Love in an Elevator, Part 1; "Hello, I think I love you."

Travis walked out of the sun and into the apartment building lobby.

He pulled his sunglasses off his eyes and situated them on the top of his head. It wasn’t a big lobby, a front desk for a security guard, maybe, but it sat empty. The stair well, the elevators, and the mail boxes, that was about it.

The front doors were glass, but somehow the only light in the dismal entryway was the fluorescent bulbs humming above him. Travis went to his mail box, unlocked it and was not surprised to find nothing inside.

He shut the tiny metal door and put his keys in his pocket. This was the same thing he did every day after work. He could very easily predict how the rest of this evening would go, namely a solitary meal in front of his TV or computer, most likely a microwave burrito or a sandwich. A few hours of fucking around with emails and whatnot, with a liberal amount of whiskey and/or Vodka, and then it was off to bed to listen to his neighbors fuck and then a few hours of troubled sleep, all before he got up and dragged his parent’s disappointment to his shit job.

Maybe he should just quit. This idea occurred to him frequently, but it never really amounted to much. As pathetic as it was that ass smear of a vocation was all he had. If he had to live every day like it was a Saturday, he wouldn’t live to see the new year.

The elevator was all the way up an the 10^th floor, typical. Travis pressed the “up” button and waited, he shifted in his shoes, tried to nonchalantly look around, but there was nothing going on. Fuck he hated waiting! Waiting for anything, waiting in line, why the fuck was he always as far away from everything as possible?

The numbers began their descent, 10, 9, 8, 7. Stop. Wait. 6, 5, 4…Travis was sure it would stop on the 2^nd floor, lazy motherfuckers couldn’t walk down one flight of fucking stairs. 3, 2….Ire like white hot tar began to bubble in Travis veins.

The lobby doors opened and in walked the fat girl that lived on his floor. Fucking great. Now on top of waiting for the elevator, he had to stand in awkward silence all the way to the 9^th floor with someone he’d rather roast on a spit than talk to.

“Hi Travis, how are you?” she said as she planted her hocks in front of the elevator.

“Pretty shitty, I think you got to the supermarket before me ‘cause there was no ice cream left.”

She turned her already pig nose up a little higher and Travis assumed her jaw clenched, but her face was too fat to show any muscular strain.

At least she wouldn’t talk to him anymore.

“Did you see that they changed the pet policy,” she said, “You can now have a dog up to 25 lbs.”

Travis looked at the girl, his eyebrows knitted.

“That’s fucking awesome!” he said and returned his gaze to the now opening elevator doors.

An old lady with a walker and an old man stooped in the elevator, flanked by the Chinese DJ and his black girlfriend. Travis smiled at the black girl, she smiled back. Chinese DJ gave an obligatory “what’s up?” as he passed by.

“Mrs. Robertson,” the fat girl squeeled, “how is your hip doing, you look great!”

“Oh..I’m doing much better, aren’t I Harold?” the old lady said.

The old man gave a non committal grunt and looked at Travis. His eyes held simultaneous anger and defeat. Travis smiled a little.

“My grandson is coming to visit next weekend,” the old lady said, her voice paper thin.

“Really that’s wonderful,” Fatso said.

“Damnit Martha, no one’s coming to visit us next weekend or any other weekend,” the old man said with resigned weakness.

“No he tol—“ the old lady was interrupted by the doors trying to close. The crunched her walker and opened again, “…oh dear.”

“Maybe you should get the fuck out of the elevator, before you get hurt,” Travis suggested.

“What was that, son?” the old lady asked, “my hearing is not what it once was, I remember when we were at Applebee’s last week and the waitress asked if I wanted the dressing on the side, and I thought she said “pressing the tide,” so I said ‘no,’ but I really didn—“ CRUNCH the doors tried to close again and were thwarted by the aluminum walker.

The fat girl gave Travis a withering look and took MRs. Robertson by the arm and helped her out of the elevator. The old man followed suite, barely looking at anything but the ground, but before Travis could get around the aged roadblock, the old lady had a revelation.

“Ohh, I forgot to get the coupon for the dinner, I left it on the nightstand.”

“Well, I’m not paying $6.99 for both our dinners,” the old man stoutly declared.

“We can just go back up and get it,” the old lady agreed.

Fuck! Travis was running in tiny circles inside his head. The fat girl helped the old lady back into the elevator, with only one more door crunching. Travis found himself wishing the door had a little more power. He would have enjoyed watching the old bag crumble like a beer can.

The fat girl was holding the door, “There’s room for one more,” she said, smiling.

“No, I think I‘ll take the fucking stairs, thanks,” Travis said.

“Suit yourself,” the fat girl shrugged.

The door slid shut with a DING! And Travis was alone in the lobby again. The stairs would have to do, it was only nine floors, and that was a paradise compared to the idle blatherings of those idiots he just watched depart his company. Travis turned toward the stairwell, when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Someone was trying to open the lobby doors, but their hands were full of plastic bags. Holy Shit! It was the hot sorta Mexican (she had very dark hair and tan skin, maybe she was Puetro Rican…who knew, he never heard her speak Spanish, though) girl that lived next door to him.

Travis walked over to the door and pushed it open. She smiled at him, her teeth straight and white. God she was fucking beautiful. Her eyes were so brown they were almost black, and they sparkled in the sun light. Her black hair hung to just above her tits, and it stuck to her exposed cleavage with her sweat.

“Oh fuck. Thank you,” she said.

Goddmnit, now he remembered, she was also about as pregnant as was possible, still he had had a crush on her since he moved in over a year before. She was the hottest pregnant woman he had ever seen.

“It’s no problem. Jesus this is a lot of diapers,” Travis said.

“Yeah he’s due any day now.”

“Wow, I guess so. You’re huge.”

“Yeah, thanks, I know.”

“Sorry I just haven’t seen you in a while, I...uh,”

She laughed and it sounded like music.

“It’s ok, can you help—“

“Yeah, shit, I’m sorry give me that crap,” Travis took the bags out of her hands and managed to hold the door open for her too, “Why are you carrying all this shit, you shouldn’t be doing all this kinda shit in your condition.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t really have a choice.”

Travis suddenly felt bad for all the times he had masturbated listening to her scream during sex.

“Well, I’m right next door, if you need anything. Unless what you need involves these diapers. I don’t even like wiping my own ass.”

She laughed again, “Well thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.”

They walked to the elevator. The door opened right away.

fucking typical, Travis thought.

They got on the elevator.

“So what have you been up to? I almost never see you any more,” Travis asked.

“I’ve been working graveyard hours, so I’m in and out at weird times.”

“I see. So..uh..you’re not seeing that guy anymore?”

“Who? Jonathan? No, he didn’t want me to have the kid., and I haven’t seen him since.”

“That’s a bummer.”

“Yeah, well, that kinda shit always seems to happen to me,” her eyes softened, “What about you, what’s been up with you?”

“I work in a clinic that specializes in 3^rd trimester abortions.”

“Really, how’s business?”

Travis’s eyebrow lifted.

“Uh..pretty good, I only get paid on commission, so if you know anyone…”

“With the way my back feels I might just take your card.”

“No, actually I—“

There was a very low rumble that grew to a terrible thrumming, followed by a shearing metal sound, and then the world went black.

Intermission

When you were born, a shackle was attached to your left foot.

Not everyone has the shackle on the left foot, some have it on their right, but that is very rare. You’re shackle is on the left foot, I am certain of it. This shackle is connected to a chain. The chain is fine, weightless, practically invisible, you can see it, if you look hard enough, but mostly it exists independent of notice.

The anchor point for the chain is far out of your sight. By the time you realize the chain is there at all, you have traveled too far to see where the other end is fastened. The shackle is feather light, it does not chafe, but it grips unwaveringly. Its caress is soft, unobtrusive, and its chain is slack.

It has always been there, and you just assume it is supposed to be there, like your hands, or your lungs, or your heart. Maybe you need it to live, maybe it is essential to your life. Regardless it is there, it cannot be removed and it is not bothersome in the least. It does not restrict your movement, forward backward, left, right, you can move with adroitness, smoothly and quickly.

The latitude you are awarded seems an overkill. In general you’re only compulsion is to walk ahead, by the time you want to know where it is anchored, it will be too late, but for now you don’t give it a second thought. In fact, you feel as if there is a power herding you forward, silently nudging, gently prodding.

Then one day, the chain becomes taut, unyielding. You can no longer walk forward. You tug tentatively at your restraint, but you are bound. Odd, you think to yourself, but you can still go left or right, and you can see verdant pastures in both directions. You could go back, but there are atramentous clouds on that skyline and besides, you have already been that way, there is no reason to explore a path you just traversed.

So you turn left. Right would make the walking awkward, what with the shackle on the out side, and it seems like both paths are equivalent, so why not take the one that offers the least hassle.

You walk in this direction, in a straight line, the chain forgotten again in the midst of the wonders along your path. A myriad forms assault you, fascinating you at every turn, hurting you, making you laugh, breaking your heart.

Still you walk, anticipation of the next experience like a poison and its antidote in the same pill.

Your journey is arduous and exhilarating, sometimes your pace slows, sometimes it quickens, often you look over your shoulder and visit things behind you, but eventually you continue your trek forward, always to the left.

You are aware that the shackle is slowly making you veer in a circular path, but its radius is so beyond your scope that you do not see the circle, only the line. It is not until then that you notice, for the first time, that you have been here before. It is not until then that you get a sense as to the vector of your peregrination. But it has been a while since you saw this landscape, perhaps it is just similar, certainly it is only a dull resemblance, maybe a forgotten dream?

This is, of course, wishful thinking. It takes some thousands of circumnavigations to see it, but you are in the mean, you take the average amount of time to notice that you are walking in a circle, and the circle is shrinking. This is when you notice the storm that was once so far away, is a little larger, looming a tad bit closer, noticeably so, but only because you haven’t looked toward it in so long, you tell yourself. It is still so far off, you need not fear it.

But you have noticed the chain shrinking, closing the distance ever so slightly, and you slow your pace. Partly because you think it may slow your decaying orbit, partly because you have become weary. More and more often you see landmarks you recognize. More and more you notice that the peaks are not novel, the valleys all too familiar.

Panic is a tiny bubble of discontent in the bottom of your stomach, it’s enough to notice, but it is not powerful enough to alter your journey, but like the clouds, once you notice it’s progression, it is impossible to ignore. Denial is your weapon, your aegis that protects you from the truth of this walk.

Why is this shackle on your ankle? Who put it there, what is it attached to? Why have you never wondered at it before now? You have come across many skeletons in your travels, and they had no shackles attached to there bleached ankles…why was that? Why had it not been an important detail until now?