It’s strange, really. You hear about and know what sex is when you’re a virgin, but when you actually do it, it gives a whole new meaning to the word. Here’s another one that falls into the same category: claustrophobia. An extreme or irrational fear of confined places. We all know the definition, but until you’re trapped in the darkness with no place to go and no way of escape, you haven’t lived.
Here I’m trapped in this cramped, dark place with only a small torch to comfort me. Although it doesn’t help if it is in the hands of a genius; a genius who has officially lost her marbles.
“How can you not be trapped in here, and I am?” I asked curiously.
She gave no reply. “It doesn’t matter,” she later said.
“Of course, it does. If you have the key, then maybe we can escape.”
Again she gave no answer. It’s just obvious that this approach isn’t going to get me anywhere. If she isn’t going to help me out, it looks like I’m gonna have to get us out of here myself.
Banging profusely on the ceiling (which is, in fact, the door) screaming “HELP! HELP!” doesn’t work. Even with both of us together banging our fists on the door/ceiling (I’m just going to call it the door because you’ve probably worked out by now what the space looks like) and shouting at the top of our lungs didn’t do any good. We both knew after 20 minutes that it wouldn’t work, but we still kept at it in the hope that someone would hear cries of desperation.
But they didn’t. Both of us out of breath and hands as sore as decapitation, we gave up, panting, horse throated, tired and sweaty. We didn’t stand a chance. If that had been our only chance to escape, then we blew it.
“Well, that didn’t work,” I said in a desperate attempt to make conversation.
“Well put, Captain Obvious,” she answered back.
“Your welcome, Commander Sarcasm.”
“As if my thanks was not sincere enough. And by the way, Commander is above Captain.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not. Naval captain is a lot higher than a naval commander.”
“Oh, please. How would you know?”
“Duh! Everybody knows that. Captain is higher than commander.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m serious. This is how it works, ok: the captain is in charge of the ship, like the whole fucking ship, right? And the commander works underneath him to give out his orders to the crew,...”
“No, it sounds more like the commander tells the captain what to do, and he does is.”
“No, that’s not how it works,...” at the same time thinking, I’m starting to regret this already.
“No, just hear me through for a minute.” Her cue meaning ‘Things are gonna get technical’. “‘Cause when people think of ‘captain’, they think of this old whiskery sea-dog on a small run down boat who hasn’t showered for 6 months, who smells of salt and urine, and talks with an Irish accent so think, you could pretty much cut it in half with a knife. But when people think of ‘commander’, they immediately think of this... you know, Arnold Swartzenegger type of guy in full military uniform looking off into the sky in a dutch tilt kind of angle with navy jet fighters flying across the sky in the background and,...”
“When people think ‘commander’, they think of this poor little dwarf running around a camp in military uniform constantly being followed around by a bunch of taller guys with a fucking stepladder. Nowadays, ‘captain’ is the highest rank. I mean, any higher than that and you would be God, for fuck sake.”
“Yeah, but you say ‘captain’ and ‘commander’ together in the same sentence, the average person is not gonna know exactly what you mean. Not everybody knows or gives a shit about the proper ranking. No one cares about procedure or legality anymore. They hear ‘commander’ and they think, ‘Oo, he sounds in charge.’”
“You know what?” I finally said when I’d had enough. “Fuck it, let’s just call it a draw. If captain’s higher up, then I’m more in power than you are, and if commander is higher, then you’re a bigger asshole than I am. Problem solved.”
You cannot imagine the amount of hatred Lucy Brown was harbouring in her glare at me at this point. You’d never have seen anyone concentrate so much with a glare before.
“Oh, what? You’re waiting for my head to explode?” I joked. Yeah, like I’m the one to take things seriously.
Very unusual, that is. I’m stuck in here in this cold, cramped place, I don’t know where I am, nobody else knows that I’m here, except for a smart girl who’s now lost her bonkers, I’m hot, I’m sweaty... and I know I’ve said it’s cold in here, but 20 minutes without a breath of fresh air... OK, it was more of a cold sweat. It’s not like it’s the Sahara in here, but it isn’t the Antarctic neither. It’s just stuffy.
Going back to my original point, and my little tangent there further reinforces my point that I am trying to make (if I ever get to it). Joking around, not taking shit seriously. And I’m locked in this place. This space that I could die in and nobody would know that I was even in here, or even care. It’s a strange world we live in. I’m not usually the optimistic one, but, you know. I’m sure this is something that everyone can relate to.
I must be delusional because this would have to be the happiest time of my life. I could possibly die in here, and I don’t care. In fact, I don’t remember the last time I felt so care free. Not since algeic anyway. But those days are long gone. I know the happiness is only going to last for a short while. As soon as I am out of here, I will never feel the happiness I have just felt in this past short moment. Sure, I don’t like being here and I just want more than fucking anything to get the fuck out of here. But once I do, my life will become nothing again; nothing but a giant pile of sadness, loneliness, and despair. It’s just these little moments that I treasure. Little moments, such as the strange optimism I feel within this small space, are what I’ll miss the most. It’s just like algeic all over again - one night we were young, care free and infatuated, the next day we were young, careful and hurt. Little moments. Nothing but little.
Just then, I thought I heard someone say something. I don’t exactly know what they were saying or who it was. But it was just a bunch of people’s voices talking at once. It wasn’t Lucy Brown, I know what much. But one word stood out to me. I had never heard that word before.
“What’s a defribrilator?” I asked Lucy Brown.
She just looked at me. “A what?”
“A defribulator.”
“Where are you going with this? And it’s defibrillator. Not defribulator.”
“I just thought I heard someone say it, that’s all.”
“When?”
“Just now.”
Lucy Brown just looked at me. But it wasn’t a look of disbelief - it was a look of worry. “Whatever happens,” she said, “go with it.”
Why was Lucy Brown starting to get all mystical on me? I knew she had lost her marbles in here, but now she was starting to scare the shit out of me.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” I asked for a clarification.
But I got none. The only answer I got in return were the strange voices again, all the time coming in and out. But there was one word I heard loud and clear; one word I perfectly understood, and one word that stood the back of my hairs on end in a cold shiver... “Clear!”
[to be continued]
