I have always had a phobia of enclosed spaces.

It's been a very hectic day, one with much noise and paperwork. And that's a little unusual for our law office on the sixteenth floor of one of the larger buildings in the city, especially for a Tuesday morning. Not that we don't get our share of the business; we just don't usually have it in such quantities. I heard the news this morning about a complicated bang-up job between quite a number of vehicles along one of the main streets, so I should be prepared for everyone being eager to press charges, pass the buck onto some other inattentive shmoe behind the wheel who probably deserves to have their license revoked. But I'm not.

The phone has been ringing and ringing; once a receiver is put back onto its cradle, the incessant tolling of the small bells begins again, driving into my head like a jackhammer. We at the office are now taking bets between calls, guessing on whose phone will ring first. So far, I've lost more than I've won.

As I leave the office at eleven, I thank whatever existing gods that I'd thought to ask for an early lunch. I'd felt myself beginning to crack. But, I am free now, for a little while at least. I can go relax at the sub place across the street with my usual: a club sandwich, no tomatoes, and a coffee. I can drown myself in my coffee and get ready for the afternoon.

I hate taking elevators. Whenever possible, I always take the stairs. But sixteen floors worth of stairs is not possible for me, a man in his mid-thirties who is maybe a little over the average weight proper for my height. So I'm standing at the silver doors, waiting nervously for the tiny chime to sound. I almost curse as a couple comes to stand beside me. If I'm going to take an elevator, I like be alone so no one can see the cold sweat I break into. It's a little embarrassing, as if I'm saying outloud that I still wet my bed. Though, of course, I don't.

The doors swing open and I enter with the couple stepping in behind me. I turn at the back and watch as the man pushes the button for the main floor. He is perhaps a little younger than I am, skinny, and dressed in a pair fading blue jeans and scuffed sneakers that look out of place with the beige dresscoat he's wearing. Or perhaps it's the dresscoat that's out of place. The woman looks a little better, I realize, studying her in an attempt to swallow my discomfort as the elevator starts on its journey downward. Her brown hair is done up in curls atop her head and golden hoop earrings dangle from her lobes. The dress she's wearing is a dark red number that does an admirable job of hiding the fact that she's not slender, and her black shoes are classily open-toed. I am inclined to believe that the couple is not, as I'd first presumed, married.

There is a hitch in the ride and the elevator stops. At first, I'm left thinking that we are about to be blessed with another passenger, but the doors don't open. And the lights flicker out.

I grab the handrail in a panic, feeling my stomach take a tumble. My worst fears are coming true. I am stuck in an elevator. The woman is breathing heavily in some agitation and I can hear the man trying to calm her, though his tone is far from mollifying.

"Settle down, will ya? It's not the end of the world. We've just stalled for a moment, that's all. We'll start up again in a minute."

The woman gives an angry scoff, though I can hear that the anger is merely a cover for her fear. "Arny, we're stuck in an elevator. It's not going to start up again in a minute."

"Well, then the repair crews will be here in a minute, so just calm down." He sighs out a curse and I can hear him shift his weight from one foot to the other.

After a moment, the woman speaks again. "I am not coming back here tomorrow, Arny. Tomorrow you can come by yourself to get the divorce papers."

The man named Arny cusses loudly. "As if it's my fault all the lawyers are busy."

"Well, you were the one who said you wanted to come today instead of yesterday because your precious game was on. You know, Bill doesn't even like football."

Arny gives an irritated groan. "Then why don't you move in with Bill, Marianne? I've been telling you to move in with the guy for three months. If I'm such a slob..."

"Yes, you are!"

"And a good-for-nothing..."

"Definitely."

"Then why don't you move in with Bill and stop bugging the hell outta me?"

"Because he won't let me until the divorce goes through! I've told you that I don't know how many times. But you never listen to a word I say! It all goes in one ear and out the other. I don't know why I married you in the first place."

Arny gives some inaudible murmur.

I feel as if I'm invisible, though I technically am in the dark. I wonder if the married couple, as I was correct in guessing the first time, even remembers that I'm there. I clear my throat unobtrusively and the sound bounces around the walls that I swear are closing in on me.

"Don't you have one of those little penlights in your purse?" Arny asks, his voice a little less harsh than before. I wonder if it's because I've alerted him to my presence; perhaps he's concluded that I am a lawyer, though I've received more disgust for my profession than respect.

"I don't know," the woman, Marianne, answers.

"You don't know? How can you not know what's in your own purse? Here, give it to me and I'll find it. I'm sure I gave you a penlight key fob one year, though you never appreciated any of the gifts I gave you." I hear some movement and I assume that Arny is trying to grab the purse from his wife's grasp.

There is a grunt from the woman. "Hands off! How am I supposed to appreciate a car jack?"

"Give me your purse, Marianne! And you said we needed a car jack."

"That doesn't mean I wanted it for Christmas! Arny, let go!"

"No!"

The distinct sound of a slap reverberates through the elevator, followed by a shocked silence. And then, the grunting continues. I wonder to myself if I would find the scene before me pitiful or hilarious was I able to see it. I huddle into the corner, pressing a hip into the handrail, as I hear two bodies fall to the floor, one right after the other.

Things continue downhill from here. Despite my efforts to remain separate from the fray, I am tripped by a stray foot and sent toppling onto the couple. As I attempt to stand, I feel my hand land somewhere delicate. The woman screams and I feel a fist jab me in the nose. Blinking, I wonder if her ring has left a permanent pockmark on my upper lip.

The repair crew shows up a few minutes later, shedding light onto our war from the small escape hatch in the ceiling. I am taken to the hospital to be treated for a broken nose and a few cracked ribs. I feel lucky to be alive.

As I lie on the white sheets of one of those adjustable beds, an attractive and blond nurse asking me if I need anything, I swear on my future grave to take up jogging.

I will need to be in shape for all of those stairs.