The Lightning Express

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O1vs_cMZWo8 The Lightning Express by the Everly Bros.

Two days before my mother died I was on a Greyhound Bus headed south to Tulsa. I had been informed that day that mom had been in a car accident with my Aunt Marian driving, and both were hospitalized, my aunt with broken legs, I believe, and my mom had a broken pelvis. Both were stable, but I still was anxious to get to Tulsa to be with mom.

It was December 8th, 1978, and I had boarded the bus on a typical winter night in Nebraska, leaving Lincoln in a snow storm. The weather halted any flights that were going out of Lincoln or Omaha, so I was left with one alternative if I were to go; Greyhound, which was fine with me since I had never flown and was not anxious to. We didn't trust either of our automobiles to travel that far, so here I was, one bag, dressed warmly, and hoping with all my heart that the snow would ease up the farther south we went so that there would be no problems reaching my destination.

The bus had traveled from Lincoln to Omaha to pick up more passengers, then headed straight south to Nebraska City. One of the biggest deterrents of riding a bus is that it stops so many times to load or unload passengers. Nebraska City is fifty miles south of Omaha, and we had gone no more than ten miles when the bus driver pulled the bus over and told us that he was going to have to turn around and go back to Omaha. The roads were becoming slick and snow packed, and they were not safe.

I was stunned. Surely this great big piece of machinery would have no problem getting through all this snow. I thought it could just plow right through it. All I could think of was that my mother could be dieing in a hospital somewhere and I had to get to her.

I literally jumped up out of my seat and cried to the driver. "Please don't stop! We've got to keep going! This is important! My mom has been in an accident, and I have to get to her!"

The driver said that he was sorry but to remember that I wasn't the only one on that bus. He had all our lives to think of, and he had no choice but to return us to Omaha.

I remember pleading with him once more, but I knew that it was too dangerous to go on, even dangerous to turn and go back. People around me were sympathetic, but I was completely broken. I cried softly for much of the trip back, but I knew there was no question about his decision.

We reached the Greyhound station in downtown Omaha at 2 o'clock in the morning. And the news wasn't any better there. Greyhound had halted all buses indefinitely, and I was to be stuck in this bus station. However, they announced, Continental Trailways buses were still running, and a bus to Lincoln was leaving in one hour. The Continental station was three blocks away.

What I did next I just can't believe to this day. I grabbed my suitcase, lifted the collar on my grey down-filled coat and headed out the door to walk three blocks in a snow storm at 2:30 in the morning in downtown Omaha. I was thirty years old, tall, slim, a virtual sitting duck for any evil that was lurking. And I didn't care. I just wanted to go home.

I had walked a block and a half when I saw a man across the street at the corner. He was watching me, and waiting. It was so quiet that every crunch of the snow under my feet echoed between the tall buildings. There wasn't another soul in sight. My heart began to beat very fast, and I wondered what in the world I was going to do. But I kept walking, and he kept staring. I wonder if he was as surprised as I was at what was happening. I'm sure he seldom saw a woman alone on the street in the middle of the night.

I wasn't quite to the corner when he called across the street to me. "What are you doing out here? Where are you going?" I told him that I was going to the Continental terminal. What I didn't tell him was that I honestly didn't know where it was; if I was to turn left, right, or stay straight. I just kept walking. "Where are you headed?" he asked, and I told him Lincoln. Then my guardian angel stepped in and the man said, "You just keep going straight another block and then turn left. It's right there. And I'll be over here watching. Don't worry. I'll keep you safe."

Well, I didn't know whether to believe him or not, but I had no choice. I followed his directions and in no time was safely inside the bus terminal purchasing a ticket. Minutes later I was sitting warmly on a bus as we safely traveled home.
I had thanked the man. He had said to me, "You're welcome. But I don't think you should do that again. It's not safe out here alone." I knew that, but in my grief I just didn't care.

The next morning I called mom at the hospital to tell her what had happened and that I was so sorry I couldn't get there. She told me it was okay, she knew that I tried, and oh, how she wished she could see my face.

My mom died two days later. The nurses had gotten her out of bed, and she was laughing with them when the aneurysm went to her brain and she was dead instantly.

The Lightning Express is a song I had sung as a young girl, had the 45 of it and played it often. I loved to harmonize with the Everly Brothers with a third part. But that song has been with me, haunted me, the rest of my life. I can never sing it without remembering that night and crying.