A piece I wrote a while back. Hope you like it! Have a beautiful day. <3, C.A.
We Were Going Up
A while back, I was in the elevator at a clinic, and there was this
dark-haired kid who soon joined me. He was in a wheel chair, and his mom
was pushing him, tucking him into the last empty space in the back. She
seemed nervous about brushing against people. Well, everyone was edgy
as hell. Isn't that always true about elevators? There's some kind of
unspoken "Don't touch me or I'll kill you" rule.
So the
elevator was packed, which always makes me nervous, because I, for one,
hate the idea of brushing up against someone. Man. It's not really the
actual touch that's bad -- it's the anticipation of the possible touch that's bad. The terrible wait for the inevitable accidental shirt sleeve hitting my coat. Shiver.
Anyway,
we were going up. Well, we were supposed to be. See, right after we
were all set, and all of our correct buttons had been pressed by Suit
Man, and we were packed in there like candy in a dish, this blond lady
squished her body inside and yelled, "Can you press 'floor one' for me?"
Suit Man growled and pressed the button for her.
With
that, the kid in the wheel chair shrugged, looked at Blond Lady right
in the eye and said, "Fuck you." Then he started cracking up.
I
laughed too. Shit, we all wanted to say it. He was just the only one
brave enough to bust out with the choice words. We were jam packed,
someone smelled like ass, the weather had been horrible, and for sure,
no one was visiting the clinic for any reason that was remotely
enjoyable, and here was this woman squeezing her ass on our ride,
looking to go down, when we were going up. So yeah, we all wanted to say
it.
The kid looked at her and said it again. "Fuck you." Then he really started howling.
I
did too. My nose started running. I looked around. A few others had
some muffled chuckles going on, but the kid and I were really letting
loose.
Then the kid's mom said to him, "Stop it. That's not nice."
From his wheelchair, the kid shrugged again and stared up at me, beaming.
I held up my thumb at him, beaming back at my partner in crime.
When we finally made it to our floor, number four, the kid and I slid on into the waiting room at the same time.
Then
I saw the back of his head. A thin scar, a bald patch, stretched from
the crown of his head all the way to his neck. Either brain surgery or
trauma, I wasn't sure. But what struck me was that there we were, seeing
docs for whatever random issues (and obviously he had some serious
issues going on), but in that moment in the elevator, none of the
physical bullshit really mattered. Our separate lives didn't matter. Our
separate problems didn't matter. What mattered was one brave jokester
(ironically, the most physically impaired one there), and one shared
laugh. Perhaps our laugh was at Blond Lady's expense but hell, sister,
we were going up.
When I feel my gut, my heart, my
soul tell me what's right, regardless of the crowd, I gotta leave a few
behind, join people like this kid, and head for the laughter and the
light. See, I want to live my life fully, love, and focus on my dreams,
not stay stuck in my head. Change is all around me. Onward and upward,
C.A. MacConnell
