Page 53 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
Two to three.
Three to four.
Four to five.
Five to six.
Six to . . .
The arrow stops between the numbers six and seven. And I realize the car has stopped too.
Pax moves the lever back to open; the doors don’t budge. He moves it back to up. Nothing.
“You broke it!” I tell him.
“I didn’t break it,” he says. “It’s an old elevator, it’s probably just tired and needs a little break. I’ll just call—”
“There’s no phone.”
He looks at the elevator panel. “There’s no phone,” he repeats. “But there is an emergency button.” He pushes it. Nothing happens.
I reach over and push it.
“What? You think somehow when you push it, it’s better than when I do?”
“You might have pushed it wrong,” I say.
“Really? I might have pushed the button wrong? You don’t think that’s a skill I learned, oh I don’t know, when I was two?” He pulls off his hat/wig and runs his hands over his head. The glasses come off next and he pinches the bridge of his nose. He holds it so tight I can see the skin turning white under his fingertips.
I remain silent, then remember, a bit belatedly, that Pax gets a little panicky in small enclosed spaces.
He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and holds it up. “I don’t have a signal. Do you?”
I shake my head. It was the first thing I checked, but I don’t tell him that.
He bangs on the gate. “Hello! Hello, can anyone hear us?” With his other fist, he bangs on the wall. He continues banging for at least a solid minute.
“I don’t think they can hear us,” I say when he finally pauses.
“Well, someone has to hear something. This is crazy. We can’t just be stuck in here. I can’t be stuck in here. I don’t like this. I don’t like elevators. Why didn’t I take the stairs? Stupid. So stupid.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Deep breaths. Calm down and take deep breaths.”
He does as I suggest.
“There you go,” I say calmly. “Smell the flowers in and blow the candles out.” I use the same saying I know his dad taught him as a kid when he would get upset.
He laughs. I do too.
Pax leans back against the elevator car wall and slides down until he’s sitting on the floor, legs bent, and lowers his head between his knees.
“You’re supposed to put your head between your knees while you’re still standing if you’re going to hyperventilate,” I tell him.
“I know, but I feel better sitting. And I’m not going to hyperventilate.” He takes off his jacket and spreads it on the floor. “Join me?”
I move to sit but realize I can’t with how tight my skirt is. I squat a bit and push my butt to the right but can’t make it all the way down to his level. Repeat to the left results in the same outcome. Pax stands, laughing.
“Here, take my hands and I’ll lower you down,” he says.
