Mile 229 Hear it read- https://soundcloud.com/stories-fables-ghostly-tales/episode-357-sfgt-mile-229-mysterious-numbers
Some people have a lucky number, or an unlucky number… I have a responsibility number. Maybe I should call it a duty number, or just an assigned number. Does that make sense? Probably not. I’ll start from the beginning. The first incident I can remember happened when I was 9 years old. It was summer vacation and I’d been dragged along on a grocery shopping trip with my mom. We paid and were on our way out the door when my mom patted her jeans pockets and muttered a word she’d told me never to use. I giggled and she shot me her best “not now” glare. She pulled the shopping cart up next to a huge stack of of 12 packs of soda by the door with a big sign advertising “This week only- $2.29!” “I think I left my keys at the checkout counter” she sighed, then turning to me, “Stay RIGHT HERE with the cart, Lauren!” “Fine!” I groaned, and rolled my eyes. I was a good kid though, she knew I’d do as she said. “Be right back” I shuffled my feet impatiently and glanced around the store. A man was walking quickly toward the door with a little boy in tow. The boy couldn’t have been more than 5 years old and he was sobbing despite the man’s pleas to stop. I remember thinking how weird it was that the man was wearing a coat and knit hat in July. As they neared me I made eye contact with the little boy and without really thinking what I was doing I asked “are you ok?” “He’s FINE” the man growled and tugged at the boy’s arm. The little boy was still looking at me though, his light brown eyes brimming with tears. “I just want my mommy” he hiccuped. I had no idea what to do. The man glared at me and gave one last tug at the boy’s arm right as my mother rounded the corner, keys in hand. His eyes darted from me, to my mother, to the boy, back to me, then with a look of panic he dropped the boy’s arm and ran out the door. My mother stood a few feet from us, dumbfounded. “Are you ok?”, I asked the boy for a second time. He just fell wordlessly into my arms. I was probably almost a foot taller than him, but the force of his head hitting my chest was enough to knock me into the wall of soda. I just stood there while my mom screamed for an employee. I could feel his tears soaking into my T-shirt. The little boy’s name was Bobby Hingham. It turns out the man was a disgruntled ex-boyfriend of the boy’s mother and he’d followed them to the store and grabbed Bobby while his mother’s back was turned. Police were called and the next day my picture appeared in the local paper with the headline “Young hero stops kidnapping”. In the picture Bobby is standing to my left, his mother on her knees clutching her son, and to my right half a sign is visible- “ek only- $2.29!”. I think I still have the newspaper clipping somewhere. The next few incidents weren’t nearly as dramatic. I was watching the microwave count down and when it hit 2 minutes 29 seconds a tiny flame popped up where a stray piece of tin foil had clung to the plate. If I weren’t staring at the microwave at that exact second I don’t know what would have happened. Maybe the oven would be ruined, maybe nothing. There are hundreds of other examples that I’m not going to bore you with (and probably couldn’t even remember anyway), some as stupid as looking up from the book I was reading when I hit page 229 and finally being able to swat that mosquito that had been bugging me all afternoon. Inconsequential or not, that many incidents got my attention. On my 21st birthday the first thing I did was take a bus to the local casino. I’d never gambled before, but I’d watched enough movies to know exactly what I wanted to do. I made a beeline for the roulette table, the $100 bill my parents had given me at my party earlier clenched in my hand. It was a weekday and the table was empty. The dealer watched me approach, his hands clasped behind his back. I slid my money across the table and instructed him ”half on 2, half on 29”. I tried to sound calm and confident but I had butterflies in my stomach and I heard my voice shake a little. The dealer either didn’t notice or didn’t care (he didn’t even card me which upset me a little… how long ago could I have walked in here and done this?), he just reached for a stack of light blue chips, put them on my numbers, and set the wheel spinning. “Fifteen black” he called out flatly, scooping up all my chips and putting them neatly back where they’d sat only a moment earlier. I just stared in disbelief. After all the crap I’d been through I guess my number didn’t work that way. Just like that my rosey glasses were off. I’d never really sat down and thought about what had happened to me before. I went to the bar in the center of the casino, ordered my first (legal) drink, and for the first time I really really thought about my life. At age 9 I very well may have saved a boy’s life. I got my name in a local paper, then what I did was basically forgotten. At age 11 I stopped by locker #229 on my way to class and was there at just the right moment to catch a classmate as she fainted. I wouldn’t say I saved a life that day, but I probably stopped her from suffering a major concussion hitting her head on the concrete floor. The girl was taken to the hospital where she found out she was diabetic. I was yelled at for being late for class. At age 19 I was walking home and saw a car broken down on the side of the road (GRL229, I couldn’t even tell if it was a vanity plate or just a coincidence that the car was driven by a teenage girl). By the time I finished helping the 16 year old change her tire and get safely back on the road it was dark out. I was rewarded by having to threaten a drunken frat boy with pepper spray to keep him from following me back to my dorm. I’d saved lives and that was great, but what did I have to show for it? I had a shoebox with an old newspaper article in it, and I had enough money in my pocket to take a bus home from the casino. That’s it. I downed the remainder of my rum and coke with a wince. I guess until that day I’d always secretly considered myself to be gifted, but I wasn’t gifted, I was a pawn. When I’d graduated high school I’d enrolled myself part time in art school, partially supporting myself with a retail job, but mostly relying on loans. I was a pretty good painter, and part of me just KNEW I’d be rich and famous soon (I was gifted after all). Staring out the bus window on my way home from the casino I realized how stupid I’d been. I finished the semester then left art school and set out to become a nurse. I figured if my lot in life was to save people I might as well put myself in a good place to do it. I can’t say my life was bad. Nursing paid the bills well enough, and it was fulfilling. I got mentioned in a few more newspapers for saving lives, and I even got a story on Channel 5 News after I saved the town mayor from being given a deadly dose of medication he was allergic to. “I have to ask, how did you know to double check his charts, Nurse Jones?” the perky reporter had asked me. “I was just doing my job” I replied. I wasn’t lying. The incident happened on February 29th 2012 and the mayor had been brought in straight from some leap year celebration, the date clearly printed on his hat and colorful t-shirt… so, clearly I had a job to do, it was just a matter of figuring out what (and double checking his pills was a lot easier than most of what I went through as a nurse). I didn’t usually travel much, but for my 30th birthday I took the weekend off to go see my old roommate who had recently bought a house in Colorado. It was a 7 hour drive, but the weather was perfect and my little Honda Civic made it there with no issues. Julie’s house was lovely (It still seemed weird to me that she could afford a 3 bedroom house when I could remember weeks we both survived on Ramen noodles. Time flies.) Julie’s husband, John, was very nice, but I’m sure we bored him horribly just reminiscing all day Saturday. On Sunday for my actual birthday we ordered about 20 pounds of Chinese food and watched a bad romantic comedy. It was really nice to feel free of responsibility for once. I could have stayed at Julie’s house for weeks, but I had a nursing shift Monday afternoon and I figured it was best to beat the traffic, so at around 9pm I got ready to leave. Julie fussed over me and suggested for the 10th time I just spend the night and call off work tomorrow, but I knew I couldn’t do that. I’d explained my situation to Julie before, but she didn’t understand, and how could I blame her? I didn’t really understand. As I packed up my overnight bag Julie suddenly rushed out of the room then came back with a large box wrapped in silver paper. “I almost forgot!” she admitted and thrust the gift toward me with a grin. The box contained a large bottle of Captain Morgan’s rum. We shared a laugh; she knew perfectly well that I’d hated rum ever since my 21st birthday. Underneath the bottle she’d tucked my real gift- a beautiful cashmere throw blanket she’d had embroidered with my initials. “It’s perfect” I told her, and hugged her tight. Leaving wasn’t easy, but after an awkward goodbye from John and a few more hugs from Julie I was on my way. I watched Julie’s town disappear in the rear-view mirror, then stopped for gas after a sign warned me the next rest stop wasn’t for 47 miles. After getting back on the highway I realized I was totally and completely alone. No buildings in sight and no other cars, not even a trucker working to get his delivery to its destination by Monday morning. I didn’t mind too much. The night was beautiful; it was a perfect 75 degrees and there wasn’t a cloud in the star-filled sky. I tried the radio and realized I was too far into the empty Colorado mountains for any reception, not surprising. I sighed, took a long drink of the Diet Coke I’d picked up at the gas station, and settled in for a long drive. I’d been driving for about 2 hours (not even a third of the way home, I thought) when without warning a loud bang came from my car’s engine. All the warning lights lit up at once, then they all went off and the car sputtered to halt in the breakdown lane. My heart was beating a mile a minute, but I still remember noting that I was lucky there was a breakdown lane here. Some parts of the Colorado mountains only have a thin guard rail beside the road. I breathed deeply for a moment and closed my eyes. “You’re ok” I thought, and willed my hand to stop shaking as I reached for the ignition. Nothing. The lights would come on, but there wasn’t a peep from the engine. I waited a minute and tried again… that’s when I saw it; the headlights perfectly framed a highway mile marker- mile 229. "Shit!", I screamed as I instinctively reached for my phone. I realized before I even hit the button that there’s no way I had reception out here. Without cell service it was just a very expensive clock. I glanced at it anyway. It was 11:35, technically still my birthday. I felt a laugh rising in the back of my throat and I threw back my head and let it out in a cackle. “REALLY??” I screamed toward the sky, “on my BIRTHDAY?” I got out of the car and stared at the green mile marker, then I started screaming at it (although logically I knew it was as much the sign’s fault I’d broken down as it was the locker’s fault that girl had passed out almost 20 years ago). “What do you even want from me?” I wailed, then, collecting myself, I asked a little quieter, “What the hell could you possibly want me to do out here?” I’d been a very responsible person my whole life, and I don’t know what compelled me to do what I did next, but I suddenly remembered the box in the trunk of my car. I hurled open the hatch, grabbed the bottle of rum, and chugged as much as I could in one gulp. Wincing and sputtering I leaned down, hands on my knees, and waited for the warm feeling to blossom in my stomach and spread through my body. With the warmth came memories, and I began to cry. The taste of the rum brought me back to when I was 21 and first figured out I was nothing but a tool. I’d felt used back then, and now I’d had 9 more very busy years of being someone (or something)’s slave. I remembered the girl (GRL229) I’d found broken down on the side of the road as I walked back to my dorm. “I was there for her” I sobbed, my voice almost a whisper now, “but no one is coming for me, are they?” I took another drink from the bottle and this time it went down easier. I grabbed the throw blanket and laid it out on the sand a few steps from my car. The night was warm enough and I had every intention of just passing out right there, no one could make me do anything. Tears still streaming down my face I plopped down onto the blanket. I’d never felt so stupidly hopeless in my life. I looked at my phone, 12:01. “At least it’s not my birthday anymore, right?” I said. I didn’t have any idea who I was talking to anymore. I let the phone slide from my hand where it landed with an odd “clink” of definitely-not-sand. I fumbled around in the dark and my hand hit something hard and metallic. I grabbed it and turned toward the light coming from my car, even in drunken double vision I could see exactly what it was. A gun. Suddenly I wasn’t sad anymore, I was furious. “WHAT DO YOU WANT?” I screamed again at the sky. I fumbled and found the trigger with my right index finger, “Am I supposed to go hunting? Go back and time and kill Hitler? How about I just blow my own head off?” I laughed maniacally, “and what are you going to do about it?”. I pointed the gun at the sky, threatening my unseen tormentor, then I turned toward the mountains and hurled the gun into the night. “Whatever you want” I hissed, “I’m not doing it.” Back on the cashmere blanket I sat fuming. I wasn’t going to be anyone’s pawn ever again. I didn’t know what else to do though, I realized with dismay and another surge of fury that I’d never known anything else. I was probably serving someone else when I was a baby, I just didn’t remember. My head spun. I couldn’t think what to do next. There was no right answer. “No right answer means no wrong answer either” I muttered with very flawed drunken logic. I grabbed my bottle and followed the headlights toward the goddamn 229 sign. On my way I picked up a large rock and threw it from about 5 feet away. The sign came off easier than I’d expected and clattered to the pavement. I kept walking. Out of range of my headlights the stars gave just enough light for me to see the road ahead. The darkness was nice, it was comforting. I took one last swig of rum (not that I needed it), then threw the bottle into the dark where it shattered against something unseen. I kept walking. I have no idea how far I walked. Eventually I came to a guardrail that stood about waist-high on me. I looked over. Nothing. Well, obviously not nothing, but all I could see was blackness. “Perfect” I thought. I steadied myself against a roadwork sign (order of dept. 229…), “I get it!” I screamed,”but I’m not going back!” I climbed onto the guardrail and stood looking toward the highway. I turned my head back toward the sky, but this time my voice was calm, “I bet you didn’t expect this.” I let go of the signpost and threw my arms over my head, diving toward the darkness. The last thing I remember is closing my eyes and bracing myself for an impact. There was none. I awoke in some kind of reclining chair. My first thought was that I somehow survived and I was in the hospital, but even if it were possible to survive a drop like that, shouldn’t I be broken all over? I slowly wiggled the fingers on my right hand. No pain. Same with my left hand. I tried to open my eyes but they wouldn’t focus and the light felt too bright. “Hey! Tootoon! You awake?”, a cheery female voice called out. “I… what?”, was all could manage for a second. I struggled to process what she said. “What did you call me?” I asked, my voice sounding weird in my head. “Twoon?” She laughed. Her voice was somehow familiar but I couldn’t place it. “No sweetie, TWO-TWO-NINE. You do this every time.” “I’m… I’m Lauren.” “Yes you were...” she corrected with an exaggerated sigh. “and you did a great job!”. She finished her sentence in a tone usually reserved for praising 5 year olds. I felt a twinge of annoyance and opened my mouth to object, but I didn’t even know what to say. Instead I tried my eyes again and this time they focused. The woman was looking down at me with a grin and a twinkle of good humor in her dark eyes. My annoyance immediately disappeared and I grinned back at her. “Ok…” she said humming good naturedly and looking a some kind of computer screen she held in her left hand. “You... you got President Hingham” she muttered more to herself than to me, you got…uh-huh, she’s ok... he’s there… yeah alright!”. She brighted back up. “Nice job!”. This time there was no condescension in her voice. “Well, I’ll let you rest and clear your head” she said with a little squeeze of my shoulder. “Take as long as you need. I’ll be with the others. Welcome home!” she walked briskly out the door. All my feelings of sadness and fury were completely gone, I sighed in relief and was about to shut my eyes when she called back “Oh, 229?” “Yeah?”, I turned just enough to see her glittering eyes poke back around the corner of the snow-white wall. “That was a pretty impressive swan dive, but next time if we give you a gun just use it. Ok?”. She winked, and disappeared down the hall.
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