The elevator opened quietly. Apprehension was waiting patiently within and, as always, only one of us was happy with the reunion.
Normally, I would take the stairs, or outright avoid buildings of more than half-a-dozen flights. Today, workmen were fixing the stairwell’s entry – supposedly installing a new security measure.
The stairs were out-of-order!
I gazed intently around the elevator, searching for a horribly monstrous spider to calm my frazzled nerves. Perhaps a snake would make an appearance or a bat might land on my head. Apprehension wasn’t pleased with these attempts at self-distraction. Didn’t I know of the metal box we were in; the thin cords of steel carrying it aloft and the ever-expanding empty space beneath us?
I remembered being trapped in an elevator as a youth. The minutes before salvation had seemed like hours. Other occupants had been jammed in with me; their unwanted smells and nervous conversations assailed my senses and created a new, unwanted companion who would forever wait for me in enclosed spaces.
Our journey reached its destination with a gentle bump. A friendly tone preempted the doors opening.
I stepped into a corridor and the awaiting prattle of writers and journalists. Their burst of questions enveloped me in a familiar and comfortable embrace. Later, evening news bulletins would show me smiling — calm and relaxed — and opine that I was confident with how the court case was proceeding.
No-one would know that apprehension had remained in the elevator as the doors slid closed behind me.
