The AC had been out for only twenty minutes but already the air in the office was stiff and unmoving.  The sudden and violent lightning storm and its accompanying wind had knocked out the power to the building.  One hundred and fifteen employees, suddenly stripped of phones and computers, gathered at the windows to watch the storms or wandered through the aisles, joining this or that one of dozens of conversations, all buzzing with a single theme:  Do you think they will send us home? Those at the windows marveled over the foolhardy denizens of other offices, walking or running to their cars holding cellphones, inviting a sudden conduction.  More than a few giggled wickedly over the shiny new BMW convertible, left with its top down as the wind-driven rain pummeled and soaked its pristine interior.

Amy felt the burden of the air increase as it grew heavier.

She gave up trying to send a text message on her cell phone. There didn't seem to be a signal, maybe as a result of the storm. The ice in her coffee had by now completely melted; sipping it gave no real pleasure or cooling effect.  She made her way to the bathrooms and by the faint illumination of the emergency lights, splashed a little cold water on her face, relieving some of the effects of the rapidly rising temperature on the fifth floor.  It felt so good in fact, she continued dousing herself with cool water from the sink until her head was thoroughly wet and water dripped from her hair; the mirror streaked with little rivulets and a circle of tiny puddles forming a boundary around her feet. She went back to her desk, feeling the lack of the electric fan intensely, needing something to cool her body as the heat zapped her strength.  Finally, she approached her supervisor.

"When it gets too hot, I can't breathe" she said.

"Neither can I", was the off-handed reply.  Her supervisor hadn't understood. She tried again.

"No, I mean when it gets hot, I can't move my diaphragm", she explained.  "If it gets too hot, I will have trouble with five flights of stairs". The admission both embarrassed and scared her.

 It was all so much easier when she could blame it on Walmart.  It always seemed to be at the end of a Walmart shopping trip that she found herself sitting in the car, weak and feeling like a dishrag, finding herself breathing with a determined effort and yet having no difficulty with or obstruction in her lungs.  Everything seemed like an effort then, even sitting up and her only thoughts were of iced coffee and cool air.  She blamed the long lines and insufficient air conditioning at Walmart for making her so tired.  But now she knew why it happened, and ever since the doctor had explained the effects of the lesion on her spinal cord that had been revealed by the MRI, she had noticed the episodes more often.  Was it because she aware of them now? Had  they always occurred this frequently?  Or did they happen more frequently now?  She realized that they could have gone on for years this way and she could have happily and innocently blamed Walmart.  Why did the doctors always have to steal your innocence?  Why did simply knowing about something make it seem so much worse?

    Suddenly, she felt stupid and hysterical. She wasn't going to stop breathing, where did that come from?  She had never stopped breathing before.  It was all the focus that they had put on her condition, all the stress and emotional upheaval in her life, it all came down on her and panic had set in.

"Nevermind, I'm fine", she mumbled.  She was about to return to her desk, to sit and wait out the clock as it ticked down to closing time when the manager came through to announce that everyone could go.

The stairs were ill-lit with tiny lamps only every other landing and in between the darkness overwhelmed her efforts to watch her feet as she tried to ensure each landed squarely on a step and did not miss.  But the temperature fell with each floor closer to the ground and she found it all to be no great task.  Once she had reached her car and set the air conditioning to high, she relaxed and some of the intensity of her anxiety abated.

As she took her unexpected freedom before she had to pick up children, she lit a cigarette and turned the car in the direction of the coffee shop, to score an iced coffee and a few minutes of relaxation before the evening's work of dinner and dishes and motherhood began.  Pulling into the parking lot, she stubbed out the butt and laughed.  If I ever do stop breathing, she thought, at least they won't be able to say it was because I smoked.

  "Maybe I can still blame it on Walmart", she muttered as she pulled open the glass door. The elderly woman exiting looked at her in amusement and said "Might as well dear, they blame Walmart for everything these days".

"Yes, they do", Amy chuckled and agreed heartily.  "Yes, they do".