I would die here.
I curl up on the cold cement floor, suddenly obsessed with choosing just the right pose. My father would open this door, somehow. He’d find me. It would be too late, but he would find me.
(Source)
I should freeze to death in a position that will give him peace.
The sukhasana, then. Easy choice.
I adjust myself into the meditative pose and put a grin on my face, only to reconsider a moment later. Maybe the grin is too much.
I want him to perceive peace, not hysteria.
A Mona Lisa smile, then. Perfect.
It’s too cold for my thoughts to make sense. I’m past the point of shivering. I should leave a note, to explain this holy mess, but it doesn’t matter.
My dad will find me.
* * *
I shouldn’t open the door, but I do. The building is ours now, so I’m not trespassing, but you never know what you’ll find in an old place. Last year, I fell through a building because I walked down the stairs before they were checked. The year before, I found a rabid possum family.
I shouldn’t go exploring on my own, but I do. My family is around somewhere, and I can’t possibly find something worse than the staircase incident or possum attack.
Besides, I can’t not explore this room. It looks like a giant storage unit, except it’s in the middle of a tiled room.
I step inside and it’s a little colder than normal, but that’s probably because there’s no real furniture in here– just crates. There’s a dial on the corner, like something out a 1950′s monster movie.
I give it a spin and push all the buttons.
I am gleeful when they light up, even clapping my hands– the sound booming through the near empty storage unit. I walk towards the back to explore.
I think it’s getting colder, but that might be my imagination. I never did like the cold.
* * *
“Stop saying everything is bourgeois.” I gripe at my sister in the back of the car as I adjust the dials in the car. I love little buttons, and can’t stand the cold. Raising the heat in a vehicle is one my secret delights.
“What other word applies to our parents buying old buildings for fun?” She snips back. “Anyways, you stop messing with the dials and put your seatbelt back on. You’re gonna die.”
Mom patiently interrupts with a question, “We’re almost there, girls. Do you want to stay in the car?”
“No.” We reply in unison. It’s the first time we’ve agreed all day.
* * *
It is getting colder in here.
I walk back over to the door, but it doesn’t budge. Still calm, I brush the dust off the dials I had played with only seconds before. I peer at the words.
Storage Control for Locking Walk-In Cooler Units.
I look around with a new perception. I hit the dials again, but nothing happens. No lights, no sounds.
The panic sets in.
I shout for my sister. I hit the door.
I scream at the top of my lungs, but the sound only reverberates off the cement walls.
It’s too cold now and my brain starts talking to me.
I’m going to die here, it says. In a building my parents bought for fun. How bourgeois.
* * *
Time passes. Moments click away. There is no sound in the room, and no feeling in my arms.
Then I hear it.
The door opens.
Dad barrels in the room, and lifts me out.
As my body warms, my brain wakes up and stretches. I can hear everyone talking.
Why didn’t she jump around? Why didn’t she use something from the crates to hit the door? Why didn’t she try the dials? Why did she hit the dials in the first place? She was only in there a handful of minutes, why was she sitting like that?
And even though my father would ask me those first questions a million times, he knew the answer to the last.
She was sitting like that because she knew I’d find her.
I make a croaking sound and everyone leans close to hear me. I try to explain before sleep claims me.
Yes.
I knew he’d find me.
_____________________________________________
The Weekly Writing Challenge over at the Daily Post is to tell a story out of order! http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/09/09/writing-challenge-backward/
In real life, this is actually a funny story– a “typical Rara” story– since my anxiety and panic made me give up much before any reasonable person would have. I was also responsible for meandering where I shouldn’t have, pushing buttons that didn’t need pushing, and being so focused on small things that I missed the obvious (like the emergency exit button). Plus, I was fine, in the end. The cold, made worse by my positioning on the floor, exhausted me, but I was fine. I woke up completely refreshed after a nap, but I wasn’t allowed to go with my parents to survey potential buildings anymore– which, quite frankly, was absolutely fine with me.
I always did prefer to stay at home, re-read my Shakespeare, and use the internet to talk to strangers. (How bourgeois.)
Do you have any near death experiences that weren’t actually near death at all? Do you prefer linear stories to wonky ones?