I hurried toward the elevator and pushed the button. Only two minutes until I was to meet my friends at the check-out desk; I was running a little late, as usual.
Ding! The elevator doors slid open. The two startled occupants, standing closely and face to face, hastily stepped apart. Did I catch them in a kiss? Are they newlyweds? I stepped into the elevator, pulled my black suitcase behind me, and turned my back to the side of the elevator. (I’m always wondering about things-so much so that my daughter answers my wonderings with, “I don’t know, Miss Marple.”) My curiosity was peaked, of course, so I studied the two people without seeming to study them.
The young man, probably about 30 years old, had short dark hair. With a mischievous grin on his face, his flirting eyes kept seeking out the eyes of the young woman. Although his right hand was in the pocket of his khaki pants, his left hand was tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing. No ring…hmm…not married. The white, crew-neck t-shirt he wore was untucked in a relaxed, casual way. It seemed to fit his personality, happy-go-lucky and playful. It seems like flirting. I hesitated to glance at the young woman standing beside me because I didn’t’ want to be too obvious. The young man seemed to be almost laughing at her, daring her to look back, but didn’t answer.
Ding! The elevator door slid open again. A tired looking businesswoman, thirty-ish, in a black pantsuit entered the elevator. She turned her back to the opposite side of the elevator from me. Her shoulder-length blond hair fell to her shoulders in soft “yesterday’s” curls. She pulled her black suitcase to a stop in front of her and held a navy blue jacket in her other hand. Her lifeless eyes, set in a pale, colorless face, stared wearily at the floor. Why are elevators so awkward? No one ever talks. I wonder if she is heading home?
The shifting feet of the young man beside her drew my attention back to my original query. He stepped about six inches toward the brunette at my side. That silly grin was still on his face as if challenging the woman to something. My eyes drifted to the floor. I guess I feel just as awkward in elevators as everyone else. Blue jeans and black and white Nike shoes came into view. I glanced up. A baggy brown sweater hung casually on a slight, willowy frame. Long and straight brown hair hung past her shoulder. Her face was turned downward and she was staring at the floor. Her arms were folded tightly, close to her body. Her dark brows were knit closely together and a crease formed between them. This doesn’t look like a lover’s glowing face. Hmm…did they have a fight? Or, is this just a ruse? Was this just intended to keep others from suspecting their romantic rendezvous?
Ding! The elevator doors slide open. The brunette walked out of the elevator first, followed by the flirty man. Next, the weary traveler left. I strolled out last, ruminating over the unsolved mystery. Elevator tryst or a lovers’ quarrel?