BREATHE! (June 20, 2009. Issue 6.)

Eager to be out of the MRI and on his way to work, Ray inhaled and held … one, two … and exhaled and held … three, four… slipping comfortably into a relaxation cadence the tech had suggested before feeding him into the machine. "Remember," the tech said, his voice twanging robotically through the MRI's internal speaker, "if you move, we'll have to start all over again." Ray closed his eyes, imagining his arms and legs melting, puddling onto the table. And just as his neck had finally released its customary morning tension …

… he opened his eyes!

"Out! Out! Out!" he gasped, clutching desperately for a hand–hold as he shimmied toward light. Sweat flowed instantly, full–body, and by the time the room's fluorescent light glared off his chest, Ray's sweat had already soaked through his gown. He leapt off the table, legs crumpling beneath him as he scrambled toward the door. His heart thrummed fast and hard, double–tapping fiercely against his sternum like twin sledgehammers.

"What’s wrong?" the tech said, shouldering open the room’s thick, heavy door like a white–coated linebacker.

"I don't know," Ray said, scratching madly at the anxiety bees suddenly swarming beneath his skin. "This never happened to me before; I snapped." He grabbed the door handle, and with the tech's help, pulled himself to his feet. He tilted his head back, gulping down huge breaths of air, still unable to hold them in for more than a few seconds. "I opened my eyes for just one second, and then—wham! Gone."

"Sit down," the tech said, guiding Ray to a nearby chair. "You look like you’re going to pass out. Just sit back and breathe."

"How about I breathe for you outside?" Ray said, slumping into the chair and dipping his head between his knees. "That's where all the best breathing happens."

The tech smiled. "When you fall of an MRI table, you should get right back on!"

Ray nodded, breathing and holding, choking and coughing. Jumping back onto the table would take some time, he thought—and some heavy convincing. Eventually, with the tech's help, he slid back onto the table, but this time he kept his eyes closed.

Concentrating on the cadence, he breathed, sweating a blurred silhouette of his body into the sheet beneath him. But that was all right, because his third MRI would soon be over. Then he could slap those doors open and step outside, swallowing oceans of air like a giant, because the air outside is free—come as you are, and take all you want! And when his lungs were fully recharged, he would glide right down those stairs to the subway platform, step into the head car on the closest train, and press himself tightly against the front window, gazing beyond headlights and into darkness as the train plunged headlong into that … forbidding … tube … Breathe!