Getting Sparse

I can feel the echoes of my steps in my ankles and knees as I walk across the tremendous metal pipe at least 12 feet in diameter. I'm crouched low on it, cowarded by the sheer drop immanent on either side, picking my way slowly across to the muffled clang clang of my sneakers causing echoes through its surface. The world below me is blurred by soft yellowed street lamps and the sky arches above me, alive with the tiny pinpricks of stars.

I don't know why the railings are even here. Reaching out to grab one I can shake it without even committing my weight to it, and somebody of my height doesn't even have that much weight to offer even if I wanted to.

"Watch out," he called, "it gets a little sparse out here."

Down and around and to another service ladder. The first few steps are the only ones you are moving at all. After that you might just be making motions in place as the earth drops away and the top of the building still seems hopelessly far away.

I'm sweating slightly at the switch. The two ladders are relatively well aligned but the second one arches over the dome and the very bottom ledge of it swings free. I can feel it flex under my weight and bits of old peeled paint flake off in my palms as I continue to move forward. The rungs arch over so I am climbing nearly horizontally at the top but I still cling to the bars hopelessly at the sight of the multiple story drop on each side.

Two more friends are waiting at the top. They nod to me and one of them points out to the horizon.

"Hell of a view," he says.

I swear even the air tastes better up here.

Why did I ever give this up?

My second friend sits quietly awestruck, hands wrapped around his knees curled up looking out. I am glad to share this experience with him, and yet, I know that prior to meeting me he never would have dreamed of doing this. This is, by most standards, a grossly unsafe nocturnal activity, not to mention strongly outside the taste of the cops...and yet, it is one of my greatest joys in life. Who am I to take a friend out of our statistically derived perfect lifestyle of acceptable safety threshholds?

Once upon a time we roamed the land as nomads. We hunted our food with spears, we lived on nothing, and yet we lived through it. More than that, we, as a species, thrived. Today we're raised in a society where your heart rate rises and your palms sweat a mere 3 stories up on a safety ladder on the exposed side of a building. Is this right? Am I corrupting my younger friend or freeing him?

The inside of the tank is made of beautifully welded sheets of steel. Everything is fascinating in this sphere: my voice, my footsteps, even simple laughter is amplified and echoed back to me until it sounds twisted and nearly evil. One friend whistles until the shell picks up the sound and hums it back to us, and I hold a single note and listen to it do the same. The whole group is amused by making simple clicking sounds and saying short words.

Exploration and fear leave a sense of wonder in us which is all too often forgotten. Our world is beautiful and fascinating, but sometimes you have to take yourself out of context a little to see it.