We left together, halfway through the work day. We didn’t have too much in common yet and when we spoke we could not be sure that we were being understood completely by one another – we were not used to the way each other chose our words and what we meant by them. But we shared a desire to get away, to bounce out and land somewhere softer.
I had an idea of what we should do and you said you knew a place that sounded exactly like the kind of place I had described. In this way we each contributed one half and those two halves fit together just-so. Most of this understanding we had forged in body-language and eye-meets.
So here we were, getting away.
It was something I had seen, perhaps, in an old film. The idea was that there would always be somewhere you could go, if you really had need of it. A sanctuary. The living would be cold and hard, it was understood. There would be silence. But it would be safe. We would be away.
Getting away, we drove through the countryside, towards the place. You did not give it a name, but you had directions. We followed your directions until we got there, to the place, which was in the place we found it. This all happened very calmly. We parked up and made our way across the field.
This must be the place, I said. You agreed.
As we got closer, we started to hear the hum of the generator. We saw the bright colours.
We sat on the edge and took off our shoes and then climbed on and tried to keep our balance as we entered the place. In a staggering half-walk, half-bounce we proceeded, trying to keep our balance and not to fall into the creases.
Digestive Press 