Going Up and Out

We both wait in silence.  I hold the door, letting my fingers linger against the metal openings until you are safely inside.  We both press our fingers into the bacteria ridden plastic and glance nervously at the lit numbers, hoping that one of us exits soon.  There is no exhale of breath as we realize we must travel four floors before we part.

Waiting in the silence, one of us pulls out our phone. The other lifts their head to stare at the blinking, ascending numbers and lets their eyes drift to the ceiling.  Sometimes we shift our weight, and glance at one another, maybe even offer what we find to be the courteous, awkward smile.  We’re both too embarrassed to admit that we feel claustrophobic and crowded in the five by six death box carrying us through the spine of the building.  Each waits for the moment that the other tries to interrupt the tension by speaking, hoping they themselves won’t be so bold.

As soon as you leave our private room, if you are so privileged to leave first, the other slams their pointer finger on the button to “close door,” as if they would wish the gates could grab the tail of your shirt as a souvenir as they zoom into space.  I know that I would do the same, watch your backside leave the zone we assumed for a total of twenty seconds and hide behind the quickly closing doors as you exit, reclaiming the enclosure as my own.  Each time I wonder if I will surprise both of us, be so bold as to jump out and swiftly turn around to punch the “close door” button for you myself. Sometimes I want to turn around and make some snarky remark about how little I enjoyed your company to make you feel guilty for wanting to leave so quickly.  But each time I leave, maintaining our preordained silence, looking only forward, listening for the premeditated close of the doors.

It’s almost sad that we can’t talk to each other.  Almost.  On the few occasions in which you speak to me, I feel odd, violated.  Sure, we’ve rode this roller coaster so many times before in utter quiet; why ruin my few seconds each day of peaceful anxiety?  Surrounded constantly by people and noise, pesky squirrels claiming their territory, this territory claimed by us is marked by the lack of voice.  Maybe a little anguish is good for both of us--a bit of stress that can be relieved as quickly as the unclasping of a fist.  People are far too happy here, skipping about in the sunshine.  Our time together provides us with the perfect opportunity to forget about the light breeze and cozy warmth outside. We’ll both just lean against the uncomfortable tin of our elevator and enjoy our understanding riding up, because we both eventually get out.