I guess we’re both creatures of habit. I’m usually the first one in the elevator at precisely five minutes before eight, and you always show up about a minute later, the last one in before the doors close.
At that point, the elevator is always crowded. I don’t think you ever saw me, but I sure saw you. You always stepped to your right when you got in, then turned around right away, tucked away in the corner.
Sometimes I had to move a little, if I could, to see you. When I couldn’t move, I’d crane my neck or stand on my toes to get a better look.
It was certainly worth the effort. Seeing you was the highlight of my morning. Your flowing, chestnut hair. Your lean but curvy build. Your toned legs.
And your dresses. A new one every day. You look great in all of them, but the white, linen, sleeveless one was my favorite.
You always got out on the sixth floor, three floors before mine. I think there are law offices on that floor. I wondered if you were an attorney.
I wanted to know you. I thought about waiting an extra minute to get in the elevator in the morning, then standing next to you. But the very idea of being that close to you, while thrilling, made me too nervous.
Maybe I could get you to notice me, I thought. I started wearing a suit. I even bought a new suit. Hugo Boss. But you never looked my way.
So one morning, I decided to get out on the sixth floor too. I imagined you holding the door for me and me thanking you and us introducing ourselves.
But I was getting ahead of myself. First, I’d have to get out on six.
“Excuse me,” I said as we slowed down for the sixth floor. Your floor. Our floor.
I watched the doors open and saw you get out. I tried to gently push my way forward, but the car was packed that morning, and it was hard for people to move.
The doors began to close.
“Could someone hold the door?” I called out.
But no one came to my assistance. I suppose they were all eager to get to their floors.
Then I saw a hand reach in from outside the elevator, and the doors snapped back open. A slender, lovely hand with red fingernails. I knew it was yours. You’d come back for me!
As the doors opened, there you were, looking even more beautiful from the front. You smiled at me. Your teeth were perfect.
Your left hand was still on the edge of the door as it now slid fully open. Something on it caught my eye, something large, something shiny, something heartbreaking.
I looked into your eyes. They were blue.
“Sorry,” I said, turning around. “Wrong floor.”
At that point, the elevator is always crowded. I don’t think you ever saw me, but I sure saw you. You always stepped to your right when you got in, then turned around right away, tucked away in the corner.
Sometimes I had to move a little, if I could, to see you. When I couldn’t move, I’d crane my neck or stand on my toes to get a better look.
It was certainly worth the effort. Seeing you was the highlight of my morning. Your flowing, chestnut hair. Your lean but curvy build. Your toned legs.
And your dresses. A new one every day. You look great in all of them, but the white, linen, sleeveless one was my favorite.
You always got out on the sixth floor, three floors before mine. I think there are law offices on that floor. I wondered if you were an attorney.
I wanted to know you. I thought about waiting an extra minute to get in the elevator in the morning, then standing next to you. But the very idea of being that close to you, while thrilling, made me too nervous.
Maybe I could get you to notice me, I thought. I started wearing a suit. I even bought a new suit. Hugo Boss. But you never looked my way.
So one morning, I decided to get out on the sixth floor too. I imagined you holding the door for me and me thanking you and us introducing ourselves.
But I was getting ahead of myself. First, I’d have to get out on six.
“Excuse me,” I said as we slowed down for the sixth floor. Your floor. Our floor.
I watched the doors open and saw you get out. I tried to gently push my way forward, but the car was packed that morning, and it was hard for people to move.
The doors began to close.
“Could someone hold the door?” I called out.
But no one came to my assistance. I suppose they were all eager to get to their floors.
Then I saw a hand reach in from outside the elevator, and the doors snapped back open. A slender, lovely hand with red fingernails. I knew it was yours. You’d come back for me!
As the doors opened, there you were, looking even more beautiful from the front. You smiled at me. Your teeth were perfect.
Your left hand was still on the edge of the door as it now slid fully open. Something on it caught my eye, something large, something shiny, something heartbreaking.
I looked into your eyes. They were blue.
“Sorry,” I said, turning around. “Wrong floor.”
