"Yes, I know, Mom," I grumble as I walk out the door of my apartment. "12th Street and Mulberry, near the Stop & Shop."
"Okay, Erin," she replies. "Don't get kidnapped, raped or murdered! I love you, honey."
"I love you, too, Mom."
She needs me to go pick up papers from my dad at his workplace and she's getting all fussed up over nothing because she thinks I'll get lost. I mean, it's possible, because I've never been in his building before. But I have seen a picture of it, and if it turns out I'm in the wrong building I'll just have someone point me in the right direction.
My mom would have gone herself, but I wouldn't let her. When she said she had to go see my father, I quickly jumped up and volunteered to take her place.
Okay, I think to myself. A couple of blocks and I should see the Stop & Shop on my left.
I squint into the distance and I think I can see the supermarket. Always the punctual fellow, my stomach growls its insistence.
Hmm, I ponder. I haven't seen Dad in a couple of months. Maybe I can turn this into a tiny party for us two. And I can get stuff for his coworkers as well. I think I remember meeting a few of them at some get-together...
This could just be my persuasive stomach taking control of my actions, but I walk into the food store, happily anticipating the treats.
I must look a bit weird in here. It's not everyday you see a teenage girl pushing a cart filled with pastries and cookies and drinks on a Tuesday afternoon, not being followed by three of her giggling/drunk/giggling and drunk friends or with a huge party list.
But I hold my own, deepening my voice into what I think is a sexy, mature lady (but probably just makes me sound like an old man), and pay for my bounty with dignity. As I do so, I stand up to my unimpressive full height, flatten down my curly red hair and try to look presentable.
I don't know why I want to appear sophisticated in front of the cashier lady. I'm always like that; I don't care if I'm not well-dressed in front of the people I see everyday, since I know I'll always get another chance to look good in front of them. With cashiers and waiters and those Wal-Mart greeters, I'll probably never see them again, and I don't want those two seconds of our lives intertwining to be marred by sloppy dress and frizzy hair.
My arms feel like lead as I walk out of Stop & Shop, the lead actually being brownies, cookies, and other "-ies". I also got what I remembered of the groceries that were on our list, which I was reading this morning.
So, in other words, I got a crap-ton of food.
With the pastries, I couldn't resist; my mom never lets my little sister and I eat junk food, so I cherish every pastry that I can get. I don't know why she has such a rule. I mean, my sister, Katie, and I are not overweight, nor have we ever been. My sister's only 9, a shrimp of a thing, just tall enough to not look out of place in the front row of school photos.
I, on the other hand, am what people who are trying to be polite would refer to as "curvy", even though I'm not at all. Curvy refers to having huge boobs, a comparatively smaller waist, and then a huge butt. I have a moderately sized butt, average boobs, but my waist most definitely does not fit that description. But I'm still quite healthy and well-proportioned, and I'm happy to say I'm satisfied with my body, something many girls are unable to truthfully say.
Okay. Food: check. Building: check in progress.
The building should be a couple of addresses down. I remember from a photo Dad brought me a few months ago, when he got hired, that it is a brown building with two ficus trees next to the entrance. There should also be darker brown shutters framing the windows. I believe the address is 563 Mulberry, but I'll know it when I see it.
About six buildings down I come across a familiar looking structure with the address I'm looking for. I mentally pat myself on the back for finding it. I'm about to open the door when I notice that the plants outside the building aren't ficus trees. I don't know what these impostors are, but I figure the company had decided since the picture was taken that it was time for a bit of change in their decorative plants. I push the door open and stroll in as the door's bell rings.
There is no one at the front desk. I look around the lobby for some sign of life, but there's not a single person in sight. I walk out of the building again and stand there a bit awkwardly, not knowing what to do. I lift my wrist to look at my watch and then I put it down again. A moment later I check my watch again because I wasn't paying attention the first time.
2:37. Cool.
Buzz. Buzz. I fish out my phone from the front left pocket of my jeans, see that my mom is calling and slide the phone open.
"Hello?" I say.
"Hey, sweetie," Mom replies. "Are you with your father yet?"
"No, Mom, I was just about to go into his building." I decide not to ask her more details about the building; she's got enough to think about already.
"Okay. I just really want to thank you for doing this for me, Erin. It means a lot."
I shift uncomfortably, grateful my mother can't see my uneasiness.
"No problem," I say with false confidence. "I know this is hard for you and I want to help in any way I can."
"That's very thoughtful of you," she sighs. "But this is going to affect you and Katie, as well. You don't have to act strong just for me."
"I'm not acting anything," my voice and temper rising ever so slightly. "I just want everything to be normal."
"And it will be. Once your father signs those papers, we'll have a custody trial, I'll win because he won't be able to get a good enough lawyer and everything will be fine from then on."
"Yeah," I sniff. "It'll all be fine." I solemnly begin to walk back into the building.
"Trust me, honey," Mom reassures. "It'll all be okay. Just be prepared to--"
Silence.
"Hello?" I say a bit frantically. "Mom?" I look at the phone. "CALL WAS LOST". I dial her number again and sit on the front desk.
If nobody's there, nobody minds.
I don't hear any rings. I pull the phone away from my ear and see a "CALL CANNOT GO THROUGH" message flashing obnoxiously in my face.
There must be no service in this building, I think as I walk out the door again. I dial my mom's number and it goes through.
"Sweetie?" she says a bit worriedly.
"Yeah, I'm okay mom," I reassure her. "I walked into Dad's building and lost the signal."
"Oh," she sighs, relieved. "Then just call me when you leave so I know."
"Okay," I say. "And Mom? What were you saying before? You started with 'Just be prepared to-' and then you got cut off."
"Oh," she says hesitantly. "You know, I completely forgot what I was going to say. I must have lost my train of thought."
I laugh halfheartedly, because I know she didn't forget.
"Okay, call me when you leave your father's office."
"I will, Mom," I say quietly. "Love you."
"Love you, too, Erin. Thank you so much for doing this."
And with that she hangs up. I sigh, wipe my eyes a bit just to make sure no tears form, and enter the service-less building again.
I'm surprised there is still nobody at the front desk. You'd think that a hugely successful accounting company's buildings would have more responsible workers. I really need to ask someone, since I have no idea which floor my dad's on. I look around a bit and eventually decide that the greeter is probably out to lunch or something and forgot to leave a note.
A note. Hmm...
I go behind the front desk and search around. There's a mug full of pens, a telephone, a half-eaten tamale, but nothing to indicate what floor my father is on. At least the tamale means somebody was here recently and probably will want to finish off this delicious-looking Mexican meal.
Eh, what the hell, I think, fiddling with the pens. I'll just go up floor by floor asking for Mr. Jeffers.
I walk around a bit and find the elevator hidden behind a large palm tree-type plant in an ornate pot.
How classy.
I press the "UP" button and am about to step in when I hear the door jingle open.
That'll be the greeter. I look over my shoulder and am disappointed to see some blonde kid in a white hoodie swaggering in, big sunglasses covering his face.
He is definitely not the greeter, I think grumpily, and I resume my entrance to the elevator, holding the "Open Door" button for that blonde kid, since I assume he's going up. He's probably visiting his parent, too.
He walks in a bit after me, muttering a quick "Thanks" and leaning against the wall opposite me. His "thanks" sounds a bit odd. It's almost like he just ignores the "h" and says "Tanks". Weird.
"What floor?" I ask quietly and politely, not even attempting that famously awkward elevator eye contact.
"Six," he replies gruffly, but the way he says it also sounds a bit odd.
He probably has some non-New Jersey accent that I'm too unworldly to identify. I search for the "6" on the button board. Then, remembering that I have no idea what floor my father is on, I click the "12" button, the highest one on the board.
1 is all high and mighty, always being picked first, so if I ever have the chance to make it last, I jump on it right away. 12 is going to feel so happy to be chosen first. It'll be like, "Suck my metaphorical dick, 1!"
To avoid the uncomfortable atmosphere this boy and I have created, I take out my phone and start playing Sudoku as the elevator doors shut.
I didn't realize this elevator was so old. As it rises in floors it creaks and wheezes, sounds you do not want the object carrying you to make. It's also extremely slow, me already halfway through my Sudoku puzzle by the time the floor counter reaches 4.
Okay, I'm on the easiest Sudoku difficulty, but that's still pretty hard, so shut up.
Then, at floor 5, the elevator creaks the loudest it's creaked since I entered it, makes a horrible industrial sound, wobbles a bit, then just stops completely.
I freeze, unsure of what to do. I glance at the blonde boy, but he's already facing me. I shrug shyly at him and turn again to the button panel. I press the "Open Door" button but it doesn't work. I saw that one coming.
I search the panel for an Emergency Button, but this monstrosity is so old that the button is cracked and useless; it won't even let me press it. I search for an emergency phone, but, like I expected, this elevator's too freaking old to have installed one. I'm surprised they let people stand in this infernal contraption every day.
"Damn," I mutter, not caring what this stranger hears me say at this particular moment. He's inspecting the doors, attempting to pry them open, but to no avail. They won't budge.
I take out my phone and dial 911.
I wait.
And I wait.
And I wait some more.
The call never goes through, and I curse myself for my stupidity, this building for its horrible service, and my cell phone provider for not giving me a signal everywhere I go.
I turn to the hoodie guy and see his phone against his ear. A small ray of hope appears in my mind, but it's quickly gone when he presses the end button on his iPhone, not having said anything into it.
Come on, building. No cell service, 3G, OR Wifi? How do you guys even function here?
I look around, trying to think of other options. My gaze drifts upwards at the ceiling of the elevator and I think I can see panels up there. Maybe this guy can give me a boost up and I can try to lift one of the panels. I suggest this to the stranger and he nods in agreement.
I put my bags of food on the ground. The guy kneels down and I step onto his thigh, his hands holding my ankle in place. I can say with certainty that this is the most uncomfortable situation I have ever been in. With this extra bit of height I can just reach the ceiling. I push hard on the panel above me.
"Damn," I mutter again.
"What is it?" I hear his voice from below.
"They're not panels. Just sectioned off for decoration."
I carefully step off his thigh and begin pacing back and forth, trying to think of another escape plan. The guy just stands there and is, from my point of view, emotionless, since his sunglasses take up about half is face and his mouth offers no assistance.
If he didn't have really long bangs, I'd probably think he was bald, since his hoodie is covering most of his hair.
I don't blame him for the way he's dressed. Outside it's one of those deceptively sunny-but-chilly days, where you look out your window at the beautiful sun and walk out of your house in shorts and a T-shirt, but it turns out to be one of the coldest days of autumn so far, and you have to run back into your house and grab jeans and a sweater.
I, myself, dressed with the same mentality this morning, minus the sunglasses because I feel blind as a bat with them on. I had sifted through the piles of clothes covering my floor in the hopes of finding a flattering-yet-warm outfit. I eventually decided on a green and blue striped short-sleeved shirt and jeans with a purple jacket and black-and-pink Converse.
Yes, I knowingly donned a clashing ensemble, but I wasn't really expecting to be around as many people as I have been since I left the house.
As I'm comparing our outfit choices at a completely inappropriate time, I realize I'm still pacing back and forth like a complete idiot. I stop quickly in my tracks and look over at the boy.
"What?" he asks hopefully. "You think of something?"
I shake my head sadly and slide down the wall, ending up on my butt with my knees bent. He, following my lead, I guess, awkwardly sits down in a cross-legged position.
We stay like that for a few minutes, mostly just shocked that we're stuck in this box. Gradually, my mind goes into survival mode, something it's never really done before.
Oh God. What if one of us has to go to the bathroom?
I scan around the elevator's interior again, this time searching for small holes in the box. I sigh with relief, grateful that there is an upside to this machine's dilapidation, when I see a large enough hole in the far corner of the elevator. It'll do if either of us have to...take care of business.
My stomach growls ever so slightly, but enough to make me start thinking about food. What are we going to eat? Because I have no idea how long we'll be in here.
Then I remember my shopping bags and mentally slap myself for forgetting about them but also congratulate myself for buying them in the first place. There's enough food and drink in there to last the two of us a few days, if we ration it out a bit.
Which gets me thinking. A couple of days? We could be here for much longer than that. We're going to have to get along, because we could very well end up eating each other.
Okay, that's a bit morbid, and we'll probably be found by tomorrow at the latest, because the workers of the building will want their elevator fixed. But it's a possibility.
"So..." I begin awkwardly, not really having been in this type of situation before. "How's it going?"
The boy smirks a bit, scratching the tip of his nose.
"I'm feeling a bit stuffy, now that you mention it," he replies.
Oh, thank you: he's got a sense of humor. We will get along.
"You can't get any signal?" I ask, trying to get him talking, which is odd because I'm usually quieter than every stranger I meet. I guess I'm just feeling a bit of adrenaline, since this is probably the most dangerous thing to ever happen to me. Which could sound a bit lame to some people.
"Nah," he sighs, disappointed. "No signal, no Wi-Fi, nothin'."
I sigh, too, equally as let down. At least his accent is pleasant, wherever it's from. Maybe I can learn to imitate it.
It's actually extremely familiar, now that I think about it. He's extremely familiar. Something about the mix of his accent, hair and style just rings a bell in my head. Maybe we've met before and neither of us really remembers? I don't know.
"Well, my name is Erin," I say. Finding this a bit too friendly and forward, I stammer, "If...if you were wondering."
"Nice to meet you, Erin," he responds smirking again. He hesitates a bit before introducing himself.
"My name's Niall."
Well, damn.