We learn how to stand in a line in kindergarten or earlier.
I guess the reason is order or control.
Lines last throughout our lives.
I’ve been in plenty of lines.
This is a story about a time I got in the wrong one.
I stood in a line to board a ferry.
There was a woman there, a lady.
She’s actually a pretty famous island girl.
Plenty of people have seen her, and it was my turn.
I stepped off of the boat, walked around the island and made my way inside.
The line started there.
Daddy and I stood in it for a while.
It creeped toward an elevator at snails pace, and gave us time to meet two more ladies.
They had English accents. If memory serves they were from Wales, but I’m not exactly sure.
One of them had on a Rolling Stones T-shirt, and both of them were pleasant.
We talked about where we’d come from to get to the island, and then we got in the elevator.
I just realized I forgot to mention the fact the famous lady had been put on a pedestal, and the pedestal is where the elevator stopped.
When I stepped out into the sunlight I was under her feet, but I had a great view of a place called Liberty Island.
We stood there for a while, but eventually made our way back to the line for the elevator.
I stared up into the framework of the Statue of Liberty, which is a sight to see all its own, and I got lost.
Apparently, at some point, the line branches.
One side leads to the elevator, and the other leads to a lot of stairs.
Somehow, I got in the wrong line and went down every one of the stairs from the statue’s pedestal to the Liberty Island land.
I think there’s 195 steps between those points, but it wasn’t too bad.
I got to see Lady Liberty, and I got plenty of exercise.
This post is my response to Sue’s prompt for today, “line.”