Really High Up

I was in a class at college. I don't think it was any class in particular, but it seemed pretty normal. I remember looking at the floor and thinking the linoleum was a pretty pattern.

The class finished, and I went back to my dorm. I'd moved to a different one. My stuff was still in boxes there. It was a lot nicer -- I had a private suite, with my own bathroom and kitchen. There were huge windows and a beautiful view. I was up pretty high -- at least 20 stories up.

That was bad, because the only way down was the stairs or the elevator. Both of which were out my door. Which opened right outside, onto a three-foot-wide walkway that led left to the stairs, right to the elevators. It was about a half block's walk each way.

I rarely have any trouble walking on a sidewalk, which was pretty much what I had to do here. It just changes somehow when the sidewalk is very high up. There weren't any railings or anything.

I don't know how I managed to miss that when I was moving in. The view from my huge, full-length windows was of a beautiful, snow-covered mountain and valley.

I was starting to panic, and I didn't even want to be over by the windows. I went as far as I could from the windows. I developed the fear that the building would tip up somehow, and I wanted to hold on to something. Luckily, the kitchen counter was U-shaped.

It occurs to me, now that I am awake, that this was very similar to my pal Sean's swanky apartment. That may help those of you who also know Sean to picture this room.

Anyway, I realized that facing my fears was one thing, but this walkway was completely insane and would probably eventually kill me. I got on the telephone and started calling Student Housing. I hoped I could pick another dorm room to move to without leaving this one, then transfer to a different one once my things and I were back at ground level.

The people on the telephone assured me that this could be done. That happened a lot in this new building. They just needed my P.O. box number.

I wondered if I'd changed it or not. I hoped not and gave it to them. They assigned me to an empty room back in Carson.

I called a student-run moving company and arranged for my stuff to be moved to the new room. They wanted a couple of hundred dollars, but I didn't want to personally carry every single box down the outdoor stairs. I didn't even want to leave the center of the building, but I had to unlock the door.

I walked over to the door in the window and opened it to unlock it (at my regular dorm, doors are unlocked by messing with buttons on the side of the door). A strong alpine wind blew into the room.

I piled all my boxes by the door for the moving guys and started to think how I'd get down. I really didn't want to walk on the exposed walkway outside the building, hundreds of feet up. Then I noticed a door over by the kitchen.

That door led to a dank laundry room, with a soda machine and a microwave. There were doors to my soon-to-be-ex-neighbors' rooms from the laundry room. I knocked on a door directly across from mine, hoping the other side might have a railing or at least be less of a drop.

A nondescript coed let me in, sympathized with my fear of heights, and let me out her door. The other side of the building overlooked sunny summer hills, bathed in golden sunlight. I guess the other floors' walkways were underground, because the walkway outside her window was level with the lush grass. I thanked her and went out and lay in the grass. It was warm and lovely, and I picked a couple of clover flowers.

I had to get back to the University, the main campus, Carson dorm and (I hoped) my stuff. So I set off clockwise around the building.

As a Jungian would assume, I started running into autumn weather. The hills became steeper and covered with orange-leaved trees. The air was crisp and smelled of far-off bonfires. I ran through a pile of leaves.

Then I stumbled over a body. Reluctantly, I dug in the leaves and found the lanky body of my friend Spencer. He was slack-jawed and his eyes were glazed, but I determined that he was still alive. Actually, that's how he appears a lot of the time, but he didn't respond to the shake-and-shout maneuver. He was breathing ok and had a steady pulse. There didn't seem to be anything I could do for him, so I left him there with the leaves to keep him warm.

Pressing on, I found his tiny girlfriend, Fawn, in a large dollhouse. The house was just a little taller than I am, perhaps six feet. It was as wide and deep as a trailer home, though. Fawn was, as she usually is, about five feet even. The doll rooms were only around the wall, perhaps a foot deep. It had been designed so someone could walk around the dollhouse and play with the dolls from inside, or arrange them so they looked good through the windows.

Fawn had left her marijuana paraphernalia and other detritus -- lighters, cigarettes, socks, and makeup -- in some of the doll rooms, contrasting sharply with the tiny people.

She returned my greeting and showed me a large red balloon she was playing with. It seemed to be much thicker than, but still as buoyant as a normal balloon. Its texture was similar to a basketball, but not as dry.

She said she had Spencer's soul in the balloon, and I made appreciative noises. I kind of wanted to pop the balloon, but I wasn't sure that that would make his soul return to his body. Knowing Spencer, his soul would just hang around Fawn anyway.