Breathless

There was a process to leaving her apartment. Any sound from the elevator triggered a sweat storm and multiple trips to the toilet before the door handle was even turned. Creating just the right time window was imperative to protecting her time at home. Not too early so that there is no place to hide before work started. Not too late to impact what time she could end her shift and go straight home.

There was enough fresh food in the fridge to last through the weekend. That was an important detail as it was the hardest time for her to be outside. Any other food or personal necessities were in the cupboards, with extra in the closet to avoid leaving the house except for work.

Habitual routines were created to ensure that no extra thought was required and to avoid overthinking any situation. She would only take the 6 train home. She was one stop after an express stop. But she didn’t want to transfer to the local and change trains. The lesser of two evils was to find one spot on one train and ride it out. It was only a short block from the subway exit to the front door of her building. And still just enough that she struggled to hold her breath as she traveled in between these two entrances.

Living on the 6th floor, two from the top, there was always a greater chance of more people traveling in the elevator with her regardless of what direction. Luckily there weren’t too many tenants on each floor. She worked an earlier schedule so she was able to sneak in and out without having to speak to her neighbors. The last connection to any person was her phone. The landline would be unplugged because she didn’t want to hear it ring. She knew people would check in on her or friends just wanted to say hi. There was nothing she wanted outside of her apartment.

In the early 2000’s there weren’t many opportunities to work from home or any convenient grocery delivery services otherwise she would never leave again. Her bed was soft with 500 thread count sheets and pillows for days. Candles were everywhere so that she didn’t have to smell the fumes of trash and car exhaust outside of her window every night. The fan was near the left side of the bed so that she could stay under the covers and not overheat. The TV stand was her only other piece of furniture. She ate on the floor or her bed. She never had anyone over so there were no table or chairs. It’s all she needed.

If there was ever a fire in her building and she needed to evacuate, she wouldn’t know what to grab first. Her entire life was in that tiny studio. That tiny studio was her only safety zone in the galaxy. The anxiety of who would be on the stairs and how she could get out to the park so she could breath was overwhelming. Disappearing in a sea of people was the only sanctuary she would find in that moment, if just to breath.

In a situation of a hurricane flooding the city she would contemplate staying in her apartment, regardless of any risk. She was less afraid of water than of fire. They would have to take her out against her will. At least in that scenario she would have enough time to pack some items before the rest of her cocoon was destroyed. Bags were already packed with necessary documents like passports, birth certificates and photos as well as her backup favorite hat and hoodie. It’s the only way she liked to travel. It shut down any potential conversion and diverted attention away from her long hair and body that was over sexualized by men.

It’s not that she was antisocial or had no friends. Empty conversation was not what she was looking for. She couldn’t fake her disinterest. She had nothing to offer in a circle of gossip and self promoting individuals. Random niceties with strangers were avoided with headphones and sunglasses. The anxiety from any social situation tore up her stomach. She couldn’t stop losing weight. Being outside of her apartment was the most uncomfortable situation she could ever be in…regardless of where or with whom.

As long as there was no fire, nothing could bring her outside of her safe place.