FOOL THAT I AM

where yo' black ass been?
she asked me. i chose to ignore her. i ride the elevator with her everyday. she sees me everyday. doesn't speak. neither do i.

did you hear me?
she asks. irritated. confused. totally not feeling my silence. i don't care.

well, i guess you're not up for conversation today...
she says. to no one in particular. to me. to the elevator.

actually, i've been around.
i answer. she looks happy. glad that someone finally speaks to her. glad that i have spoke to here. ecstatic because being the portrait hanging on the elevator wall. relieved that someone finally notices that the picture does talk.

the question is how and why are you hanging around on this elevator?
i ask her. people are getting on. she's quiet. i don't look at her while others are present. she doesn't look at me while others are present. we are at the sixth floor. everyone exits except me.

i'm here to bring a certain class to this small space. see, these flowers behind me, don't they make you think of the conservatory in april?
she asks me. i ponder the question. don't get it. get it. smile. it doesn't remind me of the conservatory in april at all.

i'm assuming you disagree...you're scowling.
she says. i almost forgot i was on the elevator. she doesn't speak to me. i realize that she talks. the picture talks.

you're funny...i make it a point not to talk to you, but when i finally decide to, you got nothing to say. oh, well...
she says. like that, she's looking away from me. not looking at me anymore. i hear her breathing. want to say so much more. want to say nothing at all. want to get off this elevator.

i take the sharpie from my backpack and decide to draw a mustache on her face. she has no arms. she's a bust in a photo with flowers behind her. she shouldn't have spoke to me in the first place. pictures don't talk. pictures don't talk in elevators.

at the first floor, i exit. step out of the elevator car. turn to look at her one last time. she isn't in the picture anymore. she's standing right there. in the elevator. one hand on her hip. the other raised giving me the finger. i'm speechless. i'm laughing inside. i'm glued to my spot just outside the only elevator in this building. i don't blink.

you're an asshole!
she says out loud. people walk around me. rush around me. nudge me slightly to get to the empty elevator. she moves over to let them on. finally full. the door closes. she steps through the closed doors. stands directly in front of me. smiles wide enough to scare the shit out of me. her mustache rises at the corners of her mouth.

yeah, i guess i am...but pictures don't come to life in elevators and talk shit and attempt to scare folks, do they?
i ask her. she thinks for a moment. then another moment. i wait. wait. decide she has nothing to say. so i turn to leave the spot i'd been stuck in. i walk to the exit. turn around and still see myself standing there. why? i have no idea. why i'm standing here and there? i have no idea.

you coming back soon?
she asks. forgetting what i'd just asked her. forgetting that there are now two of me: one in front of her and one at the exit.

sure...you want something while i'm out?
i ask her. biting my fingernails. wondering if the store up the street still has today's paper.

yeah, your soul. how about it?
she asks. looking directly at me. straight through me.

hell naw...are you out of your dead ass mind?
i answer. i walk through the door without pushing. i walk out into the hustle and bustle of the day. alive. i look back at the lady from the painting. standing outside my building. defeated.

this is why i hate elevators
i say to myself and she disappears and the other me disappears and it's only me there. looking back at nothing. looking into myself knowing that from this day on i'll take the stairs.

H.
1-15-2008