Jerry Meyerle     Subterranean Blues Take a trip with me, friend. Yes, your most trusted and outgoing of introverts will take you on a trip to that most holy of places on grounds, Alderman Library. Follow me as I step through its tall double doors, past the sensor, between the circulation desks manned by work-study students and fastidious librarians. Yes, friend, see with my eyes the smooth, dark-colored tile. Smell through my nostrils the musty odor of a zillion molding pages being turned to dust at this very moment. Feel the lethargy as the works of a thousand thousand dead men and women sit on my eyebrows. Now, in this passage, you must make your decision. Do you turn back to study your conglomeration of useless crap somewhere else? No, you do not; for today, with me, with us, you travel to the heart of this spiritual place. You will not be studying on the fourth, the third, the second floors. No, not today, my friend. Today we go to the basement. In the small, noisy elevator, the button strip calls to us. And we listen, yes, we listen! It whispers to us and to no one else: "come back, come back, to the first floor we will take you." Push the button with my finger, friend. Do not be shy. It doesn't light up, does it? The other buttons provide a friendly, little glow behind their numbers; but the basement has no time for social graces. The elevator knows where we are going and descend we will once the doors close ... but wait, what is this? Who passes the threshold to join us in the elevator but a strapping young first year! Her nose is ever so lightly freckled, her tight cotton shirt is so primly tucked. So primly tucked. So wholesome she is. Do you not agree with me, friend? Ah, but she is ever so wholesome. And where is she going on such a lovely afternoon? Might we venture to ask? "The first floor," she says with an oh-so-decent smile. And we smile back, yes, we smile back and keep smiling until she looks away. She likes us, thinks we are attractive. But we don't care. We are busy, you and I. She dares to travel with us, friend -- will go with us to the basement. But she does not know what we know. She is inexperienced. She cannot hide the truth behind her smile. What an offering she would make for us! What an offering she would make to this most holy of places! This little girl glances furtively to the side, wondering whether or not the first floor button has already been pushed. She may try to hide it, but we know she is uncomfortable. But alas, some selection has been made, for the doors jerk shut, and the elevator groans as it drops. She does not know that we are going with her on her daring expedition to the first floor. Perhaps she is wishing she'd brought a friend. Oh, but she has a friend, does she not? She has us, she has us. We descend, you, I, and our unlikely visitor. Three's company and will soon be a crowd as the silence of the basement joins our happy little party. The first floor will welcome a new companion, will thank us for what we have brought. Such a polite gift will surely not go unrewarded. We have arrived. The doors slide open and old newspaper clippings greet us. Our new friend, she steps out and hesitates before turning left. We turn right. Her and us, we walk abreast separated by shelves until we meet where the desks are. She smiles again at us, and we smile back as she searches for a place to study. We say only, "don't fall asleep. Whatever you do, don't fall asleep."

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