Jamari Bowman merges onto Interstate-87 heading south toward New York City. The early morning commuters – the 5:00 AM club, Jamari refers to them – don’t need to speed to get to their destinations.
Regardless, Jamari can’t help but step on the gas and weave in and out of traffic. It’s who he is; it’s what he’s always done. Maybe it’s his competitive spirit. He used to feel the same way back in college when running the 400 or 800. He never thought his track and field mantra of start fast, finish faster would evolve into his way of life on the road.
Radiohead’s hit from the nineties, “The Tourist,” blasts from Jamari’s speakers. The slow tempo offers a stark contrast with eighty-five miles an hour. Jamari sings, belting out every syllable. He passes cars in a continual S – sometimes in the right-hand lane.
After he breaks away from a small pack of cars and sees nothing but the dark morning sky and open highway in front of him, he tears open his everything bagel. He swerves to miss a giant pothole and drops his breakfast.
“Come on,” he mutters, taking his eyes off the road for a split second to reach down. He drifts left. When he sits back up, buttery bagel in hand, a large doe and her fawn have pranced in front of his car.
Jamari slams the brakes and instinctively jerks the wheel to the left. He tries to correct course, but it’s too late. His Mustang rips into grass, crosses the median – which is a slight ditch – and flies into the northbound lanes at an awkward tilt. The car lands on the passenger’s side and rolls three or four times through both empty lanes and into the trees.
When Jamari comes to, he’s looking down at his car. Police, volunteer firefighters, and other emergency responders are there at the scene. Flashing red and blue lights are everywhere, and flares line a significant length of the interstate.
“What…” Jamari says softly, realizing he’s floating some ten or twenty feet above everyone and everything. He still can’t comprehend what he’s seeing.
“Hey,” a voice says. A woman appears out of thin air beside him. “I know you’re scared…and I know you’re confused.”
“Hold on – what’s going on?” Jamari says to her. “And who the hell are you?”
The woman rests a hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, promise. We just need to wait a minute or two.”
“For what? Wait, is that…oh my God…is that me?”
The woman squeezes ever so slightly. “Yes.”
“Am I dead?”
To this she doesn’t respond.
Jamari and the woman watch as he is delicately and expertly pulled from the car. Administration of CPR begins, and the responders attempt to shock him as he’s loaded into the waiting ambulance.
Tears fall from Jamari’s eyes. “But I…my God. I wasn’t ready.”
“We never are.”
He doesn’t notice it right away, but within a few seconds, Jamari senses that he’s being pulled up and away. A deep hum fills his ears and warmth spreads through his body.
He feels something in his chest. A hammer. A thrum.
The woman is holding his hand now. “Jamari,” she says. “Jamari,” she repeats, more sternly.
There’s another blow to his chest. He gasps and sees white for a moment. “Jamari!” The voice of an older man. “We got him back.”
Jamari sees white again, bright lights, before all goes black.
He dreams. Goes to and from places, in and out of worlds. When he wakes, he sees the woman standing before him.
“I’ll return someday,” she says.
He closes his eyes. Opens them. “What?” he barely whispers.
“I asked if there was anything I could get you,” a nurse replies. He’s in a hospital bed. The other woman is gone.
Jamari tilts his head back ever so slightly against the pillow and looks at the ceiling – looks skyward.
“My family.” His lower lip quivers.
“They’re on a plane – already on their way.”
He smiles, nods, and closes his eyes once more.
Thank you so much for reading “Out-of-Body” today.
I often wonder about the interconnectedness of life and death. What happens when we die? is a question that tends to find its way into my mind more often than I’d care to admit. This question is one that will forever intrigue me. Naturally, it creeps its way into the stories I write.
Have you ever had an out-of-body experience, or heard stories about its occurrence? I’d love to hear from you. Also, if you enjoyed the story, please feel free to share it with a fellow reader.
Before I go, I want to thank
over at for creating the beautiful new divider for me. (Don't the trees look amazing?!) If you haven't read any of Meg's work, please do yourself a favor and go read her latest, "Sweet Sixteen". It's phenomenal. Who knows...you may have an out-of-body experience!And here’s “The Tourist” by Radiohead, the song mentioned in my story.
Fifties by the Fire
I’m excited to announce our next prompt for Fifties by the Fire! The thread will go live on Friday, April 14 at 3:00 PM EST.
Prompt: Write a fifty-word story (fiction, poem, or work of CNF) that involves rain. Bring on the downpours and drizzles! Let’s see a deluge of stories.
Have a great week!
Fantastic piece, Justin! My out-of-body-esque experience happened so recently I don't even feel like I can share it yet! I didn't almost die - promise - but woah. I'll write about it at some point, I'm sure.
And thank you for the shout-out! The trees look right at home here. :)
Really hoping to make it to the fire this week. The rain prompt intrigues...
Wow. When my father was on his deathbed, he kept saying his father was standing in the doorway—my father was only 6 when his father was killed in WW2.