cafeteria apples at the butt crack of dawn
2003-02-06 - 11:09 p.m.

When the snow melts, even a little, the basement of our school floods, even just a little, even just enough to keep the rush of kids out of the corridor that runs between the music room and the science wing, every year before it was boarded up, when the basement flooded at the butt crack of spring.

Before it was boarded up, I didn't care that my feet got a little wet...you could hear a word spoken on the other side of the tunnel clear as a bell. It was deliciously frightening and the chalk drawings jut out of the sharp stone walls, green and grey safety hazards.

You used to take me there, or maybe it was the other way around. nobody knew what went on in that tunnel because the doorknob was difficult to turn...unless you really wanted the high-ceiling solitude, nobody knew what went on in that tunnel except it's occupants, the door jams quite nice with the weight of two against it.

ignoring the growling of the boiler room behind the white door wedged in between the rocks, the emergency exit with flecks of light and bursts of cool sreaming through against the obstructions of it's passage, the two tunnel rats, the end of winter, the flood.

but I never knew how high the water got at the butt crack of spring when the maintainance people shook their heads and walked away in defeat, and I imagined a picnic on the beach with a feast of cafeteria apples...it was the best I could do, you see, you had to really want it.

Or maybe the boards were there for a reason.

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