2016 – Day 47

Start writing a story that...

Step 1: takes place: in an elevator

Step 2: includes the dialogue: What's inside?

--------

Myra met Angelo in the elevator. Her hands were full of grocery bags and he offered to press the button for her floor. He looked kind, with trim dark hair and a wide smile.

"Fourth floor, please," she said, though she lived on the fifth. She wasn't ready to let a stranger know where she lived, even if he did look kind. Plus, she didn't know his business in the building.

He pressed "4" for her and "5" for himself. They didn't speak again, and soon they arrived on the fourth floor. Myra exited and, after a moment's indecision, turned to the right.

"Take care," he said as the doors closed.

Myra waited three minutes then managed to get back on the elevator with all of her bags. She rode it up one more floor, then peeked out as the doors slid open. The hallway was quiet. She hurried to the left to open her door. Behind her she heard the click of an apartment lock being undone. With her key twisting in the lock she finally managed to get the door open and rushed inside. Three oranges came loose from a hole one of her bags and rolled into the hallway, but she let them go as she swiftly closed the door. There would be casualties in the war for safety.

One week later, Myra spotted Angelo as she was going through the packages on the entryway table. A small box with her name sat on top and she quickly covered up the label as he approached.

"What's inside?" he said, smiling.

"Socks," she said, though she wasn't sure.

"You heading upstairs? I can get the elevator for you."

"No, I'm actually on my way out," she said.

He looked at her with eyebrow raised. It was Saturday and she was wearing only leggings and a t-shirt because she had been busy cleaning her apartment. She had only come downstairs to check the mail for a short break. Outside lay three inches of snow and a sharp February wind whipped flurries across the road.

"Do you need to get your coat?" he asked.

"A friend is bringing one. I'm waiting here for her."

"Okay," he said, eyebrows now scrunched in confusion. "I'm Angelo, by the way."

"Hi, Angelo," she said.

He looked at her expectantly.

"What brings you to the building?" she asked.

"My aunt Ruthia lives on '5.'" he said. "And you are?"

Myra froze. Her name sat on her lips, ready to roll off and bring her a connection to another person. A man. She tried to say it, but her tongue wouldn't follow along and her throat grew dry.

"There's my friend. I have to go!" She rushed toward the door, her head aching and her chest tight. As she pushed on the right-hand door and felt the cold wind tear inside, she turned to look behind her.

"It was nice to meet you, Angelo," she said, then ran out into the cold.