Sohrab+Zand

media type="file" key="The tunnel.mp3" width="240" height="20" align="center"The Tunnel Extension

 By Sohrab Zand

As I prepared to meet my mom for the first time in four months, I began to remember all the good times we had with Dad before the divorce. As I approached the white, sterile building I saw the bright green welcome sign and the “Enter Here” door. After I registered at the desk, I began to wonder where I needed to go. Before I even had a chance to ask about the whereabouts of my mom, I was distracted by the dialog of two doctors standing at the desk.  “We need to transfer her to the Psychiatric Hospital” said the first doctor; “I agree her addiction was the only relief of those metaphorical images” concurred the second doctor.  I decided to ignore those comments seeing as they didn’t involve me or my mom’s whereabouts. Minutes later I came face to face with her. A long hug later, I found out that she wanted to stay a month longer. As I was leaving, I saw something I didn’t expect at all; it was so sudden that it took me a few minutes to comprehend. I saw Elizabeth, I couldn’t believe it, the 6 year old I babysat 15 years ago was now in rehab. I decided to investigate. I went to the designated room. I swear to God, if someone had told me that this was Ib I wouldn’t have believed them. There, inside the room, was a pale girl, who looked like she was in her 30s, with stringy hair (or at least what was left of it) sitting in the corner. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her boney body highlighted the fact that she was starving herself. What happened to her?

I opened the door, and slowly walked towards her. “Ib?” I said gingerly, “D-do you remember me? It’s me Ken.” She slowly lifted her head and chuckled in a demented way. “How could I not, you were the one with me when it happened.” “Ib, what happened to you?” I asked. She started to talk in a progressively aggressive way. “I started taking Heroin to forget them; they tormented me through high school so I had to drop out. I was so confused” “Who were you trying to forget?” She ignored my question and started to talk; she was getting a bit frantic. “They threatened me, but they first introduced fear to me in my dreams.”  Trying to process this information I said with a louder tone, “WHO ELIZABETH, WHO?!” Again ignoring what I said, she screamed “It was them, after we left, they wouldn’t let me go, they started telling me to do things, horrible things, but I refused.” Suddenly, one of the doctors came, sedated her with a needle and took her away. Bewildered, I began to investigate. I went in the corner where she was and found a note; words couldn’t describe how I felt after reading it. I dropped the note, and left. It all became clear to me; those words were repeating in my head in a two note song,

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">“//Idey, Idey, what’s your name,// // What’s your name to get in this game?” //

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">The same tune I had heard with Jeff. The same tune that I often heard at night before I had fallen asleep. They were never going to let us go.