It's so weird - just the act of thinking back on that evokes a visceral reaction, to this late date. Shit. I'm 65 years old. I was probably 14 when that happened. And it still has an impact.
And no one was injured, except perhaps for the odd elbow poke because of how we were all crowded in there. Everybody else had a great time. It was an innocent, fun, silly little stunt - great for a yearbook photo for the end of the year. Nobody should have to feel what I was feeling. And I'm glad about that, at least. Guess I was the only claustrophobic in the group.
Btw - when we made out our wills awhile back, I included an additional note of my last wishes. Among them - regarding boxing me up and burying me: "MAKE SURE I'M DEAD." I have this weird fear of being buried alive - like in a coma or something that escapes medical notice. Saw some horror movie about that, decades ago, and it left a powerful mark. If anything, it changed my mind about being an organ donor. I was hesitant for awhile (envisioning doctors circling over me like vultures, maybe snuffing me out a little early, to harvest whatever's needed). But fuck it. Take whatever spare parts you want if they'll do any good for somebody else. Pretty sure at that point, whatever would be left of my carcass very likely would NOT still be alive.
Weird, I know. 
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