"What would happen if I somehow managed to flush myself down the toilet?"
A pair of strangers we passed by gave us strange looks when they heard my question.
"I'd imagine you would suffer some injuries, seeing as your body would have to squeeze into that little hole," you replied coolly, touching your chin. "Assuming you wouldn't die from being all mushed up like that—"
"Assuming my body was flexible, like Elastigirl's," I supplied.
"Well, okay. You'd snap right back into shape when you reach the sewers," you went on. "It would probably be very dark down there, you wouldn't see a thing! And it would be very smelly, intolerably so."
"Do you think it would be cold?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe."
"Do you think there's any cell service down there? I mean, if my group needed me for our thesis would they be able to reach me?"
You laughed. "I don't think so."
"Do you think I'd ever find my way out?"
You hummed, thinking about it for a moment. Your mouth curved to a frown and you readjusted the straps of your backpack. "I think you would eventually. If you just kept walking in one direction, you'd get to the end quicker."
"Thanks," I nodded. "I'll try to remember that if I ever end up down there."
You laughed again, and I dared myself to look at you as you did. Your eyes disappeared, and your dimple showed. Your freckles looked so charming as we stepped out into daylight. I clutched your yellow hoodie; I didn't want you to stray too far from me.
"If you ever just disappear one day," you said, "I'm going to assume you got yourself flushed, and you know what?"
"What?" I looked up at you, anticipating your answer. My grip on your hoodie tightened.
"I'd be stupid enough to go in there after you." The hopeless way you smiled at me then told me you meant it.
And you did.
You were there when I was in the sewer. When I was dirty and disheveled and wet from my tears. You were there when the shit inside me came pouring out and nobody else dared to come close. You said I would make it out if I just kept going.
You were there on top of the building with me, too. I didn't ask you to come, you just somehow knew. You showed up, panting, with your hair a complete mess and that same yellow hoodie on. You were wearing slippers when it had rained all day. I could see your muddy toes from where I stood on the edge.
"Wrong exit," you told me once you had caught your breath.
"It's hard to imagine a different one," I said.
You shook your head. "I was wrong," you said. "You don't go walking in the same direction. When you're lost and confused and miserable, you go looking for a better one. This—this takes away your option to choose."
You were there to walk me home that night. You were there to help me pick up the pieces.
