The Ironic Elevator (Part Three)
Posted: Sunday, March 22, 2009
by Michael Ramzy
delusionthread.com
I glanced at the photo, then turned my eyes back to the vial of medicine I was stretching my hand out to. I was only inches from it when I stopped. I was kneeling in the elevator with my arm out and I just stopped.
The man continued to choke and clutch his chest, but I could no longer hear him. I turned my eyes back to that photograph and noticed it was not a portrait or picture she posed for. And the moment I realized that fact I made a connection between all of the money and the photograph.
6
How long I stayed in that position with my arm outstretched for the vial of pills I do not know. The elevator was still moving up to its destination, the forty-third floor. The man was still moaning and clutching his heart. It was only moments, I think, that I was in that position of inaction.
I reached over and grasped the vial of pills, then rose. I turned to the man who was now looking at me with both fear and a strange kind of wonder. The look he gave me said he was afraid he was going to die and afraid I would not help him.
Obviously there was only one thing I could do in this situation.
In my hand I held the vial of pills. I looked down and read the label, taking in the man's name and the pharmacy which had filled the prescription. Time seemed to move slower now, I noticed, since it seemed as though I read the label very slowly.
Almost casually.
As I said, it is difficult to imagine this situation if you have never experienced it.
The man's breathing suddenly became more labored as his eyes rolled back and closed. I knew then, as I read the label and every now and then stealing a glance at the money on the floor, that this man would die from his heart attack if I did not help him. He needed the pills I held in my hand. Specifically, he needed me to take a few pills out of the vial and place them on his tongue so he could swallow them and allow the quickness of the medicine to save his heart and his life. He needed this, I saw. He needed me to reach out and help him.
Of course there was only one thing I could do.
I bent down and picked up the photograph depicting my wife with her determined lover, then rose and faced the man squarely. His eyes were now open and he looked at me with more fear now than wonder. Once again, I did something without thought.
You have to understand that when confronted with the sights I had been confronted with in the quick flash of time that had passed, decision or contemplation is something that does not come. Everything happens by instinct.
I reached my hand up and placed the vial of pills directly in front of the man's face. He looked at the label and then glanced at me with the expression of a beggar. I then opened my fingers and let the vial of pills drop to the floor. His eyes widened as he watched the vial slip from my grasp, then widened further as I held the photograph in front of his eyes. He looked at me again, his eyes no longer those of a beggar but those of one who knows no power on earth will save his life.
I nodded my head and retreated to the front of the elevator. I dropped my eyes to the floor and glanced at all of that money again, then raised my eyes to the man. Dropping the photograph, I crossed my arms and leaned back against the door, the vibration of the moving elevator tickling my spine.
And then I waited.
7
He died before the elevator reached my floor.
I think I mentioned earlier I live on the top floor of this building. It is a penthouse, the only apartment on the floor. By the time the elevator reached my floor I had replaced all of the money into the briefcase. I placed the photograph in my coat pocket along with the vial of pills. The few strays I left on the floor.
When the elevator opened on my floor I walked out and down the hall to my apartment. I heard the soft wisp of the elevator as its doors closed and heard it begin its descent to some other floor in the building.
I walked to my apartment and opened the door. I stuck my head in slowly to see if I could hear my wife. I heard the television so I knew she was home. I entered with my briefcase in my left hand and the fat man's briefcase in my right hand and walked through to the balcony, where my wife was lounging in the sun and watching the small portable television.
I set both briefcases down at the door to the balcony, then made my way outside to greet my wife. I wondered idly how much money was inside the fat man's briefcase. There were stacks of thousand-dollar bills inside, but I had no idea how much was there altogether.
I was going to wait until I had thrown my wife off of the balcony before I counted it.
to be continued . . .
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Top-level comments on this article: (1 total)Wow Michael, I have to go back and read parts 1 and 2. Very compelling writing. I am hooked and watching for part four. Blessings,TeresaThanks. This was a lot of fun to write. Thanks for reading and commenting.
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