I decided that I didn’t like the country, the president’s hair, or the public education system.  My devilish protest began in the sandbox with a shovel stolen from my dad’s shed.  By week two, I replaced Jimmy’s Ritalin with gummy bears to help me out.

We fancied ourselves as runaways, replacing the earth with our heaving bodies and eventually, nothing but heavy air.  It was physically impossible, but everything is possible with children. That’s why I’d have to finish before I was state legal.  We took to our project, fuelled with grilled cheese and the hope of never having to shower or recite the pledge of allegiance again, though Sally’s face lingered in the back of my mind.  Another week in, the surface shrunk to a moon of sky; a month in, a faint star.  In retrospect, we probably should have applied for a grant in subgeology exploration, but I reminded myself of the red tape and the president’s hair.

I don’t know how we got through the layers of bedrock without a proper boring machine.  Perhaps it was our sheer will to power that got us through, but logic was never my forte.  By this time, we probably resembled moles though I saved the flashlight for emergencies, not personal grooming.  From my calculations, we were nearing the centre of the earth, which was rumored to have a molten core, but I had skipped that chapter to throw rotten crabapples at Sally’s friends.  All that mattered was that we kept digging.

One night or day, during a break, we heard a faint beat.  Had the earth began pumping its molten blood?  I had always thought the world to be too cold-hearted, but the sound crept closer.  I envisioned myself roasted in magma gravy, Jimmy scrambling madly before becoming kid flambé; then suddenly, our tunnel wall broke through.  I gripped my eyes shut, but there was no crisping heat, nor barbequing of bones – just more scraping and voices.

Fumbling for the flashlight, I flicked it on.  Startled, there were two coal-covered faces squinting back at us.  As if staring into a mirrored abyss, it had finally gathered the courage to stare back.  Jimmy squirmed.  In broken English, one of the two greeted us with a hello.  I squirmed.  They looked at one another, paused, and piped ni hao.  

It was the most peculiar instant – kids from opposite sides of the world, meeting in the middle.  They told us they were running from their leader’s khakis, the smell of iron in the air, the grip of re-education at their throats.  They wanted to see Elvis’ hips, walk the gold streets of New York, and marry Marilyn Monroe.  Their parents had been exiled to a Northern base to shovel shit popsicles out of a septic system.  The two of them had burrowed away with picks and a bucket of gruel from a labor camp.  After relating their story, they asked for ours.  I explained my dislikes for the nation.  Jimmy said he was in it for the gummy bears.  I told them the truth about Elvis and Marilyn.  A puzzled silence fell over them, then one of them replied that their leader’s hair wasn’t much better, nor the schools.

It was rather quiet before I took out our last chocolate bar and split it into four.  We sat cross-legged staring at each other with candy sitting in our mouths.  I imagined Sally at the back of my eyes, swallowed, then turned off the flashlight.

In the heart of earth, there are four chambers – waiting.

A light dying, a light growing.