Chapter 24

The Underground

We moved from Jester’s Court to an adjoined section called Mess Hall Lane, which opened into a large dining wing equipped with its own wine cellar. Like Jester’s Court, it had two ways to get in and out: the connecting door to Jester’s Court and a main entrance located several feet adjacent to it. It reminded me of my old school cafeteria, but it had a combination of long tables, where teens and young adults gathered and socialized while they ate. Those tables extended down the length of the room, while round tables dotted the perimeter of the great hall. Families and young children sat at those tables, enjoying their meal. Its curved and rounded high white ceiling displayed holographic projections with slow moving images of white and billowy clouds. Beautiful and colorful holographic birds soared through the clear blue sky. I admired its vivid colors, and I felt transported to a time when the sky used to look just as clear and beautiful. This was before the age of holographic simulation, back when one could be in the moment with nature and watch the billowy clouds roll over us like large, white cotton candy. I could recall it in my mind and see it at any time, not through the filter of a 5x2- inch cell phone screen, rather, I could stand transfixed and remember how my own eyes took in its voluminous beauty extending far and wide in the atmosphere. The clouds opened up to reveal the sun’s rays as they dipped to warm the crown of my head when I walked back home after school. Those clouds were my calm before the storm, a temporary reprieve, before I arrived. I could feel my stomach relax, before tightening into knots, the moment I walked through my door. One never knew what shoe was going to drop that day.

Suddenly, that peaceful memory was interrupted by the noise of cafeteria workers and chefs hustling and bustling to and from a small enclave located across from the entrance, ready to serve the line of people who were hungry for dinner.

“Our cafeteria opens at five a.m. and closes promptly at eight p.m.,” said Dr. Zaragoza walking us past the adjoining door from Jester’s Court and toward the main entrance. “We do have vending machines outside the cafeteria that we refill with food for those who work shift work, and while we do have times to unwind, we no longer have the luxury of living wasteful, sedentary, and carefree lives. Developing habits of structure and discipline are important here, so there are schedules we all must follow. Everything we do, we do for the benefit of our community to thrive. The only people allowed to come here after hours is our security team, which Mr. Jake and Stryker will be a part of, since they will monitor different shifts throughout the day.” She moved past Jake and Johnny and stopped in front of two double-wide doors of the cafeteria court.  She tapped a card through a small box panel located off the side of the door and the doors slid open slipping into another side pocket in the wall. “Each card gives you access to three square meals a day,” she said. Like the one on Jester’s Court, it also opens this door.” She smiled, turned on her heels and led us back to the rotunda where we started before slipping through the next door.

This time, we wandered through a long hallway that brought us to The Hive, sensing that the air was staler and more humid than the rest as the hallway sloped deeper underground. The strong smell of oil and grease overwhelmed the tunnel, and I could feel the beginnings of a light headache coming on. It was not the kind you cooked, but the kind used for cars and heavy machinery. I immediately recognized that smell. It was the same smell my dad’s t-shirts would give off after a day of working on carburetors and engines all day long, the kind of cars that didn’t have all that complicated computerized circuitry he hated. He went from being a highly paid mechanic to working on old muscle cars from the 60’s and 70’s just to put food on the table. That’s when he started drinking. I don’t know what my dad must’ve gone through, but I can only imagine how displaced he felt after they replaced him with computer diagnostics and they no longer had any use for men like him.

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