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The Abyss Above |
| Written by Will French | |
| Tuesday, 08 April 2008 | |
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Share it:      Eight boys, all of whom were between the ages of seventeen and nineteen and of insatiable curiosity, had gathered around this enigma that was the nearly two-century-old attic and now strained their eyes into the black obscurity, into the past. Some feared that the first to ascend the stairwell might never return. Others were simply terrified of bats. And so they fought over who would be the man to step into yesterday. Out came rocks and paper and scissors, even a gun that was quickly disqualified. Ultimately, Will, a new senior from an unfamiliar corner of the country, lost the battle. He would have to go first. Opening the door, he listened for any signs of life. Nothing. He lit the candle that was bestowed upon him as ambassador to the ambiguity and stepped forward. The damp oak was soft and groaned under his feet. Halfway up the stairs, Will found what he was looking for. He flicked on the light switch and waited. Five seconds later, a single hanging bulb flickered and momentarily died before finally resuscitating, bringing to life this previously enigmatic enigma, now a vibrant treasure cove of antiquity. Will was knocked down by a sudden stampede that materialized behind him as the rest of the young men rushed to explore their new antediluvian retreat. The room was a pentagonal prism; naturally, its shape was dictated by the slanting roof from which untamed nails held the shingles in place, threatening to puncture the skull of anyone who was dumb enough to stand upright. For better or worse, they were not the first to discover this old attic. The names of several seniors before them were engraved in the wood or simply written in every conceivable color of chalk. John Everett ’62. G.R.D. ’86. Tommy S. The pink insulation provided the room’s inherent scent – this, and old, rotting wood combined for a musty fragrance of prehistory. The boys were on a leash, able to venture only as far as the makeshift floor made of plywood planks would let them. But on this island, they had all they needed – a basket of colored granite to make their own history, also a bag on unopened letters, and a set of wooden golf clubs circa 1900. Even a life-size pastel mural sat mounted in a corner. Most importantly, however, was the four by four foot hatch eight feet above the ground, an opening that led directly to the roof. Luckily, Andrew’s father insisted that he keep a fire ladder at school and remembering this, the boys were able to clamber up the chute one at a time. Once on the roof, they lay there, reveling in the true boarding school moment their adventurous debauchery had garnered for them. And as they lie on their backs that night, looking out at the lights of Akron, they realized just how much they loved one another, how blessed they were to share their lives with each other. They drank in the moment, basking in the mutual affection they had just confessed, thrilled to be alive and together, until Ginger let go a pocket of ghastly flatulence, forcing the entire group back indoors. Copyright 2008 Will French |
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