Doubting the Glass Elevator

Camilla Nusbaum

Leah stood by the office window, the city skyline smudged with a gray wash under the relentless rain. She had just become the new Vice President of Marketing; her name was newly engraved on the door. Yet, as the rain pounded against the glass, each drop came into her focus, and everything else faded. 

A knock came through the door. “Hey, Leah, congrats on your big promotion. I got a message on my line for you. They probably haven’t switched yours to the new office. I wrote down the extension number, but you might want to make sure your calls are getting through.” 

As Leah reached for the note, she said, “Thank you for that. I’ll get it taken care of.”

“Going out to celebrate tonight?” 

“I’ll probably stay in tonight. Get the new office under control, you know? Deadlines don’t stop just because I get promoted.” 

Her coworker left, and the unfamiliar silence from the phone was strange. At least she knew why the incessant phone calls weren’t coming through as usual. Leah thought she could get through all the calls and paperwork if everything was in order, especially in a new office. The rain blurred the once-sharp buildings into shapeless forms. It felt like the weather itself was mocking her, reminding her of how minuscule she was. 

She was torn. Because Leah was helping her sister and mother financially, her sister had quit her job to take care of their mother, and Leah felt responsible for making sure they had everything they needed. So she took on more hours. More clients. 

Leah pressed her forehead against the cool glass. She hadn’t noticed the cracks in the silicone that had formed along the windowsill until they were filled to the brim with rainwater. Just like glass, she was containing her emotions, like a dam holding back an overwhelming flood. And now, she could feel water seeping through. 

Leah hadn’t talked to any of her family in months, some of them years. Her first instinct after the promotion was to call her sister, though she hadn’t called since New Year’s Eve. She had gone home that Christmas but left after an hour. She couldn’t even look her mother in the face that night after she had not visited for so long. Everyone was crowded around her mother, whose pain was the only focus of the night, and Leah could feel her emotions starting to swell in her throat. So she left and ended up back at her office. 

Leah turned away from the window; the weight of the silence in her office was almost unbearable. She thought about how she missed her sister’s birthday the week before because she had to schmooze a client who wouldn’t take a rain check. She looked down at the blue piece of paper on top of a mountain of files, then dialed her extension number to get the message. 

“Leah, it’s your sister, call me back. You haven’t answered any of my calls for days. It’s important. It’s Mom.” 

Leah had missed birthdays, reunions, and quiet afternoons that could have been spent with her mother, all in pursuit of a career that overtook her life. 

After a moment of silence, Leah opened her phone, tapped on her sister’s name, and pressed the call button. The phone rang once, then twice, then a third time before her sister’s voice filled the silence. “Leah?”

Leah closed her eyes, feeling the smallest sense of relief as she spoke. “Hey. Are you home? I got your message.” 

“Yes, of course, I’m home. Mom is getting comfortable, I guess.” 

“What do you mean, you ‘guess’?” 

“I wish you had answered sooner. I’ve just been so busy. Mom’s not doing well. You’re not here, and I can’t handle it on my own anymore, so I called hospice. It’s… it’s not looking good, Leah.” 

Leah scoffed and said, “What’s the nurse’s name? I should call and see if everything is paid for. Or I’ll—” 

Cutting her off, Leah’s sister said, “Or you could just come home and see her. You don’t have control over this one, Leah. It’s time for you to get over yourself.” 

Outside, the rain had turned to pea-sized hail. Not a single car in sight. Leah hurried to the elevator which was going much slower than usual. Three. Two. One. The elevator dinged as she squeezed herself through the nonchalant doors. She looked down at her phone. It was already half past six and she didn’t know if she could get there in the storm. 

The front doors pushed against the wind as she walked out to the sidewalk. The hail had grown to the size of golf balls. 

“What are you doing, miss? You shouldn’t be out there until the storm passes,” the security guard said as he pulled her back inside.  

“I have to get home.” 

The security guard laughed. “It’s dangerous, don’t you know? You definitely don’t want to be out there.”

Leah sulked back to the elevator and leaned against its cool glass wall overlooking the shadows that blanketed the city, her arms wrapped around herself. Of course, it was hailing. Of course, the weather had to trap her here. Of all days. She felt the knot in her chest tighten as she pressed the button for her office floor. 

She stared blankly at the changing floor numbers. One. Two. Three. Everything felt unreal—her sister’s voice echoing in her mind, her mother’s worsening health, the years that had slipped by without her noticing. Leah had convinced herself that being alone meant safety, that if she kept a tight enough grip on her life, nothing could touch her. She was nothing but helpless in the face of a storm she couldn’t predict and a situation she couldn’t push away. 

The elevator dinged once again, and she stepped out. Sterile lighting greeted her like a reminder of all the decisions that had gotten her there. She walked through her door, past the nameplate she had once believed would mean everything, and found herself back at the window.  

Sterile lighting greeted her like a reminder of all the decisions that had gotten her there.

The hail outside had begun to lighten, still striking the glass with an unsteady rhythm. The city was nothing but a blur of white, the skyline reduced to shadows. 

Her phone buzzed again. A text from her sister: Leah, she’s not doing well. Please. Leah stood there, frozen, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. The impulse to make sure everything was taken care of—to call the nurse, to schedule care, to somehow manage her mother’s illness from a distance—rose up in her like a reflex. But the words of her sister rang louder in her ears: You don’t have control over this one, Leah. 

Her breath had become quicker as the realization settled in. She had spent so long trying to outpace everything, to keep her life busy. But time didn’t care. And now, with her mother slipping away, it was all coming into focus.

Leah glanced back at the elevator. The wind outside was raging, but it was imperative to get home. She thought of her mother—the quiet moments they used to share before Leah had drowned herself in work. She thought of her sister doing everything alone, holding their mother together while Leah stayed buried in deadlines and meetings. 

A wave of guilt and sadness washed over her, sharper than the hail battering the windows. Leah had to get there. She wanted to be there. 

She grabbed her coat and made her way back to the elevator, more determined this time. The ding of the doors felt urgent, as if time were slipping through her fingers faster than she could keep up. 

Back in the lobby, she found the security guard still standing near the entrance, watching the storm. Leah walked straight to him with more determination this time. “I need to get home.” 

He looked at her as if she were out of her mind. “Miss, I told you. No cabs in this weather. You shouldn’t drive just yet.” 

“I’ll figure it out,” Leah said, pushing open the heavy door. The cold wind slapped her in the face, but she kept moving. Her heels slipped slightly on the slick sidewalk. There were no cars on the road, but her mother’s house was only a twenty-minute drive. She’d make it there. By God, somehow. With her head sheltered and her hood past her glasses, she walked to her apartment, only a few blocks away. Her body was numb from the cold and the growing anxiety in her mind. 

Once she made it, she was soaking wet from the heavy rain and felt like she was covered in a wet towel. 

She fumbled with her keys, purse, and the wet coat she had on. Her car started with a hiss, and she backed into the flooded streets. The drive was going to take longer than usual, but she didn’t think that mattered. She had let enough time slip by already. 

Buildings passed in a blur as Leah drove through the storm. She glanced at her dashboard, her thumb hovering over the call button again. The connection sound came through the car speakers almost instantly. 

“I’m on my way,” Leah said, her voice soft but firm. “I’ll be there in like twenty.” 

There was silence on the other end, then a quiet sigh. “Okay.” Her sister’s voice broke just slightly. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Leah hung up and leaned forward in her seat. For once, she didn’t need to control the storm. She just needed to get through it. 

The rain came down in a relentless downpour that obscured the lights outlining the road and made the streets into rivers. The gusts of wind whipped the wipers past her vision. With the rain getting lighter, she turned into the familiar, time-beaten driveway. Leah saw the hospice nurses putting oxygen tanks, walkers, and bags overflowing with God knows what into their van. She couldn’t make out all of the contents, but it didn’t matter. Whatever was in those bags, they held a collection of belongings that Leah had somehow managed to forget were necessary. 

Leah got out of her car, looked at her sister, and asked, “Where are they going? Doesn’t she need that oxygen tank? Is she in the bedroom or sitting in the living room?”  

Her sister, already in tears, said, “You’re too late.”

“Wait, what? No, I came as soon as I could. The storm—” Leah pleaded.

“You’re too late.”

---