He eyed me critically for a moment before looking away, almost satisfied. My sudden anger had dissipated any panic I was feeling. Judging by the look on his face, it was as though that had been his intention all along, but I knew better. It would be a cold day in hell before he ever did anything that came close to helping me.
The little bit of adrenaline I felt from my outburst was short-lived. Slumping back against the elevator again, I no longer felt like the walls were closing in on me, but it didn’t make the situation any more comfortable. We both sat in stubborn silence, as if the first one to talk would somehow lose the battle. The tension was high and began to feel heavy and oppressive, but I wasn’t about to cave.
“Since when are you scared of elevators?” Justin asked, without looking at me.
I silently celebrated my small victory and even debated being petty for a moment and not answering him, but the silence was wearing on me. “Since always.”
“Why didn’t I know?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because we never went on an elevator together—or maybe we just didn’t talk about those things.
“Yeah, you’re pretty good at keeping secrets.”
I sighed loudly. This was why there would be no reconciliation, even after two years. I had made a decision that threw down a gauntlet between us. I clamped my mouth closed, determined not to say another word until we were out of this situation. Pulling my iPhone from my bag, I began to scroll through my apps in search of anything to help pass the time. No bars meant no Facebook or Twitter, so I clicked on Spider Solitaire. I could feel Justin’s eyes boring into me, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking up. By the time I was playing my second hand of solitaire, I had successfully managed to put him somewhat out of my mind. When he finally did speak again, the suddenness of his voice made me jump.
“So, why the hatred of elevators?” he asked.
Glancing up, I weighed his question, wondering if it was even worth it to tell the story. Surely the elevator would start moving at any time. Justin continued to stare at me, waiting for an answer. This was how it had always been with us. He was always asking questions about my life before college, wanting to hear all my stories. I had chalked it up to the artist in him, who seemed to look at life in layers, as if it were a painting or a sculpture. Looking back now, it seemed crazy that I had never shared the elevator story with him since it was such a traumatic moment in my life.
“When I was in seventh grade my hand got crushed in an elevator door,” I answered, flexing the fingers on my right hand, which to this day still tended to tighten up and often went numb.
He didn’t say anything, waiting instead like he had so many times before for me to continue. It was so achingly familiar that my heart actually hurt. In the two years since our breakup, I had convinced myself that our relationship had been nothing special. That it only seemed that way because it was so intense and new at the time. Now, sitting here, it was painfully clear that I was kidding myself to think I could dismiss what we had shared.
“We were on a field trip to the public library in the big city not far from Woodfalls. It was a yearly tradition for seventh graders and believe it or not, was a pretty big deal for us considering the library in Woodfalls at that time was a joke. We were supposed to be doing research for some class project on influential figures of the twentieth century. Our teacher was old school and wanted us to use actual books for research in lieu of the Internet. Anyway, this library was huge and had two floors with an elevator. Well, for some reason—I don’t even remember why anymore—a few of us decided to go for a joyride. Then, that creep Tommy Jones, who knew I was scared anyway, had convinced everyone to run off the elevator just as the door was closing. Afraid of being on the elevator by myself, I stuck out my hand to stop the door, but my hand didn’t make it to the rubber sensor that should have caused the doors to bounce back open. Instead, the elevator door closed against my fingers for the entire ride up to the second floor. I screamed bloody murder the entire time and freaked out everyone in the library,” I said, grinning wryly. “Especially when they saw my hand,” I added, wagging my fingers at him. “I broke all four fingers on my right hand and also sprained my left hand in my frantic attempt to try to pry the elevator door open. By the time I got to the hospital, my fingers were swollen to the size of sausages.”
“Did you pound the prick Tommy Jones with your cast?” he asked.
“Nope. I didn’t have to. Word spread to his mom, who happened to be the principal of our school. She stuck it to him, made him shadow me for six weeks. He had to do all my writing for me in my classes. I had a cast on one hand and an Ace bandage wrapped around the other, but watching Tommy doing double work was almost worth it.”
“I would have still pounded his ass,” Justin growled.
“That’s because you’re quick to overreact in a situation,” I said, instantly wishing I could recall the words.
“At least I react in some fashion, like any normal human. I’m not some freaking robot that can’t show any emotion,” he snarled, turning away from me. My heart dropped. We were never going to get past this. He thought I was emotionless, but he hadn’t been there to see what had really happened. I wouldn’t allow myself to dwell on how harsh he sounded, because I knew the truth.
6.
November 2010
“Where are we going?” I asked with Justin leading me by the hand from my dorm room. It had been a week since his art show and the day of our first date had finally arrived. I’d had serious doubts and even tried backing out. I pleaded with Melissa to lie and cover for me, but she wouldn’t budge.
“What the frick is your deal with this guy?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips for emphasis because somehow that made her point more clearly. “You’ve never been like this before. You’ve got your OCD issues when it comes to dating, and whatever that crazy one-date-only rule is, I’ll never understand, but usually you give the dude a chance.”
“I don’t know,” I sighed, sinking down on my bed. “Something about him just unsettles me.”
“Unsettles? Do you not trust him?” she asked, concerned. “Did he do something?” she added, looking as ferocious as her slight five-foot-one-inch frame would allow.
“Chill, mother hen. No, he just makes me feel weird, kind of jittery. I disliked him on sight, and yeah, maybe that was wrong and a bit presumptuous on my part. Especially considering at his art show I got a glimpse of a side of him I wasn’t expecting, but now I’m worried I’ll be disappointed because he’ll turn out to be the asshole I pegged him for in the first place.”
“That’s some messed-up logic,” she said, hitting me with a pillow. “It sounds to me like you like him and you don’t want to admit it.”
I shrugged my shoulders since she’d pretty much nailed it on the head.
“In that case then, no, I won’t lie for you. It’ll do you some good to forget about these preconceived notions of yours and realize that sometimes it takes more than one date to get to know someone. Besides, you’ve got to give a little to get a little.”
“I’m not like you. I don’t give anything on the first date,” I teased.
“Hey, whatever, slut, that’s not what I meant,” she squealed, tossing the pillow at my head.
“I’m kidding,” I laughed. “Anyway, I disagree. If the first date sucks, then why should I torment myself by going out a second time? Face it, Melissa, college guys are the same duds they were in high school. They’re just a little cockier and more persistent here,” I pointed out, since her track record wasn’t that much better than mine.
“Rob is different, though,” she replied. “And maybe Justin will be too.”
“So you say. Only time will tell,” I said, rising reluctantly from my bed so I could get dressed.
An hour later I wished I were still on my bed instead of heading out on some date, during the day no less, waiting for Justin to answer my question.
“If I tell you where we’re going, it’ll ruin the surprise, but I think you might like it,” he said, grinning confidently as he stopped in front of a beat-up jeep with no roof and no doors.
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked.
“What? You don’t like jeeps?” he asked, leading me to the passenger side.
“I’m not sure how I feel about them one way or another. I’ve never ridden in one. It’s just—you do realize you live in Seattle?”
“Sure, why?”
“Well, it’s not the most practical vehicle for this state, is it? You know the whole ‘no roof, no door, lots of rain’ thing. Not to mention, I could easily picture one sharp turn sending me tumbling out to become instant roadkill.” With those words, I pulled on my seat belt to make sure it was firmly latched.
“Aw, you’re not afraid to get a little wet, are you?” He cranked the engine, which started with a loud grumble before idling louder than I was used to. I’m sure the missing windows and roof were partly to blame for some of the noise, but not much.
“Not at all,” I answered. “Just tell me you at least have an umbrella.”
He laughed as we accelerated down the road. “Don’t worry, it has a roof and doors for rainy days and a soft top for the summertime, but when it’s cool like this with no rain in the forecast, I like to take it all off,” he said conversationally.
I nodded but didn’t answer since the wind whipping around us made it difficult to hear. I was glad I’d pulled my hair back before I left my room, since riding like this would have surely turned me into a striking replica of a scarecrow. The breeze was downright cold as we sped along, but surprisingly it felt kind of nice as it chilled my face. My fear of tumbling out the side of the jeep had faded as the exhilaration of the ride took over. There was an odd sense of freedom that came from speeding down the road with nothing boxing me in. I didn’t realize I was smiling until Justin commented on it.
“I knew you were a jeep kind of girl,” he said, pulling into a half-full parking lot.
“Seattle Aquarium?” I asked.
“It’s sort of my muse for a new series I’m working on,” he answered, hopping down from the jeep and heading over to my side. He pulled off his gloves and placed his hands on my chilled face. The warmth of his hands and his close proximity set me on edge.
“What are you doing?” I pulled back.
“Oh, sorry. I was just warming up your face. It’s beet red from the wind,” he answered, taking another step closer. We stared at each other for a moment as if in a trance. I couldn’t help focusing on his lips, wondering what they would feel like on mine. Part of me wanted to shove him away, but then I thought about what Melissa had said. My brain was sending me frantic warning messages and I could feel myself leaning in like I had no control of my body.
“Here, let me help you down,” he said, reaching for my hands. I sat for a moment, confused about what had just happened. Did he just play me, or had I misread his signals? The look on Justin’s face gave me no indication. Either he had a great poker face, or he was oblivious and I was the idiot who thought she was about to be kissed.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Huh, yeah, I guess,” I answered, hoping I didn’t sound as squirrelly as I felt at the moment. “I thought you only painted people?”
“Most times I do. I was asked to do a series for the hospital, so I’m kinda mixing it up.”
“Wow, that’s awesome. It must be cool to earn money off your talent while you’re still in school.” Money was kind of tight for me since I only worked a few hours a week at a local daycare. Working around my school schedule had proven to be much more difficult this semester and I had lost a ton of hours.
“Nah, this isn’t a paying gig,” he answered as we approached the ticket booth.
“What? That’s insanity. Your work is too good to give away.”
“It’s cool. I just like being able to do what I love. Besides, think about all the people who will get to see it every day.”
“I guess, but I still think you should get paid. I know a hospital is a more charitable kind of thing, but I also know they make the bucks too.”
He shrugged, making it obvious he wasn’t all that crazy about the direction of the conversation. I wanted to say more about the fact that he was being taken advantage of and that he needed to know his value, but I let it drop. It wasn’t any of my business to tell him what he should or shouldn’t do.
Some of the awkward tension left Justin once we walked through the aquarium doors and he linked his fingers with mine. I could have easily pulled my hand away but became quickly distracted by the large window in front of us with hundreds of fish swimming behind it. We didn’t have anything this cool near Woodfalls. My only experience with aquariums was a trip to the Baltimore National Aquarium I had won in a short-story writing contest when I was thirteen. Ten winners got to go. The best part was our English teacher, Ms. Cooper, was our chaperone. The worst part was the twelve-hour van ride to Baltimore. I felt nauseated the entire way, but once we got there it was completely worth it. I enjoyed seeing all the different exhibits and being able to feed the dolphins and touch the stingrays. The Seattle Aquarium was tiny in comparison, but I kinda preferred the intimate feel. Plus, it was a hell of a lot less crowded.
“Oh, wow,” I proclaimed, staring into the large enclosure.
“Pretty cool, huh?”
“It’s crazy cool.”
“I remember you saying how much you liked Puget Sound last week, so I thought you’d enjoy seeing what’s beneath the surface,” he said, sitting down on a bench. He unzipped an old worn-out backpack that had seen better days and pulled out a sketchpad and a thick pencil.
“So, you’re doing fish for the hospital?” I asked, nodding toward the large window.
He ignored my question and focused completely on the sketchpad in his hands. It was as if he had been put under some kind of trance the moment the sketchpad hit his hands. The pencil seemed to have a mind of its own as it moved effortlessly across the page. I turned my attention back to the fish behind the thick glass. It was entertaining to watch the dynamics of life in a world so different from my own. Some of the fish swam lethargically along, like they didn’t have a care in the world, while others seemed to be chasing each other as they darted in and around the plants. With my eyes still on the live show in front of me, I settled on the bench next to Justin, who still had not looked up. Minutes faded away and many families came and went. Some gasped over the fish behind the huge glass, while others didn’t look impressed at all. Through dozens of screaming and squealing kids, Justin and I remained on the bench. If not for the scratching of the pencil, I would have assumed he had fallen asleep.
