It's Too High!

IT’S TOO HIGH!

“You know it’s an irrational fear, right?”

I looked at Joel. We’d been together for almost a year. He knew me fairly well. And, he knew that I was deathly afraid of heights — acrophobia. Anything over two storeys and I was out.

Right now, we were standing on at the edge of a cliff. Well, Joel was standing there. I was sitting down, away from the edge, looking at the ground.

“I’m sorry you think it’s irrational. But, I don’t see it that way. Bad things happen at heights.”

1995

“WEEEEE!”

Me screaming.

“WEEEEE!”

Me screaming louder.

There’s video tape of this encounter. My dad throwing two-year-old me up into the air, me not liking it one little bit. My dad catching me. Repeat. My mom is in the background saying, “Ray, maybe that’s enough.

This went on for another three throws. Until my dad missed, and I smacked down on the ground. My mom dropped the video camera, but it was still running, recording the floor.

“Oh my God, Ray! What have you done!”

I’m wailing in the background, top of my lungs. You can see my mom’s legs running towards me.

And my dad shouting, “For Christ’s sake, Margie, I didn’t do it on purpose!”

They scooped me up, and took me to the hospital. The video camera continued to play until the battery died about and hour later.  

My mom told me that I had a minor concussion, a pretty good cut on my head, and bruises on my back, bum, and legs where I landed, hard. The people at the hospital wanted to investigate Dad for child abuse, but Mom had the video evidence proving that it was an accident. I don’t think Dad ever picked me up again. Which, truthfully, was alright with me.

*****

“Gemma, you know you can trust me, right?”

I dared to turn slightly towards him. I felt dizzy.

“I don’t know, Joel. How can I trust someone who doesn’t understand how uncomfortable this is making me.”

“You need to face your fears. Watch!” he said, and sailed off the edge.

I sucked in breath. What had he just done? I was so upset that I crawled to the edge, on my belly, and dared a look over the edge. There, twenty feet below me, in the water, was Joel, swimming to the shore.

I crawled back to where I had been sitting, and threw up. Joel showed up a couple of minutes later.

“You bastard!” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me there was water down there? I thought you had jumped to your death!”

He looked at me, brow furrowed.

“Seriously? Why do you think I brought you here? For the view?”

2008

“Come on! What’s the big deal?”

I was at the county fair with my almost boyfriend, Joel. It was my first date. I looked up at the ferris wheel.  I felt queasy.  

“No way,” I said. “Too high.”

“We can make-out at the top.”  

I looked at Brad. Like we ever made out. We weren’t that close. Yet.

I crossed my arms, and shook my head. “Like that’s going to get me into this death trap.”

“Come on.” he said. “It’s not that high.”

My palms were sweating, my heart was thumping, my legs were weak.

“No.”

“Scaredy cat!”

I stomped my foot. “I am not a scaredy cat. I just don’t like heights.”

“If you loved me, you’ll do it.”

I didn’t love Brad. I just kinda liked him, sorta. But you know, peer pressure.

“Fine,” I said, “but no screwing around.”

We got on the ferris wheel. I did not like it. At all. Up, up, up, down, down, down. I looked longingly at the ground. Big mistake. I only made me dizzier. How long could this hell continue?

Then the ride stopped. At the very top. I shut my eyes, a death grip on the safety bar.

“Wow!” said Brad. “I can see your house. Look.”

I could see my house from the ground, thank you very much.

“No.”

“Chicken!”

Then he started to rock the car.

“Brad! Stop it! Please! Stop it!”

He just laughed and rocked harder.

“Brad. You’ve got to stop, now. I’m going to be sick.”

“Hahahaha!”

Then I was sick. All over Brad.

“What the hell, Gemma!”

I threw up again, this time over the side. I just missed the carnie in charge of the ride. He started the ride and brought us down before I could barf on him again.

When we were safely on terra firma, I looked at Brad.

“I told you I didn’t like heights.”

*****

“You can trust me, Gemma.”

“I know I can trust you, Joel. I just don’t like heights. You know that.”

I rarely visited Joel at his place, because his condo was on the twenty-first floor of his fifty-two storey building. I could only visit him if he kept all the curtains closed, and it wasn’t windy — his building was tall enough that it swayed in the wind. And forget about taking the elevator. I climbed the twenty-one floors to Joel’s place instead of taking the elevator. So we mostly met at my place. It was just easier. And less sweaty.

“Yeah, I know. But why aren’t you trying to make it work. The world’s not flat, you know.”

I knew that better than most. I’d turned down jobs because they were on a higher floor. 

2017

I looked at my watch. I still had two and a half hours until the interview. The job I was applying for was my dream job — graphic artist for one of the big tech companies. I was excited. But I was also a little worried. I would be working from their suburban campus in a low rise building. But the interview was being held at their downtown tower, on the thirty-second floor. That presented a bit of a problem. Well, a lot of a problem. I had to get downtown, leave enough time to climb the stairs to the thirty-second floor, have enough time to cool down, and change my clothes before the interview. Not ideal, but still quite doable if everything went according to plan.

Which it didn’t. The subway broke down in between stations, stranding me and everyone else on the train for almost ninety minutes.  

No way I had enough time to climb the stairs. Instead, I figured I would change in the main concourse washroom, and force myself to take the elevator. I’d been attending cognitive behavioural classes to address my acrophobia, so I figured I could make it work.  

But when I got to the office building, I almost died. The elevator was a glass bubble that ran up the side of the building. I felt nauseous just looking at it.  

I changed my clothes, primped for the interview, and faced my fear. I did my deep breathing exercises and steeled myself for the ride.

The car arrived, and I stepped on, pressed the button for the thirty-second floor, moved to the back of the elevator car, shut my eyes, and tried to control my breathing. I felt the car start to ascend.

Up, up, up. Then it stopped. I heard the people in the car with me start to murmur.

“Why are we stopping?” someone asked.

“I hope they fix it soon!” said another.

“Not again!” said a third.

I stood at the back, my eyes screwed tight.

“Are you alright?” asked someone.

“Fear of heights,” I said through clenched teeth.

“No worries, this happens all—”

Then the elevator started its free-fall.

I screamed. They screamed. We all screamed.

Then it jerked to a stop, and we all fell down. My eyes were still screwed tight. I didn’t even try to stand. Then I felt the elevator start to slowly descend. It landed gently on the first floor, and I heard the the door opened.  

I couldn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t do anything but cry.  

I’m not sure how long I sat there, but eventually two EMTs came to help me.

“Acrophobia?” asked the first.

“Yup,” I answered, my eyes still screwed shut.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got you. Your safe.”

*****

“If you can’t trust me, Gemma, what are we doing together?”

I swivelled my head, against my better judgement, to look at him.

“Are you judging our relationship based on my fear of heights?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know why you can’t trust me enough to come stand beside me.”

“Because I don’t want to!” I said. “What is it that you can’t understand? I. Don’t. Like. Heights.  They terrify me.”

“You are irrational.”

“No, Joel, my fear is irrational, not me. Only it’s not an irrational fear. Bad things happen way up high.”

2019

My grandma was dying. She sent word that she wanted to see me. My mom told me that I had better hurry because Grannie didn’t have much time left.

The problem was Grannie lived on the other side of the country, and I didn’t have time to drive. I had to fly.

So, I loaded up on Xanax and Zoloft, and put a couple of sleeping pills in my pocket — just in case. I brought my calming music playlist, and my sleeping mask. I was all set.  I hoped I was all set.

Everything went as it should. I checked in, boarded, started to have a panic attack, took a Xanax, settled down, found my seat, and strapped in. I was in the isle seat — I wanted nothing to do with the window seat. No way. I put my sleeping mask on, and prepared for take off.

The worst! I started to panic. But I needed to do it for Grannie. I popped another Xanax.

Once we got to cruising speed, I was okay. Not great, but okay. I put in my ear buds and listened to calming music.  

I can do this. I can do this. The plane isn’t going to crash. I am safe. I can do this. I can do this.

I repeated my mantra to my self, over and over, trying to calm myself.

Then we hit the turbulence, and all hell broke loose. I was strapped in, but the man beside me wasn’t. He went flying into the overhead bins and came down on top of me. Bins popped open, and luggage reigned from above. People screamed — some in fear, some in pain.

I was paralyzed. I couldn’t move. The poor guy beside me had rolled off me and was moaning in pain, but I couldn’t help him.

Then one of the engines flared out. Or that’s what I heard people screaming about. 

I still couldn’t move. The flight attendant told me I had to move so that they could help the man beside me, but I couldn’t. I was rigid with fear. They had to physically drag me out of my seat. I fell to the floor. When they moved my seat-mate into first class, I crawled back into my seat, and buckled in, put my sleeping mask back on, and popped another Xanax.

We limped into a small airport in the middle of no where, still hundreds of miles from our destination.

I never got to Grannie’s in time.

*****

“Look, Gemma, I know you’re a smart woman. You’re usually so rational. But this height thing is a bit of problem.”

“For whom?”

“Well, me. We can’t go anywhere if there’s an elevator. And every time you come to visit me, you’re all sweaty by the time you get up to my place. It’s not very appealing.”

I couldn’t believe my ears.

“I’m sorry I’m not appealing,” I said. “But I’m afraid.” I paused. “And you know that I’m working on it. I’m attending group therapy. I’m trying immersive therapy, I’m taking my SSRIs when I’m stressed. And it’s working. Just slowly.”

"If it's working, come over here."

I shook my head no.

“I don’t know what you’re afraid of!”  

“The distance from where you’re standing, to the ground. That’s too far.”

Joel snorted. “Is that all? Look! It’s perfectly safe.” 

He started to jump up and down.

“Joel!” I shouted. "Stop!”

“Perfectly safe!” he yelled.

And then the rock broke, and he disappeared, plunging into the water below, the rock landing on his leg, breaking it.

2023

I’m getting much better. Joel and I, not so much. We broke up at the hospital later that day.

That was fine with me. His room was on the fifth floor.