At first I think I’m imagining it. Far below me in the dark as I slide, a haunting, scratchy music echoes. An old-timey voice croons,

“We just discovered each other

Tonight when the lights were low.

One dance led up to another

And now I can’t let you go.”

I’ve been sliding down and down and down for what seems like forever, my stomach lodged in my throat, my legs numb with the feeling of cresting the peak of a roller coaster. As the time has ticked by, I’ve steadied myself a little so I’m not slipping around so much. I’ve pointed my feet, with my hands at my sides to stabilize me. The slide twists and turns, it spirals, it dips so steeply at times, I almost lose contact. It feels like I’m sliding right down under the ocean, right down to the center of the earth. I try to remember if the core of the earth is hot or cold, but I can’t. I shouldn’t have daydreamed through geology. How far and long have I gone? Hours? Miles?

But now, the music. And—if my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me—a glimmer of something far below me. A flickering of light.

And then seconds later, with a shock, I’m truly airborne and out of the darkness, falling through nothing but empty air.

I land, and bounce, and land and bounce again.

After a few moments, I’m still enough to see what, exactly, I’ve landed on, but I can’t quite make sense of it. I’m on the top of a huge pile of… old mattresses.

I stare up at the stone ceiling high above, and the hole out of which I’ve fallen, in a daze. With a sinking heart, I know I’ll never reach that hole again. Then I look down and see that Ebb is hovering near the ground below, staring up at me, a mixture of relief and fear on his face.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod.

I roll onto my side, and off the mattresses, tumbling down little by little till I reach the ground. The music is still playing.

“So tell me I may always dance

The ‘Anniversary Waltz’ with you.

Tell me this is real romance,

An anniversary dream come true.”

We’re in an enormous craggy underground space. There are cobwebs in the upper curves of the ceiling and memory moths fluttering around, but there are also signs that there is someone in these underground caverns besides us. The space is lit by torch-lined walls, and I see that everywhere inside the cavern there are piles and piles of things: books, old bicycles, video game cartridges, old clocks with broken faces. And far off along one of the craggy walls, an old record player is spinning its scratchy tune.