It was the summer of 2014, and I’d just returned home from a trip to the supermarket to pick up some groceries. I’m sure my wife expected me to take all of fifteen minutes to accomplish this quite ordinary act, but ultimately I walked in through the door two hours later.
When entering the elevator bound for the tenth floor, I could scarcely believe what I saw. A gorgeous, twenty-something year old woman wearing a white cotton blouse and matching blue work skirt-with-jacket. Her black shoulder length hair was tied back, which loaned generous attention to her beautifully-sculpted cheekbones. Added to this was her gorgeous mouth, it molded as eminently kissable as well as mysterious. In the second it took me to gauge all this, my heart rate sped up significantly, and it dawned upon me then just how brain-melting an elevator-induced silence could feel.
In spite of being married, I couldn’t ignore the natural chemistries that erupt when a male and female become lodged in a confined space together. I don’t mean to say that I was overpowered by an inclination to act; rather, I was simply befuddled at the subsequent chemistral-circus that quickly reduced me to a temporary invalid. This state was mine to bear until we passed the fourth floor, at which a shuddering ‘thump’ and then a stop occurred.
For the first time in my life, I was stuck in an elevator. It takes a shifting moment to gauge the oddness of this, it ranking as far more ‘Hollywood’ than real. The lights fortunately stayed on, and after a second’s nervous shuffling, I turned to my fellow captive and shook my head.
In return, she made an ‘hmmph’ sound before smiling beautifully. Oh, what a joy it was to dive into her ebony-colored eyes then, they a whirlpool of intimacies I could easily write a novel about! The next act was for us to reach for our phones. My attempt was aborted upon realizing I’d left mine at home, and she (quite miraculously) didn’t have hers, either. So here we were, a young man and beautiful woman stuck in an elevator together. There was no question as to whether help would come – the building needed working elevators – it was rather a question of when. With life having dealt us this card, I asked of her name.
“Abigail,” she replied coyly.
I smiled before mentioning my own moniker. Silence resumed, but you could feel any evident tensions slowly dissolving.
“You lived in the building long?” she enquired.
“Two weeks,” I smirked. “Hope I haven’t brought bad luck!”
Abigail laughed before nonchalantly removing her black high heels and placing them to the side.
“Two weeks,” she nodded. “You like it?”
I wanted to mention how fantastic it was to be stuck in an elevator with her, but said ‘It’s got it charms’ instead.
“Don’t worry!” the beauty chuckled conspiratorially. “This isn’t a regular thing!”
I chuckled too, and in the resulting silence wondered if I could love this woman.
Abigail and I were sat on the floor an hour later, laughing and smiling when a shudder set the elevator back to life. Shocked into action, we both jumped to our feet and wiped our brows. In short time, we reached the seventh floor, and I knew things were coming to an unceremonious end. Abigail put her shoes on and said ‘goodbye’. I felt an obligation to step out with her, and felt pretty silly standing out on a floor I had no business being on. Abigail looked at me deeply then, there a sense of value-mixed-with-loss to her expression. I stood in silence, feeling like an idiot before saying, “I apologize, but I wanted to say… it was amazing being stuck in an elevator with you.”
“I enjoyed it too,” she smiled beautifully.
A couple more seconds passed before I added, “So, I guess I must head back up.”
“Ok,” the beauty nodded.
I pressed the ‘up’ button. When the door opened, I felt ridiculous that I’d not chosen to take the stairs. I stepped in and turned to bid farewell, but quickly realized Abigail was gone. As the doors closed, I sighed at what’d been an unexpected, yet sublime experience.
To get caught in the company of a beautiful woman is a double-edged sword. For one, you have to appreciate the measure of specimen before you, but it’s also possible for your conscious mind to become rattled to a point that cognizance takes on an ‘unreal’ sheen. Irrespective of this, sitting down and discussing the details of life with Abigail then was myth-busting, she – like all of us – born of the same blood, bones and dust that makes humanity human. I haven’t seen her again, and feel that she’s moved on to rupture mental states elsewhere. I must say I was thoroughly blessed by this experience, and would happily incur a repeat come the future.