Wonderment has the capacity to lead one astray or towards discovery. Of these two options, discovery seems preferable, but it doesn’t always work out in a rewarding way. If you follow the side hallway and go through the unmarked door, you might find there is a janitor’s closet with a large, perpetually moist, ropey mop propped against the wall beside a yellow mop bucket with the typical one inch of brackish water lying undisturbed in the dark stillness. Others may stay focused, exploring the spaces and pathways explicitly designed for public usage.
Why stray? Here’s where you come into the building from the street or, more frequently, from the parking garage. Here’s where you go towards the places of commerce where you are able to purchase things, consume food and drink, be moderately entranced by the subtle turns in the shades of light or the dim throbbing of the music, semi-recognizable hits from long ago. Or, for whatever reason, you might be enticed to wonder what’s down that hallway or what’s in the basement? Where does this door lead to? Especially if you are an employee at this commercial center, earning meager wages and passing the time with easy mindless tasks given by managers who think you’re stupid and want you to stay that way. Theft is always on their minds, or, more specifically, the prevention of such from their underlings.
But, the fear that I may be hiding out in the broom closet taking a nap might not be at the top of their list of worries. Or, the fact that I may be exploring the room behind the store room simply because this room is off limits and not where we are supposed to go. What other reason could there be to explore these staid, boring spaces if not for the fact that we’re not supposed to go there? And also because I’m always looking for a place to hide, to go to sleep, take a nap. Sitting on the floor next to the smelly mop in the dark is just a fine place for me. Some places I have taken naps at work or, as I remember it anyway, are in my janitor’s office at DuPont, on the shuttle bus, in the back of the warehouse at Angerstein’s, on top of the cooler at Sav-a-Cent, and possibly even in the cooler.
These hiding and napping places were important refuges for my youthhood years, emerging from them as if I hadn’t been gone, as if I hadn’t fallen asleep, as if I didn’t feel the need or the right to escape and go off and hide and close my eyes. Hey, I was practicing self-care before it was labeled a concept. I never got caught either. Too stealthy. At school, even. I found the unused classroom that was unlocked, hiding among the stacks of unused desks or climbing over the half-built cinder block wall to access the little hangout spot we had created. Just me and the boys.
THE MOSSY BOG 