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Connections
Ben Solutions for Elevators
Matt sat parked near the corner of the rehab wing’s common area, towel draped over his shoulders, his right leg in a hinged knee brace.
“I just don’t get it, Ben. I can deal with the PT, the transfers, even the stares,” he said. “But the second I’m in front of an elevator, it’s like my brain just shuts off.”
A bitter laugh. “It’s pathetic.”
Ben stopped him right there. “It’s not pathetic. It’s your brain doing what it thinks it needs to do to keep you safe. Problem is, it’s terrible at its job.”
“Thanks. That’s really helpful.”
“Hey, you’ve been handling them without sedation. That’s a win.”
His thumb found the edge of the towel. “Barely.”
“Okay, not a win yet. But you’re not going to logic your way out of this. Fear’s a sneaky bastard. You’ve gotta trick it. Same way you tricked yourself into actually using the sleep survival kit.”
“That wasn’t a trick. That was you being obnoxiously persistent.”
“Exactly. And this? Same idea. You’ve got to out-stubborn the fear. Which is why I’ve got another brilliant plan.”
“Tell me this doesn’t end with us getting banned again for creative interpretations of building code.”
“Technically, also legal this time. Next time you’re in the elevator and you feel like you’re about to lose it, I want you to hit the alarm button.”
“The alarm button? Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. Hit it, make some noise. Let the elevator freak out louder than you are. Think of it like… declaring war on the damn thing.”
“Declaring war. On an elevator.” Matt repeated, slowly.
“Why not? You’re in a fight, right? And the elevator’s winning because it’s got the upper hand. But you hit that alarm, and guess what? You’re not just reacting anymore. You’re doing something. You’re in control.”
His fingers went still. “What if it makes things worse?”
“You made a call that got its own clause, and this is where you draw the line?”
“That’s not—” He cut himself off. “This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Maybe. But it’s stupid enough to work. Besides, you’ve already got the survival kit. Why not add the elevator alarm to your arsenal?”
“…You really think this’ll help?”
“Name one time I haven’t nailed it.”
“You want alphabetically or chronologically?”
“Fair. But you trust me, right?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Then trust me on this. It’s not about fixing the fear overnight. It’s about reminding yourself that you’re not powerless. Even if it’s something small and stupid, like hitting a button.”
“You’re ridiculous,” he mumbled.
“And yet, here you are, listening to me.”
“Only because you’re the loudest voice in the room.”
“See? Louder wins. Face it, Matt. Stupid works.”
“Take your time, Mr. Hartfield. We’ll get there when you’re ready.”
“Just…” He swallowed. “Let’s get it over with.”
The orderly wheeled him inside and turned him toward the doors.
“You good, Mr. Hartfield?”
“Yeah,” he muttered.
And down he went.
He closed his hand hard around the tape. The edge bit into his palm. It kept him breathing, and that was all he had.
“Make some noise. Do something.”
His right hand trembled as he reached for the button.
The brace locked his torso in place.
He shifted, left hand braced on the armrest, and leaned for it.
This is so, so stupid.
His fingertips scraped the button.
Pain shot through the shoulder and his hand shook loose.
“Declare War.”
He curled his hand into a fist and drove it down.
The alarm blared to life.
“Mr. Hartfield, you okay there?”
He didn’t let up, shaking as the noise went on.
“Let the elevator freak out.”
His arm finally gave out and slipped. He flexed his hand, pain flaring as the silence dropped back in.
“Need me to call someone?”
“No,” he said, forcing the word out. “I’m... fine.”
His fingers clamped onto the tape square. He was still trembling.
The doors opened on the imaging floor.
Four months of dread for one ride that didn’t break him.
Thanks, Ben. Stupid worked.
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