Valentine’s Day; I’m impatient. They’re fifteen minutes late now and I’m starting to think about going by myself. Getting stood up isn’t unusual for me. The people outside are dressed in their finest as they go to and from fancier dates than mine.

Then from down a darker street a crowd gathers that stands out from the other couples. Dressed in plastic, lifejackets and cowboy boots, “You ready?” I call out. I didn’t need to ask. Those boots answer for them.

The car rolls out of from illegal parking sitting on its shocks. Though our destination is a nursing home the swollen moon says visiting hours are well over. Parked as inconspicuously as possible we wander towards the edge of the lot and hop over a barrier. The ground is steeper than anticipated and I fall into a roll towards the water’s edge, stopping just short of a frozen river. This frozen land hidden behind a nondescript building is why we are here.

Just ahead looms the massive concrete conduit. This hidden monument to our domination over nature grins at the would be trespassers in the moonlight. The city’s hungry maw opens wide to swallow what was once called the hog river and now it opens to swallow us.

Working quietly in the moonlight, we are struck dumb by its power. Ropes are tied to hold us as we inch down the initial slide into the underground. At one point I slip and plunge into the angry torrent.

From within the surge the city’s ascendancy over us manifests itself. I cannot fight as I too am struck with a senseless terror that the water embodies just before it is sucked out of sight. The city is a spoiled child with a new toy and I am thrown to and fro in the swirl.

Suddenly the ice cold water rushes in through my jacket and over my rubber boots. I draw a sharp, painful breath. I will not yield here, lost in the dark and dopey from the cold’s spell. Not now. Flailing out, my limbs move through thick clouds but I feel fingers wrap around a branch and it holds. Like an old man I am able to pull myself from the water.

Returning to the car I change my clothes and dry by the warmth of its engine. The night is not over yet. The previous failure forces us to redraw plans, but soon we return to our challenger, smarter for our errors. This time we enter. The victory is sweetened by the suffering.

Emerging hours later we get looks from the suits returning from their fancy restaurants and clubs. Deep beneath their city our ragtag group armed with homemade waders, leaking boots, and fading headlamps ventured towards repressed forces our ancestors hid from sight so we could live in the comfort of their absence.

I write this account days later, comfortable and warm now, but when I was caught in the uncontrolled fury of that underground river something whispered in my ear.

My friends pulled me from the edge that night but they cannot fight this strange madness delivered by the whisper within that roar. Even now it murmurs, seductively, calling me to return to the deep silence it showed me in the darkness.