When we arrived at the apartment, we took the plans out of our pants legs. We locked the doors and we closed the window curtains. I said, “Everybody stay here. I’m taking the message about cookies to the…ah…to the mailbox.” The nodded their approval, and I left. I felt that my mind was supernaturally alert. At first, I thought people, men, were following me. My heart beat so forcefully in my chest, I was afraid people see my chest expanding with each beat, or my head expanding with each beat. No one stopped me to ask what was wrong with me, so, I kept on walking.
I arrived at the alley where the slot between bricks was hidden. I turned around and leaned against the brick wall. I was as casual as anyone could be who felt that eyes popped in and out of their sockets with each heartbeat. My mouth was dry as I tried to lick my dry lips. My left hand was in my left coat pocket with my fingers wrapped around the “cookie” note. I said to myself, “It’s a good thing I wrote the note in pencil. If I had used an ink pen, the ink would be all runny by now.” Again, I was as casual as anyone could be under the same circumstances. I was motionless as I attempted to withdraw my hand from my pocket. I was tempted to take the note out of my pocket and to look at it to see if it was still legible. I eased my hand out of my jacket pocket and slowly moved my hand to the left to find the slot between the bricks.
I watched the evening people walking along the sidewalk. It was hard to focus on them with the pressure behind my bulging eyes. I wondered, if when they looked at me, did they see a lunatic with chest, head, and eyes pulsating with every beat of his heart. I was relieved that no one stopped, pointed at me, and laughed his head off. I was able to get the sweat soaked paper stuck into the slot. I was quiet as I stood next to the wall. When I thought everything was good, I watched for any good size man who was walking in a direction away from our apartment. I saw one, and I walked slowly behind him, until I could find a turning place. I turned and with a fast walk, I made my way back to the apartment!
I entered the apartment, and I told the guys about my experience. I had gotten through with telling the story just seconds before we heard a knock on the door. All conversation ceased. We looked at each other. We feared that I had been watched. We suspected that we were about to be arrested. I was standing because I had just finished telling my story. The knock sounded again. Almost as one, like in one of those Esther Williams group swimming movies where all the women make the same swimming moves, the four guys in the apartment raised their arms and pointed at the door. It was like they were saying, “You brought them here. You let them in!” Oh, gosh! What wa...