Catherina - Day 22

We were driving away from my school after my graduation ceremony. Which year was that? I could not remember, but I did know that was the time I finished elementary school. Comfortably crawling in the left corner of the back seats, I flipped through the certificates and awards I had received, all of which I had just poured out from my backpack. On the front seats, my parents chatted about some work-related stuff that my present knowledge did not allow for full comprehension. Therefore, I devoted all my attention to that scatter of paper beside me.

After several ordinary certificates, the ones with everything printed in cursive that made me giddy of trying to identify each letter, I came to a plain white envelope with my name written in dark red ink. The envelope was half the size of the certificates, and by touching, I suspected it contained a card. Flipping the envelope over, I opened it with an ungracefully toothed edge.

As expected, a card fell out, the cover of which slightly sticky as if newly made. The inside of the card had no more than three lines, and it followed such a grade one English writing formula that I would doubt if one of my alumni had made it. It wrote as thus:

Dear [my name],

It is our honor to have you.

Best wishes.

No signature and no date. I mean, what kind of card is this? I anticipated a congratulation card from my homeroom teacher or a goodbye note from my peer who would be moving to another city. Also, “have” I for what? I doubt if the writer had finished kindergarten – even the dumbest kids in grade one would clarify the subject. Technically, I shan’t speak so harshly against this card, or invitation, for the writer did convey the intention – “to have” me. Perhaps the writer made a mistake. Since all writings were printed, which implied that this invitation could be mass-produced, maybe he/she did follow a formula that had a greeting and the end, except that he/she then forgot to elaborate on the main body. Perhaps it was just a stupid mistake, showing that the inviter did not mind my presence. After all, I decided to cast this card aside and went on with other things I received during the graduation ceremony.

Our car roamed on the road, and it was so fast and smooth that I, for a split second, had the delusion of being on a sports car, or in the Fast and Fury kind of movie. The effect did not last long, and it vanished right when I sat up to affirm that I was still in my parents’ car. Indeed, I was. We were driving on the road extending across a grass field, and on either side were thriving thick patches of reed-like plants. Then, signaling left, my father turned the wheel to stop by the roadside. I was surprised and saw that my mother had no response – she appeared to be taking a nap, her chin pointing up, and her mouth was slightly open. Since I sat behind the driver’s seat, I could not see my father’s face, but from the reflection in the front shield, I could tell that he was sitting still with his head turned to one side.

Days and months after, when I recalled that scene, I would probably think it creepy. At that moment, however, I found everything natural and logical, as if a rule had stated that our car had to park at that spot, and I would loosen the belt, open the door, and jump off the vehicle. Another part that I later found unexplainable was that I came off the car facing the grass field, meaning that we parked on the left side. We were not driving in the UK, and thus our lane was to the right of the central line. Therefore, if my father (or someone resembled him in appearance) was to park the car on the left side of the road, he had to cut through the incoming traffic. Judging from the noise I had heard, the road was busy. However, no one beeped at us or anything, which was queer.

Anyway, I came out of the car and looked into that vast stretch of reeds taller than me. That feeling of being short and overwhelmed was not pleasant, so I looked down onto the ground. Upon the pebbles lay an envelope in the exact style as the one had opened minutes ago. The two envelops so looked the same that I glanced back to check if I had accidentally dropped the opened one. Yet, the one on the ground remained sealed. It had my name on it and was glaringly white, and under normal circumstances, I would be amazed by its incredible ability to stay so stainless by a dusty street. Carefully I picked it up and sat back into the car. Then, we mingled into the traffic again.

This second envelope, which mysteriously awaited me at the roadside (and I held the postman responsible for such a mistake), contained not a card but a letter. I read it through and figured out that it complimented the invitation card that I had previously received. The letter listed a few reminders for me as an expected guest. Now, I could only remember a gist of it, about going to someplace with a group of people at a specified time. I guess I had not provided any helpful information, because even the letter itself had not clarified. Instead of stating the location explicitly, it conveyed a sense that I ought to know this place. An analogy would be a wizard (the letter) expecting a muggle (me) to understand the phrase “you-know-who.” Logically, this letter messed up my brain; instinctively, however, I had a vague idea of the where, when, and who.

A blink of eyes later, I found myself walking in an underground parking lot, and in the distance was an escalator through the ceiling. The interior was metallic, walls reflecting glaring light from the overhead bulbs. I had never seen an underground lot so brightly lit, and thus I gave the designer of this space a 10 out of 10. Another three or four people surrounded me, and without speaking, I knew that they were the other guests, similarly invited to this event. For some reason, I could not see their faces and only had the sensation that they were beside me. Indeed, they were shadows to me.

Suddenly, the shadows, or the other guests, made an unsettling noise as if they had gasped in unison. I turned and saw a very tall human figure coming towards us. The figure - or mysterious being/monster/apparition - was slim and long, resembling an over-stretched person photoshopped for making memes. On one of its hands, the figure had a circular, disk-like thing that alerted me – it must be hefty and sharp at its edge.

I made a run for the escalator at the end of the walkway and following me was another girl – one of the shadows. When we finally stepped on the escalator, I was already out of breath. Looking back, I found the figure still far from us, as he got entangled with the other guests with blurred faces. That had conveyed to me a comfortable sense of safety, for we were already close to the ceiling and could expect the exit to the upper floor.

The next moment, I ducked – not knowing why, because my body moved automatically. Then, a silvery shield flew over my head and made a U-turn downwards. I dared to turn to see where that metal disk had landed, and unsurprisingly it was in the figure’s hand. He had just thrown the shield like Captain America! And – it would probably cut my upper half somewhere if I had not ducked. Keeping my back bent, I started to climb up the escalator on all fours. Quite ridiculously, I suspect – like a duck trying to walk up the stairs. Until we made it to the upper floor, the shield had come another two times.

We came to an open-air platform, a roof exposed under midsummer sunshine. People scattered across this place in little groups, and in one corner stood a few umbrellas, which I took to be of a rooftop café. Calm, murmuring, and liveliness with an afternoon Martini. Despite the surficial peace, I sense the tumult coming from underneath – literally - because my instinct warned me of that figure arriving by the same escalator we had taken. Panicked, I dragged the girl (remember? Another guest) with me into a lift - a lift on a roof; a lift that could go up two floors.

Pounding against the “close” button, we urged the life to shut its gate. It did, just when the figure stepped onto the rooftop and sensed our presence behind a thick, metal gate.

A laminated poster with several lines of words caught our attention in the elevator – it showed a mathematical problem. We glanced at the screen, and a “2” popped up, meaning that we had ascended by one level. The “3” was maximum, and we would be returning to the ground floor – the rooftop – in no time. Even though none had been explicitly stated, I knew that we need to solve the problem.

The first three lines we skimmed through – the problem was neither hard nor challenging, and we derived an answer just when the number “2” showed up on the screen again. We had one line left, and it was a simple arithmetic calculation. Something times twenty-four and minus something and then divided by another. My brain had overheated, operating over the limit with this numerical problem. Was it 72, 73, or 74? Wait, I need to go over it once again. 73 or 74? 73? 74? One the screen, the “2” faded – it was replaced by a “1”.

photo credit: https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/rosslyn-metro-escalator