So, it was with some trepidation that I moved back to
"I found the perfect place!" he said, elated. "And there's a grand piano in the lobby!" (My young son plays piano and my stepdad took this for a sign.)
When he told me it was on the 26th floor, I nearly fainted.
"I'm not sure that's the right place for us," I told him.
But he was insistent. There was no talking him out of it and I didn't have the heart to argue.
"Ok," I said "Take it."
That night I woke up at , panicking. I phone my stepfather.
"I think I have an elevator phobia," I told him.
" Go back to sleep," he said.
But I couldn't, so I Googled "elevator phobias" and found a plethora of helpful advice. What finally relaxed me was reading this list of 50 things to do on a elevator. I imagined making race car noises as passengers got on and off, or meowing occasionally, or passing out name tags and asking everyone to call me Admiral. I laughed myself back to sleep.
Several months later I awoke to a spectacular view of
I took a deep breath and sat down. Batdog sniffed at the door, gave a quizzical look, and then with a thump of her tail she lay down next to me. We sat for a few moments, accessing our situation, admiring the thick brass doors, the high ceilings.
"We've lived in rooms smaller than this," I told her.
She wagged her tail in agreement. We stretched and I decided to meditate and wait for release. A man, alone in the next elevator, started kicking the thick brass doors. He kicked and kicked. A women in the elevator next to him began to whimper "Get me out of here. I have to get out of here." For the next hour, to the mantras of kicking and whimpering, I continued my meditation. Batdog took a nap. Occasionally I got reports from the maintenance man. He was having difficulty determining what floor we were on and no one seemed to have any idea how to get us out. The man in next elevator stopped kicking and began punching all the buttons. Somehow, in his fury, he managed to bring out the fire department.
"Are you all right in there?" The firemen boomed from outside the elevator. And before I could answer the doors opened - we were slightly above the level of the lobby-- and I stepped down onto the strong arms of one of
At this point in the story, as I related it to a dear friend back in
And I wish I could satisfy and give a "And they lived happily ever after" ending to this tale. But the truth is, I couldn't tell what he looked like under all that rubber he wore, Batdog gave way and drizzled on his boots. Still in shock, and somewhat embarrassed, we both ran out the lobby doors so she could complete her business.
In conclusion, I can say that I no longer fear elevators. Batdog on the other hand has developed a phobia of men in rubber boots.
Celyne Camen lives, in a high-rise of course, in the city's Fairmount section.