Episode 26: Tunnel Treats

You are walking down your street on this last weekend in October, heading for College Avenue to take part in the Tunnel Treats Halloween celebration. Jayda and DeAndre have requested that you wear an animal costume, so you are dressed up as a giraffe. There is a gorgeous light show of a sunset happening over the ridgeline southwest of town, and you feel a chilly breeze descending into the Neighborful Valley from the north. Your hands are warm and fuzzy inside your giraffe hooves, and you can smell hot apple cider wafting from the celebration ahead of you. As you walk toward the sunset, you take a relaxed breath.

Jayda and DeAndre are waiting for you at the corner of College and McClellan, along with their Dads, Kevin and Tim. The kids are dressed up like bears, and the Dads are sporting elephant trunks. They all beam at the sight of you and call out in unison, “Hello, You!”

You say, “Hello, family! It looks like we’re in for a… wild time this evening.”

DeAndre marches toward you and sticks out his hand. He says, very solemnly, “We’re allowed to bring one grown-up with us in the tunnels. Will you be our grown-up?”

You say, “Yes, DeAndre, I’d be delighted,” and you take his hand.

The kids pull you toward an open stairwell leading down from the sidewalk into the disused steam tunnels below. You have noticed the stairwell before, when it is normally covered with a metal grate to prevent trespassers from gaining access. While the kids are waiting for the last of their group to arrive, you ask Tim in a low voice, “Is this supposed to be scary?”

Tim replies, “Not like jump scares, no. It’s just really dark down there. The kids will go in a group, and they’re not supposed to use any lights. Each of the businesses handing out treats will have a light at their doorway, but that’s it.”

Kevin adds, “We don’t want them to be afraid of the dark. This is a good way to learn how to trust each other, and to work together.”

A lion and an antelope arrive, hand in hand, and the group of kindergartners surges toward the stairwell. You look back over your shoulder at the Dads and mouth, “Wish me luck.” They both give you a thumbs-up and a big grin.

At first, the steam tunnels seem reasonably well lit, with the metal grates along College Avenue providing light from above. But as soon as your group turns down one of the side street branches, there is almost total darkness, except for the distant pools of light coming from the merchants’ open basement doors into the tunnels. 

DeAndre grips your hand tightly as the group walks toward one of the lights. He whispers to you, “It’s okay to be a little scared, right?”

You say, “Yes, absolutely. DeAndre, you are a very brave bear, and I am here with you. It’s totally fine to be a little scared.”

DeAndre says nothing, but squeezes your hand in reply. Jayda taps you lightly on your belly and says, “Shush. Giraffes are silent.”

The group arrives at an intersection of two dark tunnels, and you believe that you are beneath Meade Street, but you are not sure. The walls curve around you, their surfaces rough and crumbly under your fingertips, as you reach out to touch them with your free hand. The tunnels smell musty, but there are hints of chocolate and sugar in the stale air. You feel your own heartbeat in your chest, elevated by the adventure, and as the kids deliberate over which direction to go next, you take an easy breath.

A gaggle of older kids emerges from the darkness. One of them says to your group, “Are you kindergartners? Is this your first time down here?”

The younger kids reply happily, “Yes!”

The kid who spoke steps closer, and you realize it’s your neighbor Moose, from the middle school. He says, “It’s my first time, too. Follow us. We figured out how to get to the bakery.”

Moose and his friends lead your group of wild animals down a long stretch of dark tunnel, toward a soft yellow light that feels miles away. It grows closer and closer in your field of vision, and the shapes of the kids and the tunnel itself become clear once again. You arrive at the basement door of Boulangerie Saint-Lazare, the French bakery on Meade near the hospital. Two younger men are standing at the door, holding trays of individually wrapped chocolate croissants out to the kids.

One of the workers sizes you up and says, “Are you maybe a little tall for grade school?”

You say, “Yes, just a little. The kindergartners get to bring one grown-up with them.”

The bakery worker holds out his tray toward you and says, “Ah, a guest of honor. Please, have a croissant. We don’t have any leafy trees for you to eat as a giraffe, so this will have to do.”

You say, “I’ll manage,” as Jayda taps your belly once again. She presses her index finger to her lips, scowling at you playfully. You smile down at Jayda, and you take one of the croissants from the tray, removing it from its paper bag. You marvel at its buttery, flaky texture, with perfect little circles of hardened chocolate poking out each end. You lift the croissant to your mouth, taking a bite that is crunchy and chewy and sweet, and you savor the taste with a deep breath.

DeAndre tugs at your hand, and the younger kids fall in behind the middle schoolers, who have taken on the kindergarteners as their charges. As you walk away from the bakery, the shapes of the kids return to formless shadows. You hear the excitement in their voices as they chatter among themselves, and you feel deeply grateful for the darkness.