By Ethan S. Berry
I have ridden this elevator before.
How many times? —I don’t know but the trips are too frequent.—
Always alone. I’m fine with riding alone. I don’t want to ride with anyone else.
At least not on my elevator. It’s mine.
I wouldn’t mind riding on someone else’s though but like mine theirs fits only one.
I think everyone is like that. I think but I do not know.
That’s why I go down so often. I want to know things.
Not about the world—I’d ride up for that—about myself.
There’s only one button. I push it. It lights up. The elevator moves.
Down, down, down: I ride, waiting for the radio to play.
Static then: ‘Hey there, Dear Listener! It’s been awhile since you’ve tuned in! Well, we’ve got a jam packed program in store for you today!’
More static, then:
the sound of boots stomping against the pavement / scatterred, hungry voices shouting all at once into some angry stew/ fire crackling / cats meowing / the chorus from “Night Fever,” by the Bee Gees / sex moans / knuckles rapping lightly on a door/ ‘Customer needs assistance on aisle twelve. Customer needs assistance in hardware, aisle twelve.’ / a woman crying / me crying/ death moans / my mother crying / my grandfather crying / the sound of a skull cracking / a gavel pounding / ‘You can do what you decide to do but you cannot decide what you will decide to do.’ / the sound urine makes as it comes into contact with plastic / ‘Have you ever smoked marijuana?’ / ‘No.’ / the sound of ants marching through their tunnels / ‘I can’t believe he won.’ / toy blocks being smashed together / boots wading through mud, suctioning in and out it with each step / the screeching of tires then the collision of two cars / a lighter igniting / an honest, solitary, explosion of laughter / a toilet flushing / some alien sound / Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy,” in full / ‘I’m just so damn lonely.’ / the garbage disposal running / the laughter of two young lovers / ‘Yes, of course.’/ a guitar being played badly / birds singing / horses neighing / dogs barking / applause as “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” by the Rolling Stones plays over a PA system / ‘Do you really think world war three is a possibility?’/a gunshot echoing down an alleyway/pillboxes rattling/‘I hope you don’t think I’m a terrible person.’ / fluttering pages / fan blades spinning / ‘Will you marry me?’ / cows mooing in a pasture / the combined laughter of a family / ‘He’s a weird kid. There’s something not right with him.’ / fingers slamming against a keyboard / A giddy Mussolini tip-tapping away, hand in hand with a cockeyed Margaret Thatcher, performing the kalashnikov waltz. / ‘You can’t run away from your problems.’ / a car engine / a motorcycle engine / mad screams / the shower running / ‘You can’t control what you think but you can always control what you do.’ / the rattling bursts of a gangster’s tommy gun / butter being spread on a piece of toasted bread / more gunshots / the invention of sound / Jesus screaming as he is nailed upon the cross / a ceiling fan running at half-speed / crickets / Chinese firecrackers / glass shattering / a microwave beeping / the harpy’s murderous exhaltation / the winds of inspiration rustling through the branches of cephalonian fir trees / ‘I’ll love you no matter what.’
and more static.
Then the elevator stops,
the doors open and I
step out, awake.
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