Drifting away in the panic pool
17th April, 2007

We were at an old tin mine somewhere outside Broken Hill that had been turned into a tourist attraction, and it was here that I met one of my demons. Miners' helmets with attached lights in place, we headed down a shaft that narrowed to a hole the size of a large drain. "We have to crawl for a while," said the guide as we got down on our hands and knees and peered into the ink-black darkness and beyond. I reversed out so fast I almost broke the nose of the person behind me, the thought of crawling into a confined space filling me with undiluted terror. It was a feeling I recalled during a recent visit to a spa, and the memory caused me to clutch my robe closer about my body. The spa featured a moderately sized shallow pool in a domed room with a ceiling in which glowed pinpricks of light designed to replicate the stars in the night sky. "Just lie back in the water and you'll float. It's full of salt and minerals. And then the lights will fade and you'll be in total darkness. It's wonderfully relaxing, you'll probably go to sleep," said the attendant. When I'd been offered a "flotation experience", there had been no mention of total darkness. I had been harbouring visions of bobbing happily about in the pool like a beachball. "I'll be back in an hour," the attendant said, and left us. I lay back in the warm water and to my surprise, she was right. You did float. Soft music drifted through unseen speakers and as I eased my head back into the water I began to think that there might be something to this flotation business. "Relax," said my wife. "It might cure your zombie walks." "Zombie walks" is the term she uses for a peculiarity of my psyche that causes me to utter guttural groans in the middle of the night which culminate in a loud shriek, causing me to spring upright with my eyes protruding from my skull. I'd done a zombie walk the previous night, loosing a shriek that all but blew the poor thing out of bed. I pointed out that I did not do it on purpose but I could tell she remained unconvinced.    "It's a nightmare," I said.    "You're right," she said pointedly.    "Relax," I chanted to myself as the lights faded to black. "Where are you?" I yelled.    "Shut up, you idiot," whispered my wife. "I'm over here trying to relax."    "Just checking to see if you were okay," I said, blinking into the darkness but unable to see a thing. It was like having your head inside a black velvet bag. I was now beginning to feel the first faint stirs of panic. Memories of that black tunnel in Broken Hill flitted through my brain. Where, oh where, was the edge of the pool? If I could find the edge I could hold onto it, so I tried paddling.    "Stop splashing," she hissed. "What the hell are you doing?"    "Nothing," I said as I floated on my back and reached out for the invisible edge of the pool. "Aarrgghh!," I groaned as my head collided with the tiled edge. Reaching behind me, I managed to get my head out of the pool and rest it on the edge. It was incredibly uncomfortable but at least I'd stopped going into panic mode. Unfortunately, the mineral additives made the sides slippery and no sooner had I grabbed hold of the edge than it slipped from my grasp and I floated away again. I reached out to grab it as the panic again rose in my throat and instead grabbed onto something soft. It wasn't the pool edge.    "What are you doing you filthy swine!" she yelled.    "Nothing," I pleaded. "It was an accident."    "Get your hands off me. Is that all you think of?" she hissed. Of all the bits I could have grabbed, I thought, I had to grab that bit. I spent the rest of the treatment with my eye fixed on a tiny red light I found glowing dimly in what I guessed was the corner of the ceiling.    "Did you fall asleep?" asked the attendant as we left.    "Not quite," I replied.

» geocities.com/psychofrog

© Froggy's World
Since 1997
Created by Marc Willems