On Daring

Susan was my best friend in second grade. She lived in a three story stucco house that could have been the setting for a scary movie. It was set back from the road, a muddy color and framed by tall, dark foreboding evergreens.
For Susan and me, however, the house was a playground. One of our favorite places was the "clothes shoot" - a lined tunnel - that went from the third floor to the basement. Through a small door, dirty laudry could be tossed to the basement, washing room area. When adults weren't around, we used this clothes shoot as a super slide.
"Want to slide down my clothes shoot?" Susan said on my first day playing at her house.
I hestitated and felt a shiver up my spine, as if ice cold air was blowing on my neck. My eyes grew big and I nodded.
Susan was first. "Just use your arms to slow you down." she said, holding her elbows away from her body. She crawled into the opening, feet first.
"Whee - e - e". Her voice disappeared into the tunnel. I was alone with my thoughts and fears. The grandfather clock's ticking seemed to echo the sound of my heartbeat. It was decision time. I didn't want to disappoint my new friend.
With a swallow, I put my feet inside the tunnel and sat on the ledge. Closing my eyes. Feeling the cold metal lining against my legs. Gradually, I inched forward to the point of no return. Off I went, sliding as darkness enveloped me. Trying to mimic what Susan taught me, I felt my arms touch the sides of the shoot.
Plop. Without warning, I landed into a basket of laundry at the bottom. The musty odor of a basement and Susan's giggles, as I peered out my right eye. The thrill of mastery.
"Want to go again?" she said.