I stared at the glass-smooth walls of this prison cell.
What else could you call this place? I'd never actually been to prison, but I knew enough to realize that this is exactly where I was. This was no Club Med...
That thought brought a smile to my face.
Amazing, the resiliency of the spirit. Who would have thought that one could smile in a place such as this?
I thought back to the experiences of the past few days. Nothing much had changed and we'd settled into a kind of routine. Breakfast was served early. The food here was quite good, and there was plenty. If we ever needed anything we just had to ask. The diet was varied and healthy. There was nothing to complain about that way.
In fact, other than the fact that we were being held against our wills, there was very little about which to complain.
After breakfast we were taken to the bathroom, where we had showers and cleaning/hygiene supplies. Again, everything we needed was provided easily and without question or hesitation. And everything was of the highest quality. The few, small areas of the place where I and my children had been led on these excursions from our room were all clad in the same glassy, rust colored stone. There were several hallways I noted branching off the one down which we were led, but they were darkened - the lights were motion activated and only turned on when someone entered - so nothing could be learned that way. I thought I could hear, occasionally, sounds of machinery or deep vibrations coming from one of the hallways, and occasionally a distant glimmer of light would come from down the darkened halls, far off and indistinct. But I could gain nothing further from these trips.
We were also taken to a large gym-like space. This room was shaped like our cell, an empty sphere. Actually, it was a series of spheres centered around a large sphere in the center. The effect thus created was really quite lovely, like pictures I've seen of the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, although not as large. The gym was apportioned with everything we'd need to work out and have a little fun. There was even a half basketball court, where my kids and I played HORSE and other fun games.
We were never allowed to see the sky.
We never knew for sure if it was day or night. It was impossible to tell where we were, although the shortness of the helicopter flight and the direction we flew indicated we were probably still somewhere in Utah. But where we were and why we were being kept like this was anybody's guess.
The kids were getting bored. In order to distract them, we played games, sang songs, and slept a lot. But this was particularly hard on them. They had stopped asking about things - why we were here, where mom is, what are they going to do with us... But I could tell from their subdued tones and general listlessness that they were feeling the effects of our imprisonment.
I asked myself these questions myself a million times. And a million more questions that I would have loved to have answers to. But here we sat.
To help kill time, the kids would ask me to tell them stories about my life. I'd had some funny things happen to me, and we laughed together as we talked of old times and my childhood...
... like the time when I was very young and built a tree house with my buddies in a large dead cottonwood tree near my house. We built the tree high in the limbs of the old sentinel at the end of the road and felt like soaring eagles as we looked down on the world below. From the topmost limbs of that tree we could see all the way into the Salt Lake Valley with it's large open pit copper mine. The only problem arose when a swarm of bees took up residence in the old tree with the hollow trunk, and our climbing up and down the rungs of our ladder we'd nailed to the tree trunk disturbed the hive. We didn't realize this until Chuck had already climbed up, and he was trapped above the swarm. We didn't want to leave him there - although he was not being stung (we knew enough not to antagonize the bees any more!) he was still quite nervous - but someone had to go and get help. Ron and I went to get Chuck's dad, who kept bees and would know what to do. Chuck's dad just said that the bees were swarming and probably harmless, and would soon move off. Chuck spent a very anxious three hours in that tree house before the bees did move off and Chuck was able to climb down. The tree house wasn't as fun after that...
... or the time when I was young and went with Ron and Chuck to the Sundance for mountain biking. In the summertime, the lifts were run to bring people and their bikes to the top of the mountain, where there were trails you could bike down. We'd been several times and knew that the trails were safe, but relatively tame. We decided to take the proverbial road less traveled. Cutting through some pines and aspens, we quickly discovered why it was better to stick with the trails. Branches whipped our faces as we rode over deadfalls and stumps. The slope barely allowed any kind of control, bringing us closer and closer to the speed at which control would be impossible. Trying to stay in some sort of control over my gradual crash down the mountain, I didn't notice the quick-release lever on my front wheel had moved. As I reached the next deadfall, I tried to lift my front wheel up and over the top of this impediment. Alas, once the weight of my body and the bike was off the front forks, the wheel stopped and when my forks came down so did I, right over the top of my handlebars, over the fallen tree, and right out onto the deck of the cabin I hadn't noticed. If the cabin were empty it would have been OK, but it was (of course) not empty. In fact, it had been rented by the parents of the girl I was dating at the time for their 30th wedding anniversary, and they were trying to enjoy a quiet morning in the mountains. Luckily nothing was hurt but my pride, but her parents were not impressed when I crashed into their breakfast, landing right on their breakfast table...
... or the time when I was in California roller blading at the Presidio. This was the first date I'd been on with Janice, and I was really interested in showing her my best side. As I executed some pretty athletic moves, I jumped down some steps - directly onto a pigeon. The flock of pigeons at the bottom of the steps were obscured from my view by the steps themselves - I had no intention of jumping headlong into them. Stumbling, I gashed my knees pretty bad and sprained my wrist. But the real damage came as I looked back and saw Janice with the pigeon in her hands and tears in her eyes. I am not a cold-hearted killer, but it was a pigeon! They're rats with wings! Janice insisted that we give the pigeon a proper burial. I, of course, was eager to comply. I felt bad - not only had I hurt myself, I'd damaged the trust I'd been trying to foster with Janice...
I recited about how Janice and I met. I spoke constantly of how beautiful I found her, how intelligent and interesting. And I made sure that the children knew how much I loved her. My grandfather had taught me that the most important thing a man can do for his children is love their mother. I'd never forgotten that counsel.
Time seemed to crawl along. The children had exhausted the games they'd brought with them, and there was no TV or books or anything to do. We'd requested some, but they were slow in coming. Thus it was with some hope that I watched the door open.
I was shocked when Rick walked in.
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