Wednesday, 09 March 2011

• Push Push Push (Part I)

  

  This elevator button-pushing thing is getting out of hand. This morning, with barely 10 minutes to go until his bus arrived to take him to his Saturday program, Alex bolted from the apartment while I was brushing my teeth. Jill banged on the bathroom door. “Jeff get out of the bathroom! Alex has left the apartment and I’m not dressed!”

  I was in a similar state, no sneakers on and my mouth full of Crest foam. I sprinted to the elevators in stocking feet, hoping to find him in the hall or still at the elevator doors when I rounded the corner. Not there.

  One of the two elevators in our building was out of order this morning. I saw the other was on 15 – we live on 9 – and taking a mighty long time to move. Then it dropped to 14 and stayed. I began to suspect Alex was there, though through my mind flashed visions of his going down to the lobby and waiting like a normal person for his bus. Then came of the visions of his leaving the building and running onto Fifth Avenue.

  I pressed the down button. Eventually the elevator door slid open. No Alex. I returned to the apartment to find Jill on the phone, probably calling the front desk and the security guard. “He wasn’t on the elevator!” I said. Fifth Avenue has a lot of traffic even at this time on a Saturday morning. Seems I can’t even brush my teeth without getting punished.

  I run back to the elevator to head to the lobby. The door slides open and there is Alex. He starts when he sees me. Hey, how you been?

  He’s been doing this button thing for a couple of months. I’ve found myself faking having to get the mail until we can ride the elevator alone; letting him have one extra button to push (the worst move of course, I’ve since learned, but I trusted Alex to meet me halfway); threatening to take the stairs. Now I’m on punishments, but the thing about punishments with Alex is they never seem to stick.

  This Saturday morning, I take the route of reason. “Alex, if you’re ready to do on the elevator all the way up to the 15th floor, you’re ready to go down to the lobby and wait for your bus.” I’m not sure I mean it, of course, but I’m just trying to build something positive. And again the visions: Alex darting out the front door when the bus pulls up and not waiting for the surprised matron to step to the sidewalk and escort him inside.

  He likes to form the numerals 14 and 15 with his fingers -- try it: painful -- motivated by his recent favorite segment on “Sesame Street.” Yet again Alex’s actions make perfect sense if you find a moment to understand what he’s thinking.

  Then came the incident in front of the neighbors.

  {to be continued}

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