BooksBarbecue
Back Life Events Save as PDF
Chapters (49)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1.
  6. 2.
  7. 3.
  8. 4.
  9. 5.
  10. 6.
  11. 7.
  12. 8.
  13. 9.
  14. 10.
  15. 11.
  16. 12.
  17. 13.
  18. 14.
  19. 15.
  20. 16.
  21. 17.
  22. 18.
  23. 19.
  24. 20.
  25. 21.
  26. 22.
  27. 23.
  28. 24.
  29. 25.
  30. 26.
  31. 27.
  32. 28.
  33. 29.
  34. 30.
  35. 31.
  36. 32.
  37. 33.
  38. 34.
  39. 35.
  40. 36.
  41. 37.
  42. 38.
  43. 39.
  44. 40.
  45. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  46. Also by Karolina Waclawiak
  47. Praise for Life Events
  48. A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  49. Newsletter Sign-up

The guide warned us we might experience vertigo from what we were about to do next. She said, “If you’re prone to dizziness you better sit down.”

I wasn’t, so I didn’t.

“You might see light on the edges of your eyes, but it’s just your brain playing tricks on you. There’s no light down here. If you see hints of light, it’s just that your brain can’t accept what’s happening. That’s when people freak out.”

There were murmurs around me, and I couldn’t tell if they were happening in the ballroom or in my memory.

“Turn off your lanterns now.”

We did what we were told and I stood in total darkness. “Don’t freak out,” the guide whispered again.

“Is this what death feels like?” I asked.

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” the guide answered back.

In total darkness, my eyes didn’t reach for light, but my ears were filled with the sound of my heartbeat. I fought the urge to fall backward. I tried to keep breathing as my heartbeat became deafening. I thought about Daphne in her casket, plunged into total darkness. I thought about the weight of all that dirt on her. I realized that I didn’t know where she was buried. I became worried she was having trouble breathing under all that dirt.

Thinking about all of this made it hard to breathe. I wanted to dig her out. I wanted to pull her out of total darkness, get the dirt out of her mouth. I reached for my own mouth, hoping to pry open my airway. I gulped at the air, trying to get it into my lungs. Instead, all I felt was dirt filling my throat and esophagus.

“Wake up. It’s okay,” Walter whispered, rubbing my hand. I opened my eyes, gulping the stale ballroom air, and blinked at him.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“Powerful,” Walter said.

I clutched my throat and chest as Dr. Brauer coaxed us back. I saw everyone else wiping their eyes. They looked around, possibly embarrassed at the intimacy of the experience and their vulnerability in front of strangers. I was in such discomfort that I kept my eyes downcast: afraid someone might see how out of it I felt, my eyes full of tears. But the people around me seemed momentarily fixed—elated, even. Like they had been relieved of some burden. I did not feel relieved. I felt worse, like something had been unlocked and I couldn’t push it back down. I searched my purse for tissues, knowing there weren’t any in there. I wanted everyone around me to get up and leave so I could, too.

28.