Topic: Space

"Keep Moving"

I am clumsy. While I understand that I have a working body and I can generally make it move in the ways that I want it to, it would be a vast exaggeration to say that I have mastered coordination. At best, I stumbled through a beginner's course in maneuverability and have been crashing my way through life ever since, somehow managing to stay upright (at least most of the time).

As a kid, I can remember almost training for my future as a clumsy adult. My normal state of walking around included two untied shoes and a thick chapter book parked an inch from my nose. Somehow, my peripheral vision could keep track of any approaching objects - including my rebellious shoelaces - while my eyes scanned the pages. As long as I didn't think about it too much, the two abilities worked concurrently and I could open doors and avoid obstacles all without looking up from my book. One summer, I even mastered the art of rollerblading while reading. There was a definite trick to it: my mind could not pay attention to what my body was doing. If I stopped moving for even a second to think about what my arms or legs were doing, I wiped out.

This practice carried into adulthood and I rarely questioned it. Maybe I should have. All I know is that by the time I hit 25, I knew I could stay upright while running down a flight of stairs without paying attention to what my feet were doing, but sports were still out of the question. They just required too much coordination.

That Valentine's Day, I had convinced Jacob to take me to St. Louis to peruse the array of abandoned buildings the city had to offer. After exploring Six Flags New Orleans together nearly half a year prior, I was eager to continue our conquests in new territory. First stop? The Armour Meat Packing Plant in East St. Louis. Abandoned since 1959, Armour was once home to 4500 employees spread across several factory buildings, each with its own distinct machinery. The most infamous building included an old engine room, which housed the large machines once used to power the entire plant. I had found pictures of the engines online and I was eager to see them in person.

There were a few things I hadn't counted on that day. February in the midwest is cold. It also decided to snow intermittenly, and when it wasn't snowing, it was drizzling. As I zipped my winter coat all the way to my chin, none of that mattered. We quickly followed a road around the back of the compound, keeping an eye out for the notorious security guard and his truck. After a few quick turns, the path was shrouded in bare trees just thick enough to provide cover from the highway nearby. A little while longer and we were entering the back of one of the buildings, walking into a large room with no existing roof and a wall bearing the spraypainted tag, "Destroy what destroys you."

I had read news stories about people falling down the smokestack in the middle of the compound and made sure to point that out when Jacob asked if we should look into climbing it. Although getting to the top of a smokestack would be cool, I was certain we'd be seen by security should we do that. Besides, I had an objective. I wanted to find the engine room. The smokestack was a sure sign we were heading the right direction, but where was it? I followed Jacob past a large hole, stopping for a second to peer into the basement. The basement floor appeared to be at least 15 feet away and the entire room below us was full of old heaters.

"This place is huge," I said, stopping to take a few pictures of a pile of bricks.

"I know, right? I'm going over here," Jacob said, walking to the doorway of the neighboring room. I turned to look back at the door we had stumbled into. The room itself was huge. At least 40 feet long, if not longer, with extremely tall walls. An intricate metal structure was all that remained of the roof, which had once met in a shallow point directly in the middle. It looked like plants probably grew through the room in the summertime, a few sad trees lingering in the distant corners and waiting for spring. When I turned back to Jacob, he had disappeared.

"Jake?"

"Alyssa - you've got to come in here," He bellowed from the other room. "It's so cool."

I walked quickly to the entryway to the other room, stopping just as quickly when I was met with another gaping hole in the ground. This one appeared to be at least 5 feet wide and, just like the other one, around 15 feet deep. Someone had placed a 2x4 across the hole, providing a possible path to the other side, just next to an uprooted tree. As I looked into the room, I saw Jacob climbing the ladder on the side of one of the engines. It looked amazing. I wanted in that room.

"So I'm supposed to walk across this board, huh?" I asked, loudly.

"It's not too bad. It's actually pretty sturdy. You'll be okay." Jacob said, walking my way.

Well, here goes nothing, I thought, pulling the strap of my camera bag tightly to my chest. I took one tentative step, then another, my feet pulling my body forward until I was halfway across the 2x4. How am I doing this? I thought in amazement. And then it happened. My feet froze in place, my knees locking up.

In that moment, I was keenly aware of the space between my body and the basement floor below me. While the fall alone wouldn't kill me, it would definitely hurt. It would probably break both of my legs. I was too far away from either side to comfortably reach the landings. The only way to go was forward. And the longer I stayed on that board, the greater the chance that I was going to fall.

"Don't stop!" Jacob shouted, "You have to keep moving."

"I know that," I said, "And my brain knows that. My feet are figuring it out."

I looked at the room before me and the two large, green engines that somehow still stood on the collapsing floor. And as soon as I stopped thinking about it, my feet started moving again, quickly traversing the 2x4 to the neighboring landing where Jacob was waiting with an outstretched hand.

(I'm having fun cultivating a theme with these posts so far. Let me know if that gets annoying.)