Just got home from opening night of A Moon for the Misbegotten. Such a sad, beautiful story. Don’t know if it was the mood of the play or what, but I need to talk about the elevator.
After the show, as cast, crew and staff were in the boardroom on the 14th floor for the after-party, I had to go to my desk on 18 to get my bag. The ride up the elevator was no big deal. Business as usual. Perhaps it was the wait for the ride back down, standing in the lobby of what is normally a bustling office but at this point (11PM or so) was dark and empty except for me, that set the mood. I don’t know, but the short ride back down to the party – alone in the very quiet elevator – was one of those moments that I think we all have sometimes where you feel like maybe this is what it’s like after you die. Not the end of the journey, but the part between being alive and being DEAD. The last time I had this feeling was riding the subway in New York. I just had that moment of being not completely sure about what scene the elevator doors would open on. I don’t know that I would have been surprised if the doors had opened on the 14th floor and it was completely dark and quiet, the way it is sometimes on the weekend when I go up there to work. Had that been the case, I would have continued down to the floor where my car is parked and gone home. But it wasn’t the case. The doors opened and there was light and sound and booze and food and actors and people talking and laughing. So I did that for a little while. Then I went to my car. Parking garages late at night are super creepy, and tonight’s trip was no exception. Not as spooky as those few seconds in the elevator, though.
And I only had two glasses of wine over a five-hour time period, so I can’t blame it on that.