really should smile more, you look dashing…”
“Who are you?” Tom demanded, pressing his back into the window.
The stranger smiled kindly, but it only put Tom at even more unease. “Patience, Tom.
Once I finish speaking you won’t care who I am. You’ll be much more concerned with
what it is I have to offer.”
“And what’s that?” Tom spat.
“A new life.” The stranger handed the paper back to Tom. “Tom Higginsby, the man who
can make a difference. A chance to rewrite your story.”
Tom pondered the stranger’s offer; why in the world would he want—or need—to
change? He had everything a man could want.
“Oh, Tom. So naive. There has to be more to life than taxes and litigations. Don’t you
ever long for more? A family? Christ, a dog?” the man jested.
“You don’t know anything about me.” Tom snapped. “Why am I even talking to you?
This is ridiculous.” Tom moved to rise but found himself pushed forcefully back into his
seat. The man was unusually powerful for his elderly appearance.
“I do, actually—know everything about everyone. Now I’d appreciate it if you could
remain seated for the rest of my proposal. Trust me, this is for your own good. Let me
tell you a secret now, Tom.” The man gestured for Tom to lean in. “Come on now, I don’t
bite.”
Tom wasn’t so sure, but he wasn’t about to find out just how strong the man was. Was
he even a man at all?
“Everybody has a purpose.” the man whispered. “And let me tell you, this isn’t yours” he
howled, gesturing to Tom’s monotone outfit. “You’re special, Tom. Everybody on this
train—everybody on this planet–is currently en route to their purpose. Everybody except
for you. I’m here to…guide you in the right direction.”
“So what is my purpose then?” Tom retorted sourly. He couldn’t believe he was
entertaining such foolishness.
“Ah, nice try Tom. Now here’s my offer: this train is going to derail in about…” the man
glanced down at his watch, “ten minutes. Now, you can either save that lovely couple–or
die.”
“Die? How is that a choice?” Tom exclaimed. “This is outrageous!”
can make a difference. A chance to rewrite your story.”
Tom pondered the stranger’s offer; why in the world would he want—or need—to
change? He had everything a man could want.
“Oh, Tom. So naive. There has to be more to life than taxes and litigations. Don’t you
ever long for more? A family? Christ, a dog?” the man jested.
“You don’t know anything about me.” Tom snapped. “Why am I even talking to you?
This is ridiculous.” Tom moved to rise but found himself pushed forcefully back into his
seat. The man was unusually powerful for his elderly appearance.
“I do, actually—know everything about everyone. Now I’d appreciate it if you could
remain seated for the rest of my proposal. Trust me, this is for your own good. Let me
tell you a secret now, Tom.” The man gestured for Tom to lean in. “Come on now, I don’t
bite.”
Tom wasn’t so sure, but he wasn’t about to find out just how strong the man was. Was
he even a man at all?
“Everybody has a purpose.” the man whispered. “And let me tell you, this isn’t yours” he
howled, gesturing to Tom’s monotone outfit. “You’re special, Tom. Everybody on this
train—everybody on this planet–is currently en route to their purpose. Everybody except
for you. I’m here to…guide you in the right direction.”
“So what is my purpose then?” Tom retorted sourly. He couldn’t believe he was
entertaining such foolishness.
“Ah, nice try Tom. Now here’s my offer: this train is going to derail in about…” the man
glanced down at his watch, “ten minutes. Now, you can either save that lovely couple–or
die.”
“Die? How is that a choice?” Tom exclaimed. “This is outrageous!”
“Outrageous, perhaps. But that is my offer. I think you should take it.” The stranger slid
open the car door, holding it for Tom. “Well, we don’t have all day.”
. . .
Dust hung in the air like a thick, velvet curtain. A high-pitched buzz roared in Tom’s
ears. His vision faded in and out, and everything seemed to travel in slow motion.
“Thank you. Thank you, you saved us. Lord, thank you…” mouthed a girl with long curls
and honey-colored eyes. Tom gasped for air; each breath seared his lungs in agony. He
placed his hand over his aching heart–his palm came back sticky with blood. He turned
to look back up at the girl’s mesmerizing eyes. The corners of his vision began to fold
inwards until all he could see was a blazing ring of gold.
Tom Higginsby’s purpose in life was to rescue two souls from the hands of death; and
once a soul has fulfilled its purpose, it is destined to return to dust. Tom lived his life
trying not to make a single wave. And yet, he managed to brew a storm in the very fabric
of the universe…
With a rattling gasp, Tom woke to a blinding white light. The rhythmic beep and hum of
ventilators and machinery echoed as he sought to find his bearings. He glanced to his
right and discovered a young woman sitting in a chair next to him. He observed her
shoulders rising and falling steadily, her chin resting weightlessly in the palm of her
hand. Even in the harsh fluorescent lighting, she looked angelic.
“Welcome back, Mr. Higginsby.” a familiar, honeyed voice announced. Tom turned his
gaze to the man before him in shock. He thought it had all been a dream. “You really
should be dead, Tom, but somehow you’ve managed to sink your claws into this realm.”
“But…the paper…you promised…” Tom wheezed.
“Ah, I do apologize for my…half-truth, but I suppose I hoped it would entice you to
accept my offer. Though, now, looking back, certain death was quite the motivator on its
own.” the man chuckled.
. . .
Dust hung in the air like a thick, velvet curtain. A high-pitched buzz roared in Tom’s
ears. His vision faded in and out, and everything seemed to travel in slow motion.
“Thank you. Thank you, you saved us. Lord, thank you…” mouthed a girl with long curls
and honey-colored eyes. Tom gasped for air; each breath seared his lungs in agony. He
placed his hand over his aching heart–his palm came back sticky with blood. He turned
to look back up at the girl’s mesmerizing eyes. The corners of his vision began to fold
inwards until all he could see was a blazing ring of gold.
Tom Higginsby’s purpose in life was to rescue two souls from the hands of death; and
once a soul has fulfilled its purpose, it is destined to return to dust. Tom lived his life
trying not to make a single wave. And yet, he managed to brew a storm in the very fabric
of the universe…
With a rattling gasp, Tom woke to a blinding white light. The rhythmic beep and hum of
ventilators and machinery echoed as he sought to find his bearings. He glanced to his
right and discovered a young woman sitting in a chair next to him. He observed her
shoulders rising and falling steadily, her chin resting weightlessly in the palm of her
hand. Even in the harsh fluorescent lighting, she looked angelic.
“Welcome back, Mr. Higginsby.” a familiar, honeyed voice announced. Tom turned his
gaze to the man before him in shock. He thought it had all been a dream. “You really
should be dead, Tom, but somehow you’ve managed to sink your claws into this realm.”
“But…the paper…you promised…” Tom wheezed.
“Ah, I do apologize for my…half-truth, but I suppose I hoped it would entice you to
accept my offer. Though, now, looking back, certain death was quite the motivator on its
own.” the man chuckled.
That snake. I’ve been deceived! Tom wanted to get as far from the otherworldly man as
possible.
“But, here we are Mr. Higginsby. Standing before you is the chance to live the life you’re
too scared to admit you’ve wanted.” The man paced around the hospital room. “You are
an exception to the rule. It seems your purpose can never be quantized or defined; it
swells with each beat of your stubborn heart.” The man tipped his imaginary hat and
turned to the door. “Goodbye now; I’m needed elsewhere.”
He paused in the doorframe and glanced back to meet Tom’s eyes. “Charlie.”
“What?” Tom croaked.
“Your dog. You should name it Charlie.”
With that, the man disappeared into the abyss without a trace. All that was left was the
unmistakable seed planted in the pit of Tom’s stomach that day–hope.
“Sir, oh goodness–how long have you been awake?” The girl rose from her chair, her
voice tinged with a syrupy Southern accent. “I really couldn’t thank you enough. Why
don’t you come ‘round our apartment soon as you’re discharged? I reckon Felix and I
owe you a lifetime’s supply of pecan pie”
Tom took her hands in his, and said with a smile on his face, “There’s nothing I’d like
more.”
THE END
“But, here we are Mr. Higginsby. Standing before you is the chance to live the life you’re
too scared to admit you’ve wanted.” The man paced around the hospital room. “You are
an exception to the rule. It seems your purpose can never be quantized or defined; it
swells with each beat of your stubborn heart.” The man tipped his imaginary hat and
turned to the door. “Goodbye now; I’m needed elsewhere.”
He paused in the doorframe and glanced back to meet Tom’s eyes. “Charlie.”
“What?” Tom croaked.
“Your dog. You should name it Charlie.”
With that, the man disappeared into the abyss without a trace. All that was left was the
unmistakable seed planted in the pit of Tom’s stomach that day–hope.
“Sir, oh goodness–how long have you been awake?” The girl rose from her chair, her
voice tinged with a syrupy Southern accent. “I really couldn’t thank you enough. Why
don’t you come ‘round our apartment soon as you’re discharged? I reckon Felix and I
owe you a lifetime’s supply of pecan pie”
Tom took her hands in his, and said with a smile on his face, “There’s nothing I’d like
more.”
THE END
