Words on the Elevator Doors

It’s been over two years since I parked in that garage, walked those halls, and rode in that elevator. Today was for my own early morning and routine medical tests. We never came this early two years ago. Today I had my choice of parking spots. Sometimes, back then the garage would be so filled we would end up on the top level. It was calm and easy driving this morning. We had the opposite of calm, we had anger, we had resigned to fate, we had sadness, we had frightened.

I briskly stepped into the lobby, maybe too briskly. Admittedly, I was a bit distracted and I had to be called back to do a temperature check and get a sticky ID to wear on the front of my sweater. We always slowly shuffled in and worried if the large revolving door would stop on us because we were too slow.

We took the same elevator. Usually we waited for the next car, and it was always with strangers onboard. Today, it’s so early in the day, I went in immediately and rode all alone, coming and going. The same words are still on the elevator doors. Words meant to encourage. Words that instead are questionable. I mean, I questioned them. “Inhale Courage” on the left. “Exhale Fear” on the right. Whoever wrote them, meant well. For some, maybe it felt good to know someone was trying to soothe them and encourage them. I questioned them because their very existence is a reminder most passengers riding to their appointments have tremendous fear. The suggestion to exhale it, felt a bit trite to me. I questioned too, if we are exhaling fear, isn’t fear in the air now and being in fact inhaled? Where was all that courage coming from to be inhaled?

I once mentioned that to my son, who lives faraway, and he said on the phone, “Trees. Trees and plants take what we exhale and cleanse it for us.”

That made me feel better, mainly because I love trees. Then I realized, there are no plants or trees in the elevator. I don’t recall any in the hallways. Doesn’t that put everyone at risk? Where are the plants? Why are they absent? Do we wait until we get outside? Is that safe? Nowadays it doesn’t matter. We wear masks.

I remember riding that elevator together, he always to the right, me always to the left. We didn’t talk about the words on the door. Did they comfort him? Did they remind him? We would look in each other’s eyes. There’s a look that some couples share, that I always craved to have. The look that connects and speaks a private language, invisible words that dart back and forth, and carry on short conversations. We had a different look. He would tuck his chin and look up and search for connection and reassurance. I would smile at him with my eyes and my lips. He would smile back weakly and there was always that part of him that doubted. That always left me feeling a tiny bit sad for us.

We would usually go to a different floor, for his treatments. Sometimes, we went to the same floor I went to today. We would visit the surgeon who removed his lung and took away his voice. I looked down that hall today. I walked over to the door and read the name on the sign. It was locked and darkened inside; way too early for office hours. I looked down the clean and shiny, plant-less hallway.

Okay, there are no plants but I like the clean and shiny. All the fear is scrubbed away. At my own appointment, I brought my own confidence and trust to my routine medical tests.

It’s nice to be the first one seen, with everything and everyone fresh and raring to go. I made friendly conversation. One technician in particular was happy to go a bit deeper and seemed excited when I shared a recommendation about a documentary to watch.

It was all pleasant, and the pleasantness followed me out the door. The security people smiled through their masks at me. The truck driver who stopped well before he needed to and sat and waited for just me to walk across the drive. He smiled broadly and waved. Even the ticket booth lady, in her cage with no mask, was smiling and waving her outstretched hand like she wanted to jump out and hug me.

The entire morning went as if carried on angels’ wings and I was back home an hour after I left.
Today I brought my own joy and most people around me seemed happy to share. Did I share with them or did they think I needed to be cheered? Were they instead reaching out to me? Happy to see me happy, and as a result feeling decent and fine to reciprocate? Were they exhaling their fear?

The words on the door likely meant well. I question them. The last thing frightened people, or anyone needs to see is the word “Fear” written beautifully and at eye level. I mean, fearful people are highly suggestible. Why throw fear in their faces?

Are we all carrying around a bit of fear? Are we all ready to be relieved to see someone happy so we can reciprocate?

Are our faces like those doors and meant to encourage others who are reading them?

What have we written on our doors/faces?

(The End.)

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