Hidden Places

Yesterday I speculated about dreams of lunch and superheroes. Little did I know that in my travels on Thursday, on a typical lunch stroll with my friends, I'd first see an R2 D2 mailbox and then eat in a diner concealed in the back of a bakery. These are small things to be sure, but I lead a small life, so I'm not entirely sure any of it is real.

I've survived at my current job for a little over seven years. I've had lunch on one particular street near work literally thousands of times. And while I've been in this bakery before, I never knew there was a diner in the back until a couple of my friends who found it yesterday, told us about it. Sure enough, after venturing far enough along the counter and passing under an arch, we found a small seating area with a skylight and a food counter, a waitress waiting to take our order while we perused menus.

Hidden places are surreal. I've always liked discovering new locations within old ones. Maybe it was in Middle School, when my friends and I planned expeditions to the legendary tunnels beneath the building. I chickened out after the first dark room beyond a crawl space behind a hole in a brick wall, while my friends armed with a rope and flashlights mapped the whole place out. I've always liked finding new trails and nature preserves, and venturing down side streets in between roads I normally take, to find new routes. Often I'll plan a photo expedition by panning around the satellite view of Google™ maps until I see something interesting. (What are the Netherlands hiding?)

Video games probably influence me as much as the mix-and-match nature of my dreams. There's always a pipe to jump down, a brick wall to break, or a place to fly up to and gain hidden treasure and bonuses. Even a game like Marvel Ultimate Alliance, which could be played as a straight forward smash and run game, requires a walkthrough to point out hidden ledges or rooms that I might not otherwise find.

When I was a child, I once dreamed that I opened a cabinet in my room, the “forbidden closet” in which my mom stored toys I wasn't allowed to play with, like a cap gun someone gave me for my birthday. There was no lock, but I respected(feared) the edicts of that Sicilian woman. In my dream, I finally dared to open it, and inside were the steps leading to my basement. At the bottom was our local beach, where I made sandcastles, threw a frisbee, and basked in the sunlight before waking up. I remember the first time I discovered the various layers of Penn Station, and found that not all Roy Rogers had vacated this state. I remember the dark arcades of my local malls, and venturing far enough back into the shadows to find an air hockey table concealed around the bend. I remember indoor flea markets with hidden basements loaded with video games.

Sometimes I feel like I've found everything, like there's nothing new to discover around here. I don't really change, and sometimes that gets crushingly boring, but then things change in the world around me or I find cool places, hidden right under my nose. I should break through more walls, metaphorically of course.