Miles To Go Before I Sleep Read Online Free PDF

Walkman. “Born in the USA” was blaring in my earphones as we lifted off the ground and steadily ascended to cruising altitude.
    As the “Fasten Seatbelt” signs went off, I lowered my seat back to a comfortable position and took off my headphones. Since I love making new friends, I offered some caramels to an older Egyptian man sitting next to me. We chatted a while. He was curious about why I’d come to live and work in Cairo. I told him about my love for children and travel and asked about his family. Egyptians are very family oriented and love talking about their children and spouses. My new friend was delighted when I asked to see pictures of his wife and two handsome young sons.
    After talking a while and listening to more music, I caught the smell of deli sandwiches drifting my way. The flight attendants were moving up and down the aisle, passing out dinner trays. I hadn’t eaten much before we left, so I was looking forward to the in-flight meal. As the flight attendant edged toward my seat, I heard some commotion behind me.
    When I turned around, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
    The curly-haired man who had been sitting across the aisle from me was now standing in the aisle with a gun in one hand and two grenades in the other. He was tugging at the safety pin of one of the grenades with his teeth, but couldn’t remove it.
    The two pretty women who were sitting next to him looked terrified. The one who was sitting in the middle seat, right next to the hijacker, had a look of terror and hysteria on her face. She leaned toward her friend, trying to get away from the curly-haired man.

    This can’t be! This can’t be happening. Why isn’t somebody doing something? Why are we all just sitting around? We have to do something!
    I was seized with fear and panic. It was the worst feeling of my life.
    I turned around again to confirm the terrible scene, desperately hoping I’d imagined it. But it was no mirage. The curly-haired man was still there, grimacing with fear and anger. The nightmare was real. We were being hijacked.
    People panicked and started getting up out of their seats and reaching into the overhead bins to check their money or carry-on bags.
    â€œSit down and shut up! Get back in your seats!” the hijacker screamed at a group of Filipinos sitting in the back.
    We froze from the horror of it all.
    â€œAre we going to be okay?” I asked my Egyptian seatmate, desperate for reassurance. His head was bowed in prayer, and he said nothing.
    Time seemed to stand still. It was as if I had entered a completely different type of reality—my worst nightmare was being played out right in front of my eyes.
    â€œDon’t move!” the curly-haired hijacker shouted in Arabic and English.
    To protect myself, I instinctively leaned forward and covered my face with my hands and silently whispered, “Oh, my God!” This is it , I thought, I’m going to die. My whole life was suddenly and unexpectedly about to end.
    In quick succession, two sharp blows landed on my head. Slowly, I lifted my head. The curly-haired man was standing over me, digging the cold, hard steel of his six-shooter revolver into my skull.
    â€œAre you scared, lady?” he asked in a mocking tone.
    I held my breath, trying to control my quavering voice and shaking hands.
    â€œNo, I’m not,” I gulped.
    On that cue, my Egyptian friend snapped out of prayer and began shouting at the hijacker in Arabic. The hijacker yelled back in Arabic. I didn’t understand what they were saying, but knew the old Egyptian was trying to protect me.
    With the gun still at my temple, I put my hand on the Egyptian’s knee. “It will be okay. Don’t do this,” I said.
    In my mind, I saw the hijacker saying, “Look buddy, don’t argue with me”—then Bang! The curly-haired hijacker left my side when the old Egyptian stopped arguing and returned to prayer.
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