The Tunnel of Doom

Here’s another story from the campfire. It’s about my first trip to Mexico. I was trying to get to El Potrero Chico, but things didn’t go according to plan.

The Tunnel of Doom
By Eli Powell

A smile came to my face. “What have I just done?” Eight hours ago, I was at home sleeping, and now illegible signs surrounded me, with Spanish in the air and masses swarming. Moving slowly, I felt my way to “Transporte Terrestre”.

A tired man loaded my burden into the trunk of a white Nissan with dusty tires. “Hidalgo por favor,” His eyes cut me through the rear view mirror. “Hidalgo?” “Si” and we rolled on. Busy music grew louder and I withdrew, head on glass.

Past red brick complexes with cracked yellow paint, past bead stands and fruit shacks, past a drying brown river with power lines, past a fallow field and a red plow, we drove. Tire grooves pushed into the concrete. Past the overgrown graveyard and faded Fanta billboard, the road turned to gravel then to dirt.

The driver stopped unexpectedly. “Hidalgo,” he said, gesturing down a ghost road. “No.” I hoped. Where are the limestone towers, farmer’s markets, and Saguaro Cacti? His tone changed, urgent now, “Hidalgo. Hidalgo!” The music turned off. Sweat grew on his brow while ushering me out. “Wait…” Frantically, I flipped through my phrase book, “No…No.” But he was gone, with dust in the air and on my tongue.

I wanted to scream, but with the surrounding emptiness, it wouldn’t have mattered much. I drew on my pack and labored down the trail toward the faded wood buildings. All I needed was a Coke and a payphone. “It’ll be okay.” The town was dead, the wind whispered.

I moved further into the stillness. Forty feet ahead, barefoot and tan, in cut-off jean shorts and a Nike shirt, a boy ran across the road. “Hola…” I trailed off, hoping to catch his attention. Without stopping, he pulled me with a wave of the arm, “Vayamos!”

Feet pounding, I chased him behind the stores, down the dry grass hillside. And there they were, 50, no 100 screaming kids funneling into a hole like bees into a hive. Shocked, I dropped my bag and moved closer. It was not a hole at all, but a drainage tunnel boring through the hill.

The children splashed in ankle deep water, chasing the darkness into the tunnel. I followed suit, and was soon swept into the depths by a waist high flood of kids. Grey concrete and spray painted hues faded to black. The children rushed by as I tangled in cobwebs. I scraped the ceiling, stumbled, splashed, and spun around hoping for balance. Echoes faded, I tripped, and found myself alone, soaked, battered, and out of breathe.

This was true darkness, can’t-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face darkness. A pinpoint of light called from either end of the tunnel. But which way was out? In the rush and fall, I became disoriented. Attempting to stand, I slipped and fell, slamming my head against the wall. I awoke to the sound of water trickling. The water slid down the walls, allowing a thick carpet of algae to coat the entire tunnel. It was hard even to sit up; everything was so slippery.

In time, I began to crawl toward the light. Hours passed. The algae gushed through my hands, “I couldn’t have gone this far in,” I thought. I turned around, backtracking for an eternity, only to change my mind once more. “Is this purgatory?” Tired beyond words, I gave up…hoping to die.

Moments passed, sobs echoed through the Tunnel of Doom. Faintly at first, then louder, I heard laughing. I opened my eyes not to black, but dark grey. I stumbled to my feet, running from darkness to the light. “Is this heaven? NO! I’m alive and CLOSE.” I could taste the fresh air beyond. Grey turned to blinding white as I burst into the light, freedom.

I emerged to sunshine, laughter, stares. Exhausted, I collapsed on the hillside. Whispers surrounded me. The niños grabbed me and held me down. The boy in the jean shorts blindfolded me. “NNNNOOOOO!!!!!!!!11111 Not the Tunnel, anything but the TUNNEL!” They lifted me to my feet, spinning, yelling, fighting. A man grabbed me, guiding my right hand to a stick, and my left hand to a paper donkey, a piñata.

Calming now, my world came together. I planted my feet, digging in for my one shot, and BBOOOOOOMMMM! I let go a blow no mere child could perform. The piñata exploded from within, raining candy as far as the eye could see. The kids swarmed with wild eyes and fists full. I fell to the earth with stick in hand.

Grabbing a butterscotch, I quietly unwrapped the golden joy, and began to weep.