misnomer

Abandon hope all ye who enter here

After this trip, he would have gone through the tunnels six and a half times. He told us that we might have to go “ninja.” He was right. We ran from wall to wall, trying to avoid the murky water passing through the middle of the tunnel. But we didn’t do this at first.

Imagine around twenty or so college kids strolling across campus around midnight. Finals are coming up and we should be tucked away in some book, but we just had a banquet and realized that, even though some of us didn’t talk to each other much, we’ve been living together for nine months. That has to count for something.

So the tunnel veteran leads us across campus and we break up into groups to cross the street. Now in the tunnel, we turn on our flashlights or flashlight apps on our smartphones. We take in the sights and smells: bright graffiti overlapping on the walls and a deep, dank smell someone described as “[his] grandma’s ass.” We enter single file, walking on either side of the small stream of water. But then the stream gets wider and it becomes nearly impossible to walk on one side of the tunnel.

At this point, I’m cracking up near the back of the line. I shine my flashlight forward and see a line of kids waddling across the tunnel walls with their legs pried apart from the widening stream. Soon, after some people decide to turn back, those that are left get in the habit of running from wall to wall. It is strenuous, sweaty, and requires athleticism.

It is awesome.

It is ninja.

But the more awkward and less awesome method appears every now and then when we get too tired or when we decide not to take ourselves too seriously.

Light bounces around the tunnel, jumping from “Abandon hope all ye who enter here” to “I came here for nothing, shit.” For some pieces graffiti, an incandescent light bulb or LED would be the only light it ever sees. We interact with these previous adventures; if anything can make us feel closer to the university’s past, it is going through these tunnels.

Eventually, we reach a fork in the tunnel. This half way point makes us crouch and squat as the ceiling closes in. Then we turn back. Before exiting where we entered, we stop and turn off our lights. If you close your eyes, that is exactly what we are seeing. A blanket of dark that we savor for a second before being unraveled once more by light’s quickness.

We emerge and climb up to the street, happy to breathe fresh air once more.

Tina Ore?

I met a lady last quarter who said she was a former student of my university. She told me all these things about the campus and herself.

“When they filmed Planet of the Apes here, they were looking for extras. I didn’t get chosen because my face didn’t look enough like an ape. I wanted to meet Charlton Heston so bad.”

“The bookstore used to be across the street. It was small. Teeny tiny. The student center used to be right there. It was also the study center too. I’m glad I came to visit for one last time.”

She was overweight and had stomach cancer. Though I’m hesitant to believe everything she told me, she was the friendliest, most uninhibited person I’ve ever met.

I wish this intimacy of one on one interaction happened more often.