Parking Garage
We talked at first. Some small jokes here and there. We would trade stories about our life. Social situations or work seemed to dominate the conversation. Little things. They helped take the edge off of our initial anxiety. That was hours ago. At least I think it was hours ago. It could have been days ago. I really don’t know. It’s hard to tell the time here. In fact it’s impossible. Everything looks the same every time we walk down another level.The same gray concrete, the same sickly white fluorescent lights, the same rows of cars. All of them parked neatly. A standard parking garage level. Each and every floor level four. All of them alike.
The car ran out of gas a while back, so we must have gone quite a way. You had thirty miles in the tank when the light came on. If it said thirty miles left, that’s how far we must have gone. I remember that in the car was when we last talked. Or at least talked for fun.
I remembered you cried when the car sputtered out. Nothing dramatic; just silent, frustrated tears. Slamming the doors and grabbing our wallets we set out on foot. That must have been a long time ago. My legs ache. I’m not tired, but my legs burn. We just keep walking. It’s impossible to tell what time it is here.
We thought it was a practical joke, or a mistake, when we pulled around the bend at the bottom of the grade. You were the one who first noticed the second sign for level four. Turning your car’s wheel slowly as you maneuvered around the concrete pillar you pointed it out. You were still driving carefully then. You weren’t driving like a maniac yet.
The duplicate sign was just an oddity then, but it’s become a fixture of our current routine. A symbol of the maze we have found ourselves in.
We set out on foot a while ago. We just kept walking downward. One foot after the other, we just kept going. It must have been about three floors before we saw the car again. That has got to be the strangest part of all this, seeing your car again. It was for sure your car. The same old car you’ve been driving for years now. The same old orange ford, with cracked paint on the hood.
We walked right past it. We just kept going. Eventually we saw it again. Every couple of hours it would show up on a floor, just to disappear on the next.
I think the car running out of gas is really what did it for you. You gave up. It broke something in you and you just couldn’t keep walking. I tried to convince you to keep going, but I could tell you just didn’t have it in you. So I left you. I left you to sit on the ground, propped up against your car with your head in your hands.
I haven’t seen you or the car in a while now. You remained right where I left you. I thought maybe I’d get hungry or thirsty at some point from all this walking. Hunger and thirst just don’t seem to happen here. I’m worried that eventually they will set in, but so far everything is alright.
What really concerns me is the car. It makes me nervous that it only appears on occasion. If all these floors are the same, where is it going? That’s something I’m pretty fixated on. There’s a chance I’ll see the car again when I turn the next corner. I’m just worried that when I go to inspect it I won’t find you. I’ll still be on level four, and the car will still be here too.
Everything will still be exactly the same except you’ll be gone.