Supine

It was the hottest day of the year. The meteorologist had warned that the temperature would hit 104 degrees by the afternoon. He used words like “unprecedented” and “extremely dangerous.” It was the kind of day people spent lying by the pool or lounging in the air conditioning.

I lay broken and bruised inside an empty house. I was alone. And I was roasting alive.

The house was empty because the previous family had moved out and put it up for sale. I’m a Real Estate Agent. Not a particularly good one, but that’s how I found myself in the house. I had stopped by that morning to take some photos and jot down some notes for the “For Sale” listing. It was supposed to be quick work. In and out before the heat set in.

Upon entering the house, I placed my work satchel by the door and got busy with my notebook and camera. The inside of the home felt like a jungle. The air conditioning was off. No one wants to pay to cool a house they no longer live in. I was used to working in the heat in the summer and the cold in the winter. I snapped pictures of the living room, kitchen, and master bedroom. The house was modern and spacious and I was hoping that would translate to an easy sell.

After making quick work of the downstairs area, I went upstairs to finish up. Sweat beads clung to my forehead like rain on a window. The air was stale and heavy. I was already looking forward to cranking up the air conditioning in my car on the ride home. I took some photos of the upstairs area, scribbled some notes for future reference, and hastily approached the wooden staircase I had just walked up ten minutes ago.

I felt it in the pit of my stomach before my brain registered something was amiss. You know that feeling you get on a roller coaster? That sudden weightlessness. The sensation that something should be stopping you from falling but isn’t. That’s the feeling I got when my foot missed the first stair completely and my momentum carried me headfirst toward a quick descent. I flailed my arms, desperately trying to grab the rail, but all I managed to hold was air. The wooden stairs approached quickly. I willed my body to stop falling.

But gravity is undefeated.

I woke up on my back and all I could see was white. Was I dead? I tried to turn my head and was met with blinding pain that caused me to release a primal scream. Not dead then. My eyes darted around scanning for something familiar. I realized that the white I was seeing was a ceiling. It came came back to me in a hurry. The house. The stairs. The fall.

I was wet with perspiration. My clothes stuck to me like someone had glued them on. My head was pounding. I felt my battered ribs with every breath that I took. I waited for my body to miraculously heal itself. You just need a few minutes, I thought to myself. You’re in shock. But deep down I knew that wasn’t true.

I could move my legs and my arms. That was a good sign. I wasn’t paralyzed. But each movement was met with a flash of pain. My brain was imploring me to remain still. I delicately moved my hands and patted my pants pockets. I confirmed what I had forgotten. I did not have my phone on me. It was in my bag, which was several feet away by the door.

I began to panic.

My breaths became quicker and so did the stabs of pain inside my chest. The humidity inside the house was stifling. I closed my eyes and concentrated on slowing my breathing. Inhale with your nose. Exhale out of your mouth. I repeated this again and again. Finally, my heart began to slow.

I needed to think. Who knew I was here? I was single. Parents deceased. A few close friends. Would someone text me and become alarmed when I didn’t respond? Doubtful. I had a sister I didn’t talk to much. We saw each other during Christmas and that was about it. The chances of her checking in on me on a random day in July were slim.

I patted my pants again hoping to find that my phone had magically teleported to one of my pockets. I felt a lump and carefully ran my damp fingers over its shape. It was just my car keys. I had nothing. Nothing that could help me escape this house. How long could I survive in here? My mind wandered to dark places. Would I die from thirst? From heat stroke? Who would find my body? How long would it take them? The panic creeped in again. I cried out to the empty house, but all I heard back was my echo mocking me. Would someone outside hear me yelling? It was the middle of the day and it was dangerously hot outside. There would be no passerby’s coming to my rescue. No one to hear me raise the alarm.

Wait.

Alarm.

My car alarm! The fob attached to my keys had a button on it that would set off the car’s alarm. It would be loud. People would investigate. Maybe the police would be called. It was a glimmer of hope that I clung to like a raft in the ocean. I lifted my right arm off of the floor and carefully stuck my hand inside my pocket. I felt the cool metal of the key ring and pulled it out. A sudden dopamine rush hit me. This was going to work. I was going to be saved!

I felt the fob with my thumb. My neck wouldn’t allow me to look down, but I knew the layout of the buttons. My thumb found the alarm button. I held the fob tightly in my hand and pressed down as hard as I could. I listened for the whine of the alarm outside the house. My emergency beacon to the world.

I heard nothing.

I pressed the button again and again. I pressed it so hard that I worried I might break the device. But there was no noise. Only deafening silence.

The tears came suddenly. The salty discharge rolled down my warm cheeks and hit the floor. There was no miracle waiting for me. People died in freak accidents every day. To think that I was excluded from the cold randomness of death was laughable. I wasn’t special. I let the despair fill me up inside. I felt it run through my veins like poison.

I thought about my life. The failed relationships. The job I had no passion for. The listlessness I felt each day. Had this always been my fate? A slow death on a hot floor?

I must have drifted off to sleep because I awoke with a startle. My neck felt like it was in a vice grip. My throat was sandpaper. Sweat droplets tickled my upper lip. I failed to stifle a cough and the agony was overwhelming. The pain was a constant reminder that I was weak. That I had no say in what was happening to me.

I became angry.

If I was meant to die alone in this house then so be it. But I wasn’t going to make it easy for death.

I planted my heels firmly on the floor, took a deep, staggered breath, and tried to push my body toward the bag. Pain erupted within me like someone had flipped a switch. So much for that idea.

I took a quick inventory of what I had:

My car keys.

My clothes.

My socks and shoes.

I went over it again and again. Keys. Clothes. Socks. Shoes.

Shoelaces!

I had the laces on my sneakers. A half baked idea emerged from the fog inside my brain. My bag with the phone in it was out of reach but not far away. The phone was my only way out of here. Get the phone. Call 911. Get out of this house. One step at a time, I told myself. I glanced down toward my feet. I could just see the top of my shoes.

Here goes nothing.

Using my right foot, I managed to slip the shoe off of my left foot until only my toes were inside. That wasn’t so bad. Minimal pain. Now came the tricky part. I rehearsed the movement in my mind. I envisioned myself executing it perfectly. I lifted my foot off the ground with the shoe still hanging on my toes. I placed the palms of my hands on the floor and braced for the inevitable pain. With one swift movement, I snapped my foot back toward me and watched breathlessly as the shoe launched into the air. I watched as it hit its apex and began to fall. The seconds felt like hours. The shoe landed with a thud on my chest. I let out a deep groan as my ribs protested the impact. I grabbed the shoe with my clammy hands and set to work freeing the white shoelace from the holes. The process was difficult and exhausting, but eventually I held the lace in my hand. I looked at the bag by the door. I wasn’t sure if the shoelace would reach it.

I grabbed the key ring by my side and held it in front of my face. In addition to the useless fob, two keys were attached to the ring. I worked my fingernail between the metal ring until I had enough space to guide the first key off. The second key was bigger and took more time. My fingers began to go numb from the repeated activity. I looked down at my thumb and saw that it was an angry purple color. Eventually I was able to slip the second key off of the ring.

The fob was the most difficult of the three objects. My hands were slick with perspiration and I kept dropping the key ring on my face as I worked. With nothing dry to wipe my hands on, I put the ring between my teeth and pulled the stubborn device with as much strength as I could muster. I bit down tight, feeling like a wild animal with prey in its jaws. After some finagling, I felt the plastic fob come free of the ring. My heart was beating faster. The strenuous work in the heat was taking a toll on my already comprised body. I was dizzy. I needed to hurry.

Using my teeth again, I began pulling apart the key ring and making the metal as straight as possible. My muscles ached with every movement, but I was beginning to appreciate the pain. It was keeping me awake. After straightening the metal, I then worked to create a hook out of one end. After I was done, I held it up in front of me. I was satisfied with what I had. I snatched the shoe string from the top of my stomach and began tying the string to the straight end of my creation. The room was spinning and I was nauseous. I wanted to close my eyes and rest, but feeling the metal hook between my fingers was giving me a second wind. I tied the other end of the shoelace around my right wrist so it would stay within reach. I glanced at the bag in front of me. The bag’s strap was on the floor. That was my target.

I placed the hook between my thumb and index finger and lifted my arm off the floor to test my range of motion. It was severely limited of course, but I felt confident that I could still launch the hook into the air. I held the hook high, cocked my hand back as far as I could, and threw the hook toward my satchel. Pain radiated through my shoulder and neck. I screamed out in agony. I looked for the hook and saw that it had only traveled a foot or so, well short of my bag. I used my fingers to pull the string back toward me. I grabbed the hook off the floor and steadied myself for another toss. My breathing was shallow and every movement was difficult. I launched the hook again and heard it hit the hardwood floor. My eyes searched for it. It was right next to the bag. This was possible! I frantically pulled the hook back toward me, wondering how many chances I would have at this. I couldn’t hold out much longer. I was delirious. My brain was giving the orders, but my body was slow to comply.

I thought about my life.

The relationships I had yet to make.

The passions I would find and pursue.

The mystery of what lay ahead of me.

I threw the hook again.

It landed with a quiet thump on the top of the leather bag. I could feel my heart beating in my ears. I grabbed the string slowly and pulled it to me. It was sticky with my perspiration. The hook dropped off the bag and started sliding toward me like it was a snake and I was its charmer. I kept pulling. The only thing that stood between me and the hook was the bag’s shoulder strap on the floor. The hook inched toward it.

Closer…

Closer…

Almost there.

I suddenly felt resistance as I pulled. Did the bag move? I wasn’t sure if I could trust my eyes. My vision was blurry. I gently resumed tugging the shoelace. The bag was moving! I started breathing quickly. I felt like I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs. I gasped. I coughed. I kept pulling the string.

The bag was close now. I heard it scraping against the floor near me. Every inch toward me was an inch further away from death. I saw dark spots in my eyes. I felt like I was on the precipice of blacking out. Maybe forever. I reached out my hands to keep pulling the string. My body felt like it was floating. A peaceful sensation began to wash over me. I heard a calming voice in my head.

You tried your best.

Just rest now.

My hand grabbed leather and my eyes jolted open. I pulled the bag toward me and found the pocket with my phone. I opened the zipper and felt the plastic phone case. A crushing thought burrowed its way into my brain. Would the battery be dead? I tapped the black screen with my finger and watched with relief as the phone came to life.

I tapped the icons on the screen. My fingers were slow. Every movement felt like it was happening underwater. I saw words on the screen but couldn’t make sense of them. It felt like someone was jamming a hot needle behind my eyes. My head was swimming with pain. I was confused. What was I doing with this phone? I couldn’t remember all of a sudden. My finger frantically swiped across the screen. I saw numbers. With a last gasp of clarity, my finger tapped the screen.

9…1…1

I heard a woman’s voice come from the speaker, but I couldn’t arrange her words into meaning. My throat was on fire. The inside of my mouth was cotton. I tried to produce a sound, but nothing came out. The woman continued to speak. The voice was louder. More clear this time.

“Are you hurt?”

I realized I was shaking. The hot air inside the house suddenly felt cool. The sweat on my skin felt like ice water.

“We’re tracing the call,” the voice said. “Stay with me.”

I held onto her words, but it was like trying to hold on to smoke. My world was going black. I wanted to sleep. I couldn’t fight it any longer.

I looked at the door in front of me. The door separated me from the rest of my life I could have had. I had walked through that door, but I wouldn’t be walking out of it. I wasn’t special.

I closed my eyes. I began to drift off.

The door exploded into a hundred pieces. Splinters and chunks of wood flew toward me. I tried to lift my eyelids, but they felt as heavy as steel. A stream of light bounced around the room and settled on my face. I squinted my eyes open and saw the fuzzy outline of a man standing over me. He held something in his hand. Some sort of tool or weapon.

I reached down deep. I found my voice and guided it outward. I was speaking to my rescuer, but perhaps also to death itself.

“I’m here,” I said. “I’m still here.”