Accident Waiting to Happen

It seemed clear to me upon moving in that one day I would lose at least one of my children on the elevators. We live on the 12th floor of a 32-story high rise. Three elevators carry people up and down the levels of our building. And whereas in the United States a person need not live in fear of being shut in an elevator door, the elevator doors in China are more like steel traps waiting to slam shut on little arms or strollers. One must hurry to exit the elevator. And a little one must really hurry to exit the elevator with her mother.

Today, S-- did not make it.

S-- has shown herself to have a fierce temper. Coupled with her independent streak and the Swedish penchant to be a stubborn martyr, her temper causes problems for her regularly. Today, under her temper's control, S-- chose to remain on the elevator as the family exited onto the 12th floor. This has happened before. If I drop my load quickly, and then swivel back to lurch my arm in the way of the closing doors, they will usually reopen to allow me to quickly grab S-- and yank her angry little body off of the elevator.

This time I dropped quickly, I swiveled back, I lurched my arm. And the doors closed right in front of me. S-- stayed on the inside of the elevator. L-- and I watched as it climbed up, up, up.

We pressed all of the elevator buttons. The other two came quickly, but S--'s held steady at 20. I sent each elevator packing to the basement and waited for her elevator to return. Eventually, those doors opened. L-- and I jumped on, to join only a solitary man. We must have looked confused and worried, because his eyes went bright and he pointed to 20. Clearly when he had entered the elevator, S-- had exited.

We jumped back off and caught the next elevator going up. Just like in the movies, we stood immobile on the elevator trying to keep our fears in check. A Chinese family next to us laughed at L--'s mismatched shoes and their casual attitudes made me even more frustrated.

The elevator opened onto the 20th floor. L-- and I threw ourselves out the doors.

There was no one there. We turned around and saw no little girls. No adults trying to calm them.

We called her name, S--! S--!

We heard a quiet cry, more confused than upset. We turned the corner. S-- stood against the door 8 floors above ours. No doubt she thought we had alighted on the wrong floor, and was simply waiting to be let in. No fear had entered her mind, and her temper had disappeared. She just wanted us to open the door and let her inside.

Inside my fear of losing a child on the elevator lay the presumed comfort that once lost and alone on the elevator, a child would never again exit slowly and risk a solitary ride. Little S-- held no fear. No doubt she will ride alone again.