Lift
Lift Wine is completely deceptive. I have an uncontrollable urge to crawl up in the foetal position and howl out loud for my mother. Instead, I grabbed greasy things in the kitchen, combed my hair with my claws and brushed my teeth. This last part was hard. Sticking a brush down my throat gave me memories of tequila, flasks full of foamy beer and that dirty man who licked his lips at me last night. I was unemployed and last night while I called in my thirteenth thousand order of fried chicken and chips, I realised how unpromising my existence was. I feared that I�d be doomed to slurping the bottom of greasy buckets to cure excessive depression. And unemployment. So after I slurped grease off my fingers, I called my friend Ally. I needed a pillar and someone who�d threaten me if I ordered dessert. Ally was a mistake. Ally was married, has a kid and I�m pretty sure she is managing to cook, clean and be sparkly without any help at all. She is also employed and healthy. Ally hates fried chicken. So when Ally trudges to my place, fake smiling through my little kitchenette littered with pizza boxes, tissues and empty bottles, I feel a little self-conscious but fight it away. Ally sits on my couch and looks at me from behind her blonde aptness. �You�re a mess, Wendy.� I didn�t expect absolute sympathy from her. Perhaps I needed that. �I smell like poultry.� �I have a dentist appointment, and then I got to go to the chemist. I�m also a little tired with Eric teething. Kevin and I have to see Eric�s friend�s mother at eight.� �Exhausting�� Ally shook her head, �You know why I�m telling you this?� �Because you want me to feel guilty?� �Because I�m going to stay with you until you come to your senses.� Ally�s baby bag was strapped around her still and she dug in it, retrieving a bottle of golden tequila and a French loaf. Refined. I didn�t get it. Ally was supposed to come with her tablets, blankets and coffee and reprimand me for being a disappointment. Now, she�s giving me the devil juice and carbs? �You�re not supposed to-� �Take a swig.� Ally commanded as she pushed her baby bag away. The thousands of grinning duckies on the bag looked more sinister than they should. From that moment, Ally and I spoke about everything. I told her about my life: the grease; the lifespan of limbo; the lack of wallet weight and the incredible dividing line between my happy happy teenage years and old-age contentment. Ally brought the tequila for a reason. She was trapped and sullen at how fast she�s grown up and even though she loves Kevin and Eric, she feels like she should travel more, dance more, drink more, meet other people and drive around Brazil with a desire to kiss any man she pleases. Then it was a blunt blur. The loaf and tequila energised us and the city waited like a gaping manhole; willing and eager to devour us. There was a man with a foul moustache who offered us shots of green. There was a cop who gave us slips but let us off. There was a lady who might have been a man. The dance floor was buzzing and the toilet bowl was out third friend for the night. There was the thin man who licked his lips at me. The lights pounding; my legs pounding; my temples pounding. I woke up with a note from Ally plastered to my forehead. �Had to go. Speak later.� And there I was back to greasy living. There was a moment as a child when I knew I�d be something one day. I entered myself into the speaking contest at school despite me being a coward in front of the class. I spoke when spoken to back then and everyone laughed at the fact that I would be saying a speech for a plastic trophy. Before the big day, I was memorising the words and all the research I�ve done through twenty encyclopaedias. What was there to say about giraffes? When I told my mom I�d like to say my speech on giraffes, she hesitated but left me to my own devices. Growing up, I collected stuffed giraffes and drew pictures on my cupboard. Then, I worked through the obsession. The speaking day was set for me to impress and mom told me always write and say things that I love. Did you know a giraffe can eat up to 75 pounds a day? Did you know their heart is 2 feet long and weighs about 25 pounds? Their heart beats up to 170 times/minute. And their tongue is black. I had people mesmerised and told the world how if animals were politicians, the world would have peace, love and everyone would be happy. I had gold. I knew that this was my calling. I could write and speak and manipulate. I could go green and spread nature love. There is always a time when we feel appreciated and recognised and �meant to be living in this world�. When I woke up with Ally�s words on my head, I nearly cried. Because nothing will ever change. Childhood is the longest period where you will remain innocent, happy and optimistic. Mostly, you�ll stay true to your heart. After brushing and shaping my hair into some sort of form, I headed out to the place I was meant to be. Nowhere. I packed a brush, a ten rand note and my bank card which is worth less than my note. I packed a photograph of my parents, Ally and Gran. My eyes were cold and scratchy. I pushed my key under the door and waved goodbye to my front door. For now. There was nothing in my way to Nowhere. A Neverland where I could be nine again. I wanted that. Except, the lift wouldn�t open once I got in. ******** �Nuts!� a voice behind me muffled. I turned to see 34 B with his eyes closed as if he was praying for divine intervention. Who says nuts? Curse words can live in 2012. 34 B was in suit, probably off to work or a date with his fianc�. The buttons in the lift didn�t light up when I slammed them countless times. 34 B was checking his watch and sighing far too heavily � making sure I heard him. Oh, this was my fault. �What�s the emergency number?� I said out loud. 34 B pointed. I pushed the buttons before dialling. Nothing. A beep on the other end. The elevator playlist died and the neon lights dimmed. Divine intervention. 34 B laughed a little. He was a tall man, cleanly shaven and smelled good. He was a walking commercial for perfection and self-importance. I know about 34 B because he walks to work everyday like some eco saviour. He prompted the recycling system downstairs in the flat�s entrance and he always seemed like he was a mysterious do-gooder. An opposite. �My phone is dead.� 34 B muffled and sat cross-legged on the floor, closing his eyes softly. Maybe he was hungover, too? �Someone will come.� He nodded at me and looked at me as if he was waiting for something. �You can sit,� he said. Uncanny behaviour from do-gooder. 34 B�s never sat in lifts. �I�m alright.� He just smiled and fiddled with his watch, undoing the clasp and taking it off. I noticed it was one of those Mickey Mouse watches where Mickey�s arms danced around in a circle. He memorised the time and put it in his pocket. �I�m Peter�� �I�m Wendy.� Peter almost scoffed. I pushed the button again. We made fun of 34 B. Mrs. Darling downstairs asked me if he worked for the government. I told her he could be a spy. She believed my tale and word got around. The young couple next door to me asked if he was some sort of big shot lawyer person. I told them he could be serial killer. He could pull it off couldn�t he? Not a hair out of place and hygienic looking. He might scrub off blood for a living. �Where you headed?� Peter asked, eyeing my backpack. �Just out. Where are you going?� �To quit my job.� �Why?� Peter shrugged. Maybe he was down and out. Maybe other people needed a change, too. Maybe he wants to afford more than a Mickey Mouse watch. �What do you do?� I asked, scared he�d pull a knife on me now. Peter looked at me, �You�re running away aren�t you?� I frowned at his response. He also didn�t answer my question. Oh, Peter at 34 B, how very peculiar and shadowy. �I�m just going for a walk.� �There is no need to run away.� �And you�re quitting your job�� �Different,� he said, a little irritated. My throat was dry and head seemed to feel heavier in the lift. I had to sit down. Peter stared at me and I tried to avoid it. I tried to distract myself with a 5 cent piece on the floor. I tried my phone again but the signal was still down. �Wendy, have you ever wanted to go back?� �What?� �To your past?� Who hasn�t? I want to go back and risk everything for everything. I want to see India. I want to write a book. I want to save the giraffes. I want to write about nature and fantasies far away. I want to be in love. �No.� Peter�s eyes dance a little at my response, �All you have to do is believe you can.� I smiled. Dear me, he was insane. Stay polite and he won�t kill you. �I�m quitting because I want to fly.� �Fly where?� Why was I talking to 34B? Peter looked at the top of the lift, a little lost in thought. Maybe he wanted to see India, too. �I don�t really know. All I need is a little bit of faith and trust, you know? I�ve always wanted to see snow.� �You�ve never seen snow?� Peter shook his head, smiling. I looked up at the lights that were flickering. I wonder if someone would hear me if I screamed. Could I scream when I felt hurt, sore and trapped? Could I scream if 34 B was here? I think I could. I could scream away my adult problems. I could scream away this feeling. Divine intervention. �Forget them, Wendy.� �What?� �You don�t have to worry about the things in your life anymore�� �You�re a little strange aren�t you?� I had to say it. Peter laughed heavily and folded his legs like a 12-year-old, curious, naughty, eccentric fun. �I just want to live a little. And you should, too. I want to be a boy again. Back then, I could play. I could pretend to be a bad guy, a policeman, a pirate, a Power Ranger�� Peter retrieved his watch and looked at the time, �now I�m worrying about work when I�m going to quit anyway.� �At least you have a job.� �What do you want to do?� Everything. �Not drink too much.� �You�re suffering?� �Long night. Wine and beer.� �What do you want to do?� he asked me again. I knew what he wanted. Some sort of grand idea. �My unfulfilled ambition is to write a great novel about my adventures.� �What adventures?� �Exactly�� �You�ll have them,� he said simply. It seemed like he knew it perfectly. Like it was a simple mathematical equation. Like he knew my hopes. Gran said the same thing to me before she passed. We used to play Scrabble over mucky coffee and talk about her past boyfriends, before Pa and her got married. Gran was a wild thing in her day: an experimental hippie, groupie, off-beat musician and painter. She was a nurse, studied English literature and would work at the old raceway selling tickets. She would go out every night, put a record on and create a miraculous adventure. All this, she said, was part of being young and free. I�m pretty sure some of her stories were counterfeit but I didn�t care. I needed to live like that. After meeting Pa, Gran said she �came to her senses� and became what her mother wanted her to be: a society-driven saint, dutiful wife and loving mother. She didn�t regret marrying Pa or becoming a mother or even spending the next thirty five years as a secretary at some law firm. She was happy. But, before Pa, Gran was happiest, untamed and in her element. This was relived over Scrabble. I didn�t quite get it then. Gran liked knitting and baking � normal �gran� things � but reminisced about something contradictory and exultant. After she won Scrabble (she always won), she always followed one of her memories with �Oh, you�ll go through it one day, Wendy. You�re young.� I didn�t go through it. Peter opened his briefcase and took out bank statement, bills and notices. There was a traffic fine with a red stamp throbbing at the top. He was showing me how he didn�t care about adult things anymore. How he didn�t care about paying things anymore because when you�re a child, you just don�t need all of that ruining your day. He tore them up in half and smiled wider as he went along. I just watched and kept my mouth shut, half-wishing I could just do that. I already had a throbbing red bill somewhere in my post box. �What do you want to do?� It�s a question he asked me. Peter looked at his shoes, so perfectly polished I was sure he could see his reflection. �I don�t know. Just go on an awfully long adventure. You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it.� He tore up his last letter and his face drained of sparkle, like he was just hit by a sudden soul-drenching thought. �Wendy? I know what we need to do.� �I�m not going to tear anything up, Peter�� �Close your eyes and take my hand.� My cell was dead and the lights stopped flickering as the lift went dark. We both looked up and being stuck got a little more real. Inside, things got a little more unreal. Who was 34 B? �I think I�ll push the button again.� Peter let me. Nothing happened. No sign of life. �Wendy, I-� �Listen Peter. I admire your enthusiasm, I really do but thinking you can just run away is stupid.� �You wanted to run away�with your small bag.� �For a few hours maybe. But you, you want to be a boy. You�re never going to be a Power Ranger again, Peter.� �If you start believing in nothing, nothing will happen. If you think you can�t leave your sad life, then you won�t. Never ever.� I sighed at him, �What the hell does that even mean!� �It means �Close your eyes and take my hand�� �You live in a fantasy.� �Perhaps we all should. Real life is scary.� I remembered Ally. She was happy but she was still yearning for change. I wondered if anyone can be perfectly happy. I grabbed Peter�s hand. I was soft and warm and childlike. He rubbed his forefinger over my hand like a soft paint brush. �Close your eyes, Wendy.� His eyes were already closed. I slowly closed my eyes as the room went darker, softer, elastic. The tree had a new swing and Gran brought me right after school so it was empty. Gran would do her knitting in the park while I played. Ally was not here yet so I had the park to myself. Gran said something about not swinging too high because I�ll fall on my nose and break it! There it was. The rope tightened and fresh, painted in varnish so it glowed. Oh, it glowed bright! �Can I have a turn after you?� It was a boy with blonde locks, eyes green and deep and he was holding a plastic sword and the Red Power Ranger who only had one arm. �I�m going first!� I told him, �I was here first!� The boy smiled at me, �Go ahead.� I frowned at him. His shorts were full of caked mud and grass. I was on the swing and it held me perfectly like the couch at home. It was my couch. I smiled as I pushed myself forward off my feet so the swing could roll. The boy dropped his things. �Need me to push you?� �No!� The boy smiled, �You can swing. I�ll just help.� Why was he being so nice? I didn�t answer, I just stopped and let him push me. It was amazing. I saw the sun�s purple and red and the sky�s blue. The clouds were behind me and every time I went forward, I put my head back and made my eyes big. I looked at everything. The tree�s autumn leaves and the wide clouds behind me. The boy laughed with me and I was perfectly happy. Perfectly happy. Gran called me after spectacular moments. �Wendy, dinner now.� The boy stopped me and I looked at him in a thankful smile. The boy gave me his hand and I took it. His hands were dirty and his Mickey Mouse watch was scratched. �Goodbye�� I said. �Never say goodbye,� the boy said before I could go, �goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.� The lift ringed to life and the doors opened to Mrs. Darling looking troubled and confused. Peter and I were still holding hands and the horrible jingles started again. �Wendy?� Mrs. Darling was with a handyman who obviously fixed the lift, �Were you stuck in there this whole time?� �Not anymore. Never again.�
Copyright © 2012 Lauren Van Der Vyver |