This is a long one, but a story that is based on truth and one I feel compelled to tell now that summer is here. I hope you enjoy it.
Empty behemoths, arising in the middle of the woods, hidden from the city below. Today, they are useless, serving only as a quasi-canvas for local Andy Warhol and Picasso-wanna-bes and a refuge for the occasional homeless person.
I hike to them exactly 3 times each year, and each time it is like seeing them anew. I think I’m going to see something different, I guess. Maybe an answer? It hurts.
Fall is my favorite time. My feet crackle and crush the leaves that fill the air with their musty, delicious smell through the woods. The smell and sounds of the leaves are a temporary balm. Short-lived and only until I come back again. I come a lot in the fall.
The beauty of winter is magical, but I need my ice shoes to avoid falling on snow-hidden ice rinks in the path. On a sunny day, everything sparkles. But when the sky is gray, tree skeletons grasp as if desperately trying to reach for something unseen.
Spring brings the shadow of broken promises. The shadow lays heavy and smothers the sweet smells of life coming awake. I still journey to the tanks in springtime, even though the specters warn me that it’s soon to be time.
Summer. I will never go up through the woods to see the tanks in summer. Still, it’s hard to resist the force that surges through me like electric shocks. I resist that pull and suffer the shocks because to give in would have far worse consequences.
It’s been years – 54, to be exact. The tanks were clean then, no graffiti, and there were Keep Out signs mounted on the chain link fence that surrounded them. Still, we climbed the fences. I never did what the others did. They called me the proverbial scaredy cat.
Back then, these veritable giants held the overflow from the reservoir that supplied our small city with water. But unlike the reservoir which was a hotspot for walkers and runners, the tanks were hidden away in the woods.
Rewind: Eighth grade. Invincible. Catholic school kids. By that time, we had evolved from playtime to cool kid time and had organized ourselves into groups. There were the cool kids, the smart kids, and the down-and-outers. I was one of the smart ones who was always on the periphery of the cool kids while avoiding some of the over-the-edge things they did. Like the tanks. Scaredy-cat.
By virtue of our educational institution, we were tightly wound and mostly separate from non-Catholic school kids.
The cool kids felt compelled to demonstrate their coolness in many, sometimes downright foolish, ways. And the episode that occurred on that hot, sultry summer night was beyond foolish, it was insane.
~~~~~
“I’m sweating up a storm,’ said Joe. His long hair (now that it was summer he was allowed to grow his hair that would otherwise be cut off by the nuns) caused him to sweat excessively. “I need to go swimming. Where can we go swimming?”
Silly questions because he knew exactly where “we” would go swimming.
“Are you all game?”
Paul, Mike, and Mary were all in with their enthusiasm, while Grace, Victoria and I just looked at each other and shrugged. Whatever the price, we did not want to lose our standing as cool.
It was one of those steamy nights where a thick blanket of humidity hung in the air. The night begged for us to cool our bodies in whatever way we could. Joe led the way, bringing us to the path that opened into the woods where the great monster monoliths lived. He brought a flashlight, but even with, it was hard for those of us back in the line to see. Victoria and I kept tripping over tree roots and rocks, whether because we really couldn’t see, or because we were now very afraid, or a combination of both.
They arise out of nowhere, looming on a wooded hill, great beasts, tempting anyone to try and conquer them.
“What do you say we go home and cool off under the sprinkler,” I said. “Or sneak into the Mahoney’s pool.”
Paul sighed.
“You’ve got to be kidding about the sprinkler and we could get arrested sneaking into the Mahoney’s pool.”
“What do you think could happen to us here?” said Grace.
“It’s not like there’s any neighbors who are up all night,” said Mike.
“Look, if you don’t want to go in, then just stay here and be a lookout,” said Paul. His tone was demeaning, but no matter, I was not going to climb up one of those things and swim in it.
“Here’s the plan,” he continued. “I’ll climb up first and when I’m sure we can get in and out okay, I’ll just holler down ‘okay.’ So, who’s going to go in.
Mike and Mary were quick to nod, while of the three of us remaining, Victoria raised her hand. She did not look thrilled, but coolness beckoned.
It was a long climb up to the top and Paul looked like a miniature human from where we stood. He disappeared for a moment, and then his head popped up. “Okay!”
Mike made the long climb next, followed by Mary. Neither of them was visible after they reached the top, but we could hear some faint splashing and laughing.
Grace and I looked at Victoria who was looking down and kicking at something on the ground with her foot. We stood silent. She finally looked up.
“Do you really want to do this,” I asked.
“It’s something I have to do.”
“Why? We’re not doing it,” said Grace.
“I just do, okay?”
Something was wrong. Victoria’s usual smiley face was like stone, and her tone was abrupt.
She turned away from us, flung her sandals away, and began the seemingly endless ascent to the lip of the tank.
Then she was gone.
Today the tanks are empty, and one tank has a door carved into its steel container so you can look in and see where it happened. It’s now an empty weed and garbage-filled lot surrounded by wall-encrusted graffiti.
Photo by David Underland: https://www.pexels.com/photo/rusty-water-tank-in-low-angle-photography-12290161/
madmuser 