History Rewritten, Made into Condos a short story by Kate Yes, I know it's awfully long. It’s past ten PM and I’m standing on the stone arch bridge in downtown Minneapolis. There’s a backpack with some water, a flashlight, an old camera, and a first aid kit on the ground. It falls over and lands on my foot, clad in a somewhat beat-up hiking boot, complete with broken laces. My jeans are torn and stained, my shirt advertises one of my favorite obscure bands; if my backpack wasn’t bright red I’d look like a shady character. The tripod case I’m carrying probably doesn’t help. Next to me, my companion (code name Glass) isn’t happy with my color choice. Of course, he looks like anyone else out on the street, carrying a dark gray backpack and wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt. I tap my toe in a little puddle left over from the rain that had fallen earlier in the evening, splashing the hem of my jeans as I wait for whatever it is that comes next. I’ve stowed my glasses for safekeeping, so my vision is a little hazy, but I can see two men approaching us. As they come closer, they come into sharper focus, and Glass obviously recognizes them. “Freak, Clockwork, this is Russian,” he says. Clockwork offers a hand, which I shake; Freak smiles a little and asks if this is my first time out. “For the record, no, but this is my first time exploring with anyone but Glass,” I tell him, hoisting my backpack and letting it settle on my shoulders. This is strictly true. I’m a little worried, because tonight I’m meeting a few members of the active urban exploring community in the Twin Cities and I’m anxious to prove that I’m as capable as any of them. Other people pass by, probably students off for a night of fun. Well, that’s what we’re here for as well, just in a different form. I push my long hair back from my face and manage to knot it up in a ponytail, and then look quizzically at the three guys, conversing amongst themselves quietly. Clockwork glances at me, smiles, and informs me that several others—Warchyld, Atomx, Mitsuko, Darlinclem, and Spark Plug—are waiting for us on the other side of the bridge, near the old Pillsbury mill complex. I raise my eyebrows slightly, because nine is an unheard-of number for an exploring mission. Freak nods and says, “Yeah, it’s a big group tonight, but we’ll be entering and exiting in waves, so there’s really nothing to worry about.” And with that, we set off across the bridge. On the way over I learn that Clockwork is really from Iowa, that he’s up for a visit because there’s nothing to explore in Dub City, or so he says. Freak discloses his real name to me, and that he’s from Alaska, but studies at the U of M. I supply them with a little return information—I call the Twin Cities home, but study in rural Wisconsin, so the summer is really my only time to explore. “Russian’s a good Sherpa,” Glass comments. I roll my eyes and hand him his tripod. Before I can humiliate him, though, the four of us almost walk into a group of five that look just as ragtag as we do. They don’t look surprised, so I assume that these people are the aforementioned other half of our crew. Sure enough, a shorter girl with sandy hair steps forward, pecks Freak on the cheek, and introduces herself to me as Darlinclem. A very petite girl wearing a bandanna calls herself Spark Plug; the more muscular guy simply holds out a hand and says, “Warchyld.” I resist the urge to say, “Me Russian.” The tall skinny guy introduces himself as Atomx and the last girl as Mitsuko, who promptly asks if she can stow her sweatshirt in my backpack. I oblige, shake hands all round, and tell them that they can call me Russian. Spark Plug shoots me a questioning glance and says, “You don’t look Russian.” Glass stifles a laugh and explains that I have a penchant for White Russians. I don’t particularly like my code name, it makes me sound like a lush, but I can’t think of a better one so I’m stuck. The whole crowd of us loops around the block once, scouting for entrance points, of which there happens to be one. Warchyld spots a truck delivery bay with what appears to be an open door. The door turns out to be blocked, but the piping and gouges in the concrete wall are spaced well enough that one could climb up the first two floors and end up on the roof. I watch as Warchyld and Clockwork scramble up and disappear over the lip of the roof, then wait with the rest while the two on top look for open windows or roof hatches. After what seems like an eternity but is really less than ten minutes, they return with good news. There’s a ladder leading farther up, and a forced window leading into a main stairwell. Now, all we have to do is scale the side of the building without any sort of climbing gear. Glass absentmindedly hands me his tripod case and scurries up like a little monkey. However, my fear of heights chooses the worst possible time to kick in and I make a small sound as I follow his path, freezing up suddenly at the lip of the roof. I grip the edge tightly but can’t seem to get my legs over. Warchyld spots my distress, grabs me by the forearm, and hauls me over. I nod my thanks and catch my breath, then watch as Spark Plug struggles with the same problem and Warchyld deals with it in the exact same manner. Before long all nine of us are crouching on the rooftop. Clockwork leads the way over to the exposed ladder leading up two more stories. I look around, wary because we’re high up and exposed to anyone who thinks to look up, but we don’t hear any sirens. From there we all climb and step over the gap to the next rooftop, then walk a short distance to the window that Warchyld and Clockwork had forced. It’s not open very wide, maybe a little more than a foot, and the sill is about six feet off the ground outside. I manage to jury-rig a stepstool up, which we take turns holding as others climb through the window, forcing it farther open. I squeeze through second to last and stand clear as Freak wiggles in and nearly falls down the stairs. I breathe in deeply and smell the old flour, dust, and dampness of any abandonment. It’s a wonderful smell, underappreciated by so many. “Well, we’re in,” Mitsuko says. “What now?” Freak asks. Everyone starts talking all at once. I can decipher bits—but the general idea is “go up to the roof, and do it now.” So we go. Working our way upward is more tiring than I’d thought it would be. I’m still carrying Glass’ tripod, and I privately wonder when he’s going to start carrying his own shit around. From elevator shaft to stairwell to access ladder, we move in single file, everyone preoccupied with his or her own thoughts. Occasionally we pause to investigate something more closely, until finally we’re breathing the clean, though somewhat damp, night air. I check the luminescent dial on my watch—it’s nearly midnight. I look out over the Minneapolis skyline, glowing golden in the misty haze. Glass and Freak are busy setting up their cameras, the rest of us take the time to have a drink and relax a little. Spark Plug, Darlinclem, and Mitsuko discuss the possibility of having a ladies-only exploring night and invite me along, with the stipulation that I must wear a skirt. Atomx crouches at the edge of the roof; Freak takes a few long-exposure shots. Glass arranges the rest of us underneath the giant neon Pillsbury sign to take a group portrait, then waits for Freak and Atomx to join in. He triggers his shutter with a delay, runs over, and poses next to me. We spend some more time surveying the area around us, attempting to find other places in the vicinity to explore. We’re largely unsuccessful; most of the buildings are either now museums or condos for rich people. I can see a skyscraper that appears to be under construction, and when I mention it to Warchyld he nods. “That’ll be condos by the end of the summer.” I ask if any of them have been in it; he laughs. Before long someone complains of a chill and we troop back down to the mills from the elevators. We keep our lights off, because the windows near the top aren’t boarded and we have a healthy dose of paranoia. I stumble a couple of times and nearly end up flat on my face, but manage to stay upright. As we move along, all of us are snapping photos, some more enthusiastically than others. Glass arranges me near a broken-down pile of mystery machinery for a portrait; Darlinclem finds a dolly and scoots around on it. Before long, we find what really brought us here: a Humphrey Manlift, also known as a Belt-O-Vator. The Belt-O-Vator is one of the strangest contraptions I’ve ever seen. It’s a conveyor belt with shelves and handholds attached so that one could stand on a ledge, tug on the rope to turn it on, and go up or down as he or she pleased. Freak tugs on the rope, the manlift creaks and begins moving, and all of us cheer. Functioning Belt-O-Vators are extremely rare, it’s rumored that our humble little city is the only town that can boast them. However, it’s apparent that all of us will ride it down three floors to the “A” mill, and my nerves kick in once again. I watch as, one by one, my compatriots ride down without a hitch, but can’t help letting out a small squeak when I tug the rope and start moving down, clinging to the handhold for dear life. When I reach the desired floor, I jerk the rope again, take Atomx’s proffered hand, and step slightly down to blessedly solid ground. He notices I’m shaking, claps me on the shoulder, and reassures me, “You handled yourself just fine.” I smile weakly and sit down with my back against a pillar. Next to me, Darlinclem smiles much more convincingly. I watch as Glass’ feet come into view, he stops the manlift, and bounces off nonchalantly; all the while thinking to myself that we’re lucky to be alive. I see his eyes widen at the room we’re in—five foot high cylindrical storage containers, pillars, rotting floor—it’s a photographer’s dream. He wanders around the room, taking photos, and winds up by arranging the entire group for another portrait. This one is a little more complex. Warchyld and Clockwork have to boost me up to sit on one of the storage cylinders, Freak strikes an attitude to the far right, Spark Plug and Darlinclem sit side by side on the floor, Warchyld kneels in front of the cylinder I’m perched upon, Clockwork sits on one a few paces behind me, Mitsuko stands in front of him, and Atomx and Glass stand on either side of the pillar we’re loosely grouped around. The shutter clicks and we relax, then groan when Glass insists on taking another. That ordeal done, we wander the second floor for a while. We find a chalkboard with the code names and tags of other known explorers, so each of us adds a little something. Then we continue along the second floor until we’re satisfied with the night’s exploring. The first floor has to be left alone because we know it’s wired with motion sensors—except for one small area that we must use to exit. Spark Plug cautions me to stay right against the wall, which I oblige as best I can. Within seconds of descending the stairs to the first floor, all nine of us are out in the truck bay that we’d used to enter. We stream single file out of the complex and hold our collective breath when a private security team cruises past us. We’re aware of how suspicious we look. When they spotlight us, we run. Not the best idea we’ve ever had, but the security force didn’t see us on the grounds so they can’t prove anything. They must know this, because they don’t give chase and the nine of us end up panting on the stone arch bridge. We exchange high fives or hugs, then head our separate ways. Back in Glass’ car, on the way back home, he gives me a curious look. “You satisfied your need for exploring yet, girl?” I just smile at him. I know there's another group event coming up, and I also know I'll be there.