This place is totally tubular!
Upon climbing up a wooden ladder — attached to an inside wall of the church baptistery — and squeezing through a ceiling access panel, this mild-mannered freshman blurted out the popular catchphrase after stepping into a cavernous space among the rafters high atop the colossal red-brick building, adorned with stained-glass windows.
Sunlight poured through a pair of large glass block windows, illuminating every square inch of impractical real estate the attic had to offer, including the football field-like area above the sanctuary.
If someone had casually mentioned at breakfast this morning that a hidden world awaited me in the church attic, I would’ve thought they were nutty as a fruitcake.
Had I stumbled upon this ginormous space before declaring the garage attic my personal kingdom, I could’ve had a hideout as big as the Taj Mahal.
When the first frost of the season sent temperatures plunging into the upper twenties that second weekend in October, I opened the elevated hall closet — situated directly above the stairwell landing — to grab an extra blanket for my bed.
My eyes immediately locked on the widow’s peak access panel overhead.
Thinking back to a day not so long ago, I remembered poking my head into that unfinished space, searching for a potential hideout to call my own.
Without a proper floor, sneaking a load of lumber into the house without my parents giving me the third degree would’ve been impossible. That little pipe dream vanished into thin air before it had a chance to take shape.
As my eyes landed on the square tile in the ceiling, the past blurred into the present.
Suddenly staring at my own surroundings, I was transported back to the previous Sunday, standing in the corridor, waiting to make a grand entrance onto the choir loft.
That’s when I first spotted the attic access panel through an open door leading to the church baptistery.
Eager to uncover what lurked in the attic space above the church baptistery, I barely slept. Restless and wired with anticipation, I spent the night tossing and turning, waiting for morning to arrive.
“Marcus Welby, M.D.,” Mom declared, dividing the last of the scrambled eggs between my big brother and me. “Since you’ve already had three strips of bacon, the last piece goes to your little sister.”
“Michele said she doesn’t want it,” I blurted out.
“In that case, you need to share it with me,” John teased, snatching the last crispy strip of bacon right out of my hand.
“Now it’s even-steven,” he continued, flashing a smug grin as he handed me half the piece back.
“Before I forget,” the minister’s wife said, pausing as she set the frying pan into the dishwater. “Considering your father and I are taking the girls shopping for Halloween costumes, we won’t be home until supper; but there’s plenty of lunch meat in the fridge and other snacks in the cupboard.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” I thought, fighting to suppress the sly grin spreading across my face. “With my sisters gone for most of the day, I’d finally have the freedom to sneak over to the church and uncover whatever secrets lay hidden in the rafters.”
With my mother tidying up after breakfast and my younger siblings changing out of their pajamas for the excursion ahead, I had just enough time to fit in a quick weight training workout in the underbelly of the church parsonage — before embarking on my own scavenger hunt.
Faster than a speeding bullet, I bounded down the open staircase in a single leap, landing in my makeshift gym beneath the guest room — ready to pump some iron.
After working up a sweat with another round on the bench press, I wiped my brow with a hand towel. Glancing around the small room, I found myself slipping into memories of the not-so-distant past.
“I can’t believe it’s been two years already,” I mused, adding a little more weight to the barbell for one last set. “Just when I thought this room would be the perfect hideout, my talkative sisters swooped in with their baby dolls and staged a full-blown coup.”
But it’s a good thing they did — if they hadn’t taken over, I never would’ve built my elevated fortress in the two-car garage.
Upon finishing up my last set of dumbbell curls, the front door clicked shut as muffled voices hurried toward the family station wagon before speeding off down North Street.
Chalk it up to perfect timing.
Once the freckle-faced athlete crossed the street to shoot hoops with his athletic friends behind Northside Elementary School, I slipped through the front door and darted toward the side entrance of the church.
What a relief — the set of double doors was thankfully unlocked.
Shortly after meticulously inspecting every nook and cranny of the dust-laden space that time forgot, this budding thespian ascended what could very well have been a theater stage tucked into the back corner of the angled roof.
“To be, or not to be, that is the question,” I declared, raising a hand in dramatic fashion. In my mind’s eye, an enthusiastic audience erupted into applause, celebrating my flamboyant performance.
“With so many possibilities,” I pondered, hopping down from the two-foot platform and sending dust swirling from the floorboards beneath my feet, “it’s hard to believe this place has never been put to use.”
Their loss is my gain!
“This place is much bigger than the old bell tower I found last year after climbing up the attic access ladder in our Sunday school classroom above the foyer,” I recalled, my mind drifting to the broken bell and the stacks of old songbooks lining the walls.
It’d make the perfect hiding place for hide-and-seek. No one would ever find me up here.
However, as I climbed back down the wooden ladder in the baptistery, second thoughts crept in about relocating my clubhouse to the church attic.
“How would I ever fit all that furniture up through that tiny opening?” I wondered, staring up at the square tile neatly placed over the attic entry. “Besides, without a barn door like in my current setup, that place would be way too hot and stuffy—not to mention the dust, which I’m allergic to.”
After closing the door leading to the indoor dunking tank, my eyes grew wide as I thought, “I can’t wait to show Magsy and Robbie this place — it’s gonna blow their minds.”
Some treasures aren’t gold or jewels — they’re the hidden worlds we discover when curiosity gets the better of us.