The doors open, and I make a beeline out of the elevator, ready to push through anyone that gets in my way. Thankfully, the people in the elevator part like the Red Sea and allow me to pass. I don’t make eye contact with anyone as I leave because I’m pretty sure I know what I’d see there—pity, with a mixture of “she’s certifiable.” They’d be right; I am certifiable. For so many reasons.
Without even a glance out the tall windows, or at the people on the observation deck beyond those windows, I walk to the next elevator, where the line is fairly long. Normally I hate long lines like pretty much any other human, but today I don’t mind so much. It’s giving me a little time to calm down. Although at this point, I think something synthetic would do the job better. Xanax, Klonopin ... anesthesia. Luckily, this elevator is a much shorter ride. Google said thirty-six seconds. If it’s any longer than that, I will sue Google.
I get behind a rather large man and say a silent prayer that I get to be on a different elevator than him. I’m not being judgy here. I just really don’t want to be in a car that is anywhere near the weight capacity. Now that I’m in line and can’t look over the edge to see how far up I’ve come, I can relax a little. At least I can get my breathing under control.
“Did you know the Empire State Building is the ninth-tallest building in America?” says a voice coming from a continuous-loop video playing on a screen across from me.
Oh gosh, I think I might be sick again. Why am I even doing this? Right. For Elena. Elena, who would never get to come to the top of this New York City landmark. Elena, who never got to do so many things. I swear she only made this bucket list so she could mock me from her perch on her heavenly cloud (that’s how I like to picture her, at least). It was probably her plan all along. She was clever like that.
But a promise is a promise. And I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a promise breaker. Acrophobic, claustrophobic, agoraphobic, yes. Promise breaker, no.
“Don’t forget the list,” Elena had said to me through haggard breathing, her eyelids closed.
“I won’t,” I said, giving her hand a little squeeze, sniffling through tears that wanted to come out but that I was trying desperately to keep in. I needed to be strong for her.
The list was a bunch of things that Elena had always wanted to do but couldn’t. And a bunch of things that I could do but would never choose to. Like bungee jumping. I tried not to think about all that as I sat next to her, her life slipping away.
“Liza,” she had said, opening her eyes wider than I had seen them in a while.
“Yes?” I asked, leaning in so I could hear her. She was so quiet, so fragile.
“Take a chance on ... chance.”
Those were her last words to me. Take a chance on chance. I’ve thought of those words during this past year since she’s been gone, and I can’t figure out what she was trying to tell me. Maybe she meant “Take a chance on life,” which makes so much more sense. Since she was dying, it may have just been random words that I probably shouldn’t read into. Or she could have said it on purpose, knowing I’d dwell on it all the rest of my days, trying to figure out her cryptic message. That would be so Elena.
“So you’re an Empire State Building virgin,” a male voice says behind me, and I jump like a cat that’s just seen a cucumber.
“Sorry!” Dreamy Brown-eyed Guy says, his hands up, palms out, as I turn around. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.”
My hands go to my chest like my grandmother’s do when I’ve just cursed in front of her.Oh, Liza, is that how a lady talks?she would say. I haven’t dared tell her that, in New York, I’m considered a lightweight in the cussing department.
“Shoot, I’m really sorry,” Brown-eyed Guy says.
Shoot? This man is so not from around here.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, and start to turn back around. I really don’t want to chitchat. Although staring into his chocolate eyes does sound appealing. But I think I’ve done enough ogling for one day.
“Is this your first time in the city?” he asks, clearly not reading my body language. Of course, I was doing a half-not-wanting-to-talk, half-wanting-to-stare-into-his-eyes thing, so who knows what vibe I was giving off.
“Uh, not my first time, no,” I say, turning back around to face him.
“But it’s your first time in the Empire State Building.”
“Yes,” I say, keeping my answers simple. Simple is good.
“It’s my first time,” he says, his hands moving to the pockets of his shorts as he rocks from ball to heel on his feet. “First time in the city and in this building.”
I just nod my head, not saying anything. Like an idiot. My hormones, which had started chitchatting as soon as Brown-eyed Guy made a reappearance, sigh with disappointment.
“Don’t you want to look over the side on this floor before going up?” he asks with a head nod toward the observation deck.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “I’m thinking I can only survive one look over the edge, so I’m just going to the top. Don’t you want to?”
Would you look there? I’m actually conversing.
“I don’t want to ruin the surprise by looking over yet,” he says. “Besides, I can catch it on the way down, right?”
“Sure,” I say with a dip of my chin. I’ll be happily on the ground by then, and this whole thing will be over.
