That moment
That moment when I find myself jammed between a rebellious baby-stroller and the closed door of an old fashioned lift the size of a toilet cubicle –Is it the dozen or so non responsive buttons staring me in my the face that cause the insane drumming of tachycardia in my chest or the avalanche of saliva in my mouth or eruption of sweat on my forehead? I wish it was that simple, but no, it is not the thought of spending eternity stuck in an elevator that’s increasing my anxiety.
No, my fear is produced by something far more menacing – it’s the sound of honking horns and surging traffic racing through lights at the end of a busy bus mall that constricts my breathing and turns my hair another shade of grey. It’s also knowing there’s a two year old grandchild, who only seconds earlier was on the same side of the door as myself but was self-propelled from the safety of the nest while I semi -successfully battled the stroller into submission and while the lift door was open for the briefest of moments, but clearly long enough to allow the intrepid toddler to flee this corseted chamber of incarceration.
I press all the buttons, not fully understanding what they mean as their more modern counterparts have symbols which help my dyslexic mind. Surely D stands for door? And 1-2-3 and G-B the floor you require? I press everything The U – the D – the Do, but nothing. Speed dial is my friend. “Come fast – I am stuck in the lift at the end of the mall but your son is not – please get him before he gets to the road!” I can’t hear the answer just a swish of muffled voices, perhaps I’ve pocket dialed, no that’s not how it works – I dialed her. I imagine her running from the far end of the mall, past the cute fishy drink fountain and construction site where I’d taken master two’s photo and discussed the physics of crane-man-ship, to this end where I’m stuck in the lift with the small one cruising towards the edge of the side walk. But no, wait, I can hear his voice, “Heeeey, heey little guy, can you hear me? Come to Grammar, (sorry that’s what he calls me) bang on the door, like we do on the neighbour’s fence when we wanna make the dog bark – you know, come on – bet ya can’t find me?” Thank God he hasn’t gone out side or climbed up the stairs. I press all the buttons again and suddenly the door opens just as my daughter arrives so out of breath she struggles to open the 'way too heavy' glass door that stands as a barrier between the elevator and the road. I send up a thank you and sigh with relief – in my mind it was open – it could have been open. I laugh and I laugh but I feel sick in my stomach for the rest of the day and every day since when I consider “that moment….”
