(with thanks to Claudio and Salesi)

You will be reborn. Literally.

In line, about to board a plane, you will die in an airport.

You will feel very dizzy and then feel nothing as you pitch forward into oblivion.

Your sweetheart will sink to her knees next to you, beg you to come back.

Two strangers will materialize, also kneel at your side.

One will whisper to your sweetheart, “I’m a nurse.”

The nurse will touch your neck, feel for a pulse, roll you on your back.

The other stranger, an off-duty firefighter, will start compressing your chest, 110 beats per minute—stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.

Someone will call 911. Someone will run for the machine.

Someone will cut open your T-shirt that says Life is Good across it and slash your favorite photo vest off you.

The one who has run will return, a bit winded, with the machine, will open its red case, listen as it starts talking.

Someone will attach two large pads to your chest moored to the machine by white wires.

The machine will say, “Stay away from the patient.”

The machine will say, “Deliver shock.”

Someone will push the button.

The machine will deliver a massive shock into your chest.

You will not convulse like they do on TV.

Your eyes will open almost immediately.

The machine will say, “Regular sinus rhythm detected,” and will not shock you again.

You will wonder why you are looking into the eyes of people you don’t know.

You will blink at the world you’ve returned to, as surprised as your saviors who know that such resurrections are rare.

Lying on the floor, you will begin to form a new definition of gratitude as the two who saved your life pat you on the shoulder, then run down the jetway, preparing for takeoff as you’ve just come in for a landing.