Trapped. Trapped. So we sat down on a bench and I began to cry. Embarrassed, my mom said, "Let's go downstairs." She led me down a flight, into the waiting arms of another deserted platform. There we remained. She tried to coax me out of my shell for a story, but I refused. Finally, after half an hour, a man ran past us, the first soul we seen that whole time. "Where are you going?" asked my mom, incredulously.
"They're going to open an exit!" he cried. We jumped out of our seats and tailed him. He jogged all the way to the end of the platform, where there was, indeed, an open door. No one else had heard. We were, again, alone, but quite literally a light at the end of the tunnel was shining right in front of our faces. We burst upwards and outwards into the waiting crowd, and found ourselves on a corner, mere yards from room to stretch. "Excuse me," the man began, but a police officer cut him off, somehow stepping in front of him. The onlookers melted into the space he had left.
"You can't go out here!" yelled the officer over the din. The flap of skin under his chin stuck out and wobbled like gelatin. "There's a fence. You can go out on the next block." With his flabby hand he pointed right. His fingers indicated a selection of sidewalk so laden with parade-goers that it threatened to sink away. There was not room to unbutton a coat, unless the wind whipped it open for you. It was quiet possible, the three of us realized, that we could be stuck here until late afternoon when the crowds disbanded. Still, I've heard people quote that "idle hands are the devil's playthings" often; probably from some religious text I've never read. We decided, nonverbally, almost telepathically, that it would be better to try to wiggle our way out.
After about fifteen minutes, we had managed to edge ten feet. By this point, several people with a similar predicament were following us, hoping for a way out. A few more yards, and we were halfway down the block, with no escape plan. The block of people in front of us were as uncracked as ice cubes, fresh out of the machine. Like ice, of course, they still had the potential of breaking open, but - silly us - we had forgotten to bring a pickax. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a woman and her boyfriend descending into a trench. Let me explain: In the city, light is everything, so many buildings have trenches next to them so that the basement apartments can get some sun. It was worth a shot, so I hoisted my leg over the side and the couple helped to lower me down. My mom was right behind.
No one else had yet discovered the trench, so there was blessed air all around. Slowly but surely, our followers leaped down from street level and joined us. The trench dropped off suddenly, like a cliff, but after the ledge, it wrapped around the corner. There was the potential of an escape, if there was a ladder or something similar on the other end. "I'll go," the boyfriend announced bravely, his dreadlocks blowing in the gale. He jumped from the ledge and landed catlike. "Let me poke around." He scurried off and was gone for several minutes. When he returned, he sadly shook his head. Carefully, the blonde girlfriend held his arms and helped him up. Before long, the followers began to climb out, convinced that there must be some way out, but we and the couple stayed. Down below, there was oxygen, there was space, and there was a clear view of Dora's hair and Energizer Bunny's ears. We knew, though, that when the couple made to leave, we needed to get out of there. There was no way my mom could get out by herself, and I couldn't help much. With heavy hearts, we once again entered the death throng.
To be continued tomorrow...
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