Page 14 of Lift Me Up

I glance at the clock on my wall to avoid her gaze. It’s 1 o’clock on a Tuesday, realistically, this would be the ideal time to get my shit together and go grocery shopping. The only thing I have left in my fridge is a box of baking soda that I used to get a horrid garlic smell out once, and some sad-looking kale I told myself I’d eat ‘healthier’.

“Groceries?”

“Groceries.” Franny agrees, getting out of the chair and heading to my bedroom where she knows I’ll be headed myself to get dressed.

One thing I love about having a best friend that is like your other half is there is no need to walk on eggshells, no need to explain anything, they just get it. They see you for you, they don’t care if you’re scarred or imperfect. They love you anyway.

Groceries turns into a coffee run and a trip to the dollar store to spend money I should be saving on things I don’t need, and then we go to the grocery store. We then begin our routine.

She and I have developed a system for groceries. We park, I go to grab two carts with Franny’s grocery quarters from her cup holder in the Chevy, and she gets her fancy fabric crate-style bags from the flatbed so we don’t have to pay for plastic bags. We go into the store together. We text each other our respective lists. I hit even aisles; she hits odd. We meet up in the freezer section and exchange the odds and evens items we grab for each other.

Two cans of soup for hamburger. A bag of chips for a container of strawberries. The final step in our grocery store master plan? Ice cream. Ice cream hates me, but I can’t quit it. Franny gets her plain vanilla frozen yogurt, and I go for the more adventurous flavours, like cherry cheesecake or vanilla pretzel caramel.

We are about to head to the cash when I freeze, mid freezer section. Above the music, above the nonsensical chatter of shoppers and the loudspeaker of the grocers calling codes for God knows what, I hear him.

N. I can hear his voice. I’m sure of it. It’s like that feeling where the back of your neck tingles because you just know. Franny can see that something is up, turning back at the end of the freezer aisle and waits for me to follow. But I can’t. I’m trying to hear him, to see if I can figure out how far away he is, what he’s chatting about to someone. I hear him pause. I can’t tell what he’s talking about, but it must be important because his tone is calm yet cold. Like this freezer aisle. Like a cold, dark unmoving elevator. I shiver at the memory and that’s when I realize he’s no longer talking.

I panic, scrambling around the corner to the next aisle, ignoring Franny’s call to make sure I am okay. There’s one older woman in the frozen breakfast food aisle, but no N. I try the next. And the next. But time and time again there’s no one there. I hear Franny call me again, and I turn back to where I came from.

“What the hell was that?”

“I thought…” I point in the direction that I ran but shake my head, dismissing the idea of telling her who I thought I heard. She wouldn’t get it. But she doesn’t let up, so I lie. “I thought I saw someone I knew,”

She laughs, “And you decided to take off like a rocket?”

If only she knew that I could pick that voice out of a lineup. If only she knew that I listen for his voice wherever I go, just in case. If she knew why I really went running. For a stranger that may not have even been him, but hoping it was. She’ll think I’m crazy. Maybe she already does. Maybe I am a bit crazy.

I am trying to find a man I only knew in a time of crisis, and who am I kidding? What do I truly intend to do if I were to find him? What if he doesn’t look like I thought he would? What if he’s a terrible person? What if I’m reading too far into this? Wouldn’t it be better if I could just forget this whole thing ever happened? Has he forgotten about me? It’s been weeks. I’m sure he’s taken so many elevator emergency calls since mine. What gives me the right to think I was any different from the hundreds of calls he takes?

“G?” Franny’s hand touches my arm, bringing me back to the present where the cashier is watching me with concern as I stare off into space, lost in thought.

“Sorry, I… sorry.” I don’t remember walking to the cashier, but I realize I am holding up the line, so I frantically begin to load my groceries onto the belt.

I am silent the whole way home, even when Franny blasts our collaborative car music playlist. She keeps eyeing me, once, twice, at every red light or any chance to look my way. I want to tell her not to worry, that it’s not something she can fix with her Franny magic. She pulls into her parking space in the lot behind our building, but she does not turn off the engine. She sits and she waits and her face shifts when I sigh and finally meet her worried gaze.

“Should I be worried? G, you’re just not yourself. Where did my confident and sarcastic best friend go? She hasn’t been here in weeks, and I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt with everything that happened, but I can only wait for so long before I say something.”

“Franny,” I say her name like what she’s telling me wounds me, and it does, but not because she’s intentionally trying to hurt me. She’s being honest, and she’s not wrong. I just wish she was.

“Seriously. We need to get you out of this funk. What can I do to help you?”

“I think…” I shrug, unsure how to respond. “I think maybe I need to get away. Maybe I could go to Mom’s for the weekend. That might do it. She can feed me until I burst, and I can clear my head there. I am just so…” I shake my hands as if it will explain just how I am feeling, but Franny frowns.

“You can’t just run away from it. I think the elevator thing got to you more than you’re letting on. You’re not still having nightmares about it, right?”

I am, but I don't tell her that. I don’t tell her that my heart races every morning, that I have to keep the lights on in the hall, so I am not submerged in complete darkness. I don’t tell her that I still feel the drop of the car every time I sit. I don’t tell her that the sight of the elevator door when we go into the apartment makes me feel ill. I tell her none of this because I don’t want to worry her. So instead, I put on my bravest face, force my brightest smile to appear, and I say exactly what she wants to hear.

“I am good. No nightmares. I just need… something different.”

Though Franny hardly looks like she believes me, she does drop it. She shuts the car off, and then we’re off. We take her groceries inside first, then she helps me hike the stairs with my groceries, complaining the whole way that I could’ve let her take the elevator with them and meet her at the top. On the third floor, we stop for a breather. Mr. Pisano from #305 enters the stairwell and startles when he sees us, but he smiles. It’s a friendly smile, completely judgement free that is welcomed by two plus size women hiking 5 flights of uneven stairs.

“How’s the weather today, ladies?” He asks, making small talk as he goes down the first set of stairs on this level.

“Another sunny day, Mr. Pisano. Hey, did Trev ever come by to fix that sink of yours?” Franny asks.

“You know, I don’t think he did.”

“I’ll be by in a little bit to fix it then. Can’t let my favourite resident go with a leaky faucet now, can I?” She winks at him, and he chuckles when I nudge her and grumble that I should be her favourite since I am her best friend. He tells her he’ll be back from his afternoon walk in a bit and continues about his day. We take that as our cue to continue the trek up to my apartment.