Elevated
On
a recent evening, Roxy and I headed toward the elevator to travel down to the basement
parking garage so I could go home and shake off my day. I have to admit that when I’m in a cranky
mood, my pet peeves erupt, and this was one of those days. Even knowing that sugar is not my friend, I had eaten, in all,
three leftover cookies in the department’s front lounge throughout the day. I approached the elevator thinking about
the many times people join me there, wearing ear buds and scrolling madly on
their phones, completely tuned out to fellow travelers in this tiny space. To be fair, they may also be overworked
employees, or overwhelmed students looking forward to a break, a walk outside,
some time away from MIT, from people.
Nonetheless,
I like to engage them – I prefer not to think I’m provoking - by striking up a
conversation. I get some perverse
satisfaction from the look on their faces as they force a smile, or more of a
grimace (this lady has the nerve to interrupt my quiet time), and with all but
an audible sigh unplug their ears to the sound of my voice saying something
like, “What’s going to happen to all of us when we can’t communicate without
technology?” Sometimes their eyes fly to the wall panel to see how close they
are to their exit floor, but sometimes – and this gives me a little hope for
the future of humanity – they smile and say, “I don’t know,” or even, “That’s a
good question.”
Roxy
often ambles over and sniffs the ankles of fellow passengers, I assume to check
out whether they have a dog or cat at home. They usually stoop down to pet her,
and getting a closer look, many ask how old she is. I try not to hear that as, “How the heck old is that dog, anyway?” She was born with
the large sad eyes of an old man – the kind of eyes that, in my mind, beg,
“Please buy a sectional sofa from me. I
haven’t made one sale all week!” And her grayish muzzle has stood out against
her curly brown hair since she was two. Roxy’s warmth toward people helps me in
my crusade toward creating more personal interactions between strangers.
I
was prepared for more of the same, but was pleasantly surprised when the door
opened, revealing an empty elevator. I got in singing, trying to purge the
sugar high from my body. My pleasure turned quickly to irritation, though, when
the elevator stopped only one floor below.
A tall and handsome youngish man got in. Just in case he had heard me through the door, I laughingly confessed to him, “I was singing a song before the door opened.” He smiled down at Roxy, who was sniffing his shoes. Without giving it much thought, I asked him, “What kind of world do you think it would be if we could keep singing on an elevator even after a stranger got in?”
A tall and handsome youngish man got in. Just in case he had heard me through the door, I laughingly confessed to him, “I was singing a song before the door opened.” He smiled down at Roxy, who was sniffing his shoes. Without giving it much thought, I asked him, “What kind of world do you think it would be if we could keep singing on an elevator even after a stranger got in?”
He nodded, and said “Right.” Was he just humoring
me, I wondered?
So I said to him, “Ok, so…sing something for me.” Sugar has
been known to blur my social filter.
The
man cleared his throat. “Oh, my, well…” And then he sang with a surprisingly sturdy baritone voice, “…uhm: Do-na, no-bis, pa-a-cem pacem” and I joined him in adequate mezzo-soprano harmony, “Do naaa, no-bis,
paaa-cem. Do – na – no-o-bis pacem. Do naaa, no-o-bis, pa-a-a-a-cem.” The
elevator landed on the first floor and dinged in perfect counterpoint as we sang the last note.
The
stranger glanced my way and stepped out. I called out to the man of few words
with a pleasing voice, “Well, I feel better!” and he nodded and waved.
The
elevator opened to the basement, and Roxy and I got out. I thought about the
many special weekends Laura and I have spent with one particular group of friends,
Jan, Shelley, and Susan, singing more than a few rounds of Dona Nobis Pacem while hiking through the woods, building a fire,
or making breakfast together, and I felt grateful for old friends, and grateful
for willing strangers singing about peace in an elevator at the end of a long
day.
The
double set of stairs leading down to the parking garage made a dent in my
sugar high, but I rode the wave of another high as I sang all the way to my car.
**
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I chose the link below despite its spooky nature. After all, this is the month of Halloween.
Fantastic! Leave it to you :).
ReplyDeleteLOL!
ReplyDeleteLove this, and your blog!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Matthew!
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