Was full of boxwork, cave popcorn, and rock that looked like marshmallow. I snapped photos to feign enthusiasm, but let’s be clear: I thought only of this low ceiling, that narrow passage, and The End; memorized the outline of the ranger’s hat with its deep depressions and sturdy, stiff brim; thought, if the hat could make it through such a tight squeeze, so could I.
Then, I followed her into a room called the Great Hall or the Cathedral or who knows anymore, because this is where she turned out the lights. Where she let us stand in the void for two minutes too long, while she spoke of early explorers lost in the dark.
She lit a candle lantern.
Blew it out.
What a tease.
So let’s call this the “Ha Ha Not Funny” room, or the “You Were Nice Until You Flipped That Switch” cathedral, and the last time I blindly follow anyone in a crisp, straw hat.
Revising is a game of attention, and I am easily distracted by clear skies, hot temps, and kids in need of entertaining. We head to the pool. They take to the water, and I take out pages of my novel. Chapter three sits on my lap long enough to soften and curl in the sun. I label this part “boring,” that part ” to move, watch the kids go from deep end to diving board to slide. My pencil gets lost in the towel. In an effort to cool off, I glide into the water and through swarms of bobbing grown ups and babies, then return to find chapter four wet and smelling of chlorine. Good, I think. This book could use a good chemical clean to soak and loosen the muck, to clear away the sludge.