all the elevators are on the first floor.. a low electric hum undulates in the pit of william’s stomach.. he chooses elevator eight.. there are only six, but numbered three through eight.. pulls a shiny copper lincoln and drops it down the crack at the entrance as he gets in.. he does this every time he boards an elevator.. five years now, and he’s forgotten why..
only brilliant new pennies will do.. they don’t have to be marked this year, but they need to glow like mirrors.. absorb every bit of overbearing florescence and send it off into a new direction.. he changes in dollars for rolls of pennies at the commercial bank across the street.. the worn pennies, tired and discolored, are rolled and changed in for dollars at the bank two blocks down.. usually there are eight to ten pennies of the fifty that make the cut.. buys rolls in fives, sells them in fives..
listens carefully, as if an expectant father to womb, for the ring of metal colliding.. the first of the day is usually the most satisfying.. as the doors close he closes his eyes, focusing on the change of gravity on the soles of his feet.. he imagines himself upside down being brought to the first floor.. when he leaves for the day, he will imagine his shoes glued to the ceiling rising up to the fifth.. years now, he’s forgotten why..
reaches his office, turns on the computer, leaves the overhead light off.. a corporate bank is where the real money is.. not coin or paper, but millions of dollars flashing by as digits on his screen.. the company logo appears and gives way to dozens of icons lined neatly.. seven twenty-three am.. opens the left draw of his desk and extracts a bottle of red pills.. swallows two with no water, closes his eyes, leans back, and inhales a deep breath..
exhales, leans forward, opens his eyes.. five twenty-three pm.. doesn’t know quite how this works.. has no recollection of the passing breath other than a brilliant flash of color and movement.. only seconds have passed to his consciousness.. stomach is chewing on itself.. mouth parched.. shuts down his computer and walks down the long corridor of lights.. one every two feet.. a sea of cubicles to his left, with overhanging beams meant to cast no shadows.. there is one bulb out in the row above.. he approaches it as a plane landing upside down.. a steady forward motion with a slight sway.. passes.. reaches in his pocket for another lincoln..
all the elevators are on the first floor.. he depresses the down arrow.. imagines the earth sliding downward as the elevator stays motionless.. awaits the double ding of the above panel.. satisfaction.. it’s all a matter of perspective.. all a matter of expectations.. matter is the relation between energy and light.. all energy and light.. all pennies dropping down a shaft.. the second of the day slips gracefully down.. though falls longer, makes a quieter song with the greater distance.. distance of energy.. gravity.. what is pulling what.. all forces pulling together a perspective.. a shine..
waves his id badge at the revolving exit and leaves.. flips the switch back on.. autopilot is off.. the shaft is the runway.. taking off and landing.. breath softens.. pupils dilate.. a warmth comes to his skin.. warmth becomes nauseating.. the plane is turning.. just as his left temple chips the marble foyer a vision of a needle and thread dances through his mind.. the thread finally follows through and he falls asleep..
* * *
the heat yearns to dig its fingernails into the sky to bleed rain.. scratching at the skin.. almost there.. thinning out and delicate.. shoulders lift so that back may bow forward.. a walk back from work.. only work stopped weeks ago.. still the alarm goes off, shower and shave, get on the subway.. damp in the armpits.. can feel the drip of sweat down back.. an angel comes down..
the power lines buzz in whispers, the sky about to break wide open.. comes from within the mind.. a melody dressed as an angel.. reaches in deep down and softens the core.. finds the fault lines and drips down.. water lines map out.. a former lover is a compass.. heart is about to break wide open..
when nostalgia disarms with such force there must have been something terrible happening all these years.. what is it that has been so terrible to make this bliss so pure.. why can i not always feel this softness?.. i can touch the sky with my eyes, reach up and dig fingernails into the heart to bleed love..
lightning signals ,mercury shrivels.. she’s not here.. i thought she would be here.. tap the attar.. shatter into a billion pieces and shoot up into the sky as backward rain.. collect into cloud.. absorbed into scene.. the feeling has hit the core.. working its way out.. just a memory.. just an afterthought..
back down.
he wakes up to harry pindlesquat standing over him.. harry is one of the only two people that william ever sees in the building.. harry asks him in a whisper ‘are you ok, son?’.. harry can never seem to muster the force necessary for words to exceed a whisper level.. william wonders what harry sounds like during an orgasm.. william imagines a paper grocery bag being grabbed by a fist.. the question ‘are you ok, son’ rattles around and begins to make sense.. the thread goes through the eye and william awakens..
‘yes, i’m fine..’ he says through a slow line of blood just now reaching william’s lips..
‘well, you know what this means, now, don’t you william..’ the bass tone in harry’s voice is the only factor making it audible.. william can’t recall exactly what this means, but knows he doesn't like it.. he tries to stand up on his own.. feels his feet following a path that harry is paving with one arm under his shoulder..
‘back up you go’ in a single malt whiskey breath, and william immediately begins to reach for his pocket.. fingers find smooth, penny drops to dance, the door closes, and william is whisked away.. consciousness fades..
he wakes up to licking a dead fish.. this seems rather odd to him.. this isn’t like animals licking salt off another animal; this is licking, well, a dead fish.. he must have been at this for hours.. the taste hangs heavy on his tongue.. he wonders if his tongue is a dead fish.. he looks around for a mirror and finds only carpeted floors and carpeted walls.. her voice appears to come from within his mind..
“Are you ok, son? Looks like you took a bit of a spill.”
Her words are so sharp they seem to be shaving off something within his brain. Everything is making more sense over here. This is how everything should be. Except for the dead fish.
“Why on earth do you keep coming back to that dead fish? Well, I guess it is partly my fault. I shouldn’t be leaving that where you can get at it.”
William can barely see her. She is standing between him and the light coming in through the wall of windows behind her. She appears so thin as the light bends around her. When she turns to the side it’s almost as if she could disappear. Her voice is the only thing that makes her real.
“Now here, why don’t you play with your coin, William.” She sets down a shiny half-dollar by his right hand. Without thinking, William sits up and takes the coin in hand. He moves to a single marble tile a few feet away. He places his fingers around it and holds it on its edge on the floor. He yanks his fingers away and sets it flying on its edge. The light shimmers off of it and he studies the image carefully. He can see the front and back images of the coin simultaneously, and he feels suddenly at ease. The soft buzz is comforting to the ears, the soft light to the eyes. After several seconds, the coin declines into a slow rattle and comes to a stop. He picks it up and sets it flying again. He thinks that someday it will come to a stop perfectly on edge. Heads is the future, tails is the past, and the edge is the present moment.
Are these attempts futile? He wonders about this. His internal clock gauges hours of spinning. The dexterity at this movement suggests the coin is spun quite often. He wonders if this will ever become an Olympic event. “Coin-Twirling” they will call it. They have plenty of idiotic events; there should be room for one more.
“Time to go to work now, William.” The motion is within his bones before he can think it. He is up and walking to the elevators. He feels as if he is on a high floor; but when he comes to the elevators, he is at the lobby.. all of the elevators are on the first floor..
there is resistance in forgetting what to remember.. there is pull to remembering what to forget.. he begins to panic.. he chooses elevator eight.. he has to choose elevator eight.. he always chooses elevator eight.. he can feel himself crying deep within his bones, but his lungs won’t budge.. his lip muscles won’t budge.. he panics.. he reaches into his pocket and finds only the half dollar.. where are his pennies?.. he can’t get on the elevator now.. he needs to go buy more pennies.. but there is nothing here but elevators.. there is no entrance or exit.. all of the elevators are on the first floor..
he sits down and begins to spin his coin.. Time moves by the spin of the coin.. Some things begin to make more sense.. The edges are fuzzy, but there is some clarity.. Some recognition like an old friend that forms as you approach them.. His stomach begins to ache.. His arms tighten up and convince him they weigh two tons apiece.. Still the coin continues its motion..
One of the elevators, elevator eight, makes a sound and the doors close.. It begins motion upward.. William is mesmerized.. the coin is stopped heads up on the floor.. after what would have been a few coin spins, the doors of the elevator open and there is harry pindlesquat..
‘what now, there, lad?’.. do i have to show you every time?.. harry picks up the coin and spins it on the floor.. he then stops it on its edge mid-motion with his finger.
“Simple as that, son.” And William feels better.
