Once we had the map, the whole system was ours. We went down, down down the escalators—so many. The descending stairs wobbled and jerked around a bit as their machinery whisked us ever further below the crowded surface of briefcases, boom-boxes, poodles and wheel-y bags. We flew by humans and body odor and the push-pull-grunt-groan carry devices. The pressure reminded our ears that no, this gopher hole was not our own. Once we were in it though, we would hurtle across a strange and distant world much like the one we’d just abandoned.
After a noisy ride we crossed the clattering tracks, scurried across a platform, and pushed onto a second car—this more modern than the first. This one fairly glided into a sleek urban oasis that had collected a spiderweb of train lines, filling each passenger with a croissant and spitting her into a new world of the up-above. Sun spat in my mole-eyes.
Don’t the others even notice or care that we just came from the earth’s core, pick and chisel of modern long-ago, secret connections stained with creosote. Why don’t they slow down a bit to take in the miracle of our reappearance, or at least to allow us to merge onto the crowded streets while our eyes adjust, while our ears replace the screeching of the train with the horns and engines of surface traffic.
But they don’t seem to notice or care. With only the slightest hesitation, we are swept up in the lockstep, self-important, busy, dirty, sweaty life above. It’s a block and a half before I dare to give voice to my sneaking suspicion: ”We’re headed in the wrong direction.”
We pull to the buildings’ side, a careful parking ballet—even on foot—to peek again at that much sought-after map. No help for the surface world. Oh well.
Slowed down to the pace of my understanding and smaller-city sort of digestion, I could see there were islands of moments, spaces, commerce and friendliness in that unrelenting march forward. These islands might permit a question. They might yield an answer, and we might correct course, relax a bit, even smile—foreign as that may seem. Once we had that map, we knew how to ask. We were lost with purpose.