Red coat. That’s the first thing I see when she walks into the elevator. She’s pretty. She sees me there standing between six others in a cramped elevator. We lock eyes. She smiles. I blush. A scent passes my nostrils. Spring time rain. I envision lying in a field in a soft springtime drizzle. I look up and see her. I smile. A loud conversation carries around us, but her and I stay silent.
She reaches to press her floor button, 6. I see mine, 9. Damn. Not enough time. The elevator stops at the third floor. The crowd around us leaves. We make eye contact as the door closes leaving the two of us alone. We both look back down, smiling to ourselves.
Fourth floor. I start to sweat. I check my phone out of habit. The silence is stifling. I gulp nervously.
Fifth floor. Wait what could I do? What can I even do now? Is it too late to start a conversation? No! I need something more direct. This girl must obviously be someone special. She’s even wearing rain-scented perfume, I love the smell of rain!
Sixth floor. She looks at me, smiles nervously. I smile back hesitating. The door opens and she starts to leave. I grab her by her hand and she looks back at me surprised. I smile and pull her in to kiss her. Inches closer and closer. She snaps out of my hand and slaps my face disgusted
“Oh! Sicko!” She yells.
She grabs her bag and guards her body as she strides quickly off the elevator and out of my sight.
“Well I misread that,” I say to no one but myself as the elevator door closes behind her.
Bryan Crumpley is a Chicago writer, currently studying fiction writing at Columbia College Chicago. He has spent half his life in California and half in Chicago, but he’s spent the entirety as a writer both in craft and soul.
