Site Meter novembre's diary

novembre

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gazelle in the elevator shaft

i am becoming obsessed with elevators.

my fifteen minute morning break was ending, the thirteenth minute narrowing into the fourteenth. i was walking back towards the office building, watching the man just ahead of me, with the small head in the yellow baseball cap with the dirty bent brim, move.

he was all legs, about six and a half feet tall. when he took a step, one leg shot out in front and his torso followed at a steep angle, turning his body into a piece on a pie chart. when the foot reached floor his torso would swing abruptly forwards, righting itself. and again. head always bent downwards.

there was something graceful about the stiffness and swing to his gait.

he reached the building first and held the door open for me. thanks, i said, but he didn't respond. at the elevator cooridor he stooped and pressed the up button, his arm jerking back and forth, his fingers rigidly pressing the button, amazingly lightly, several times.

the doors to elevator one swung open and he placed a hand over one, as a courtesy, to make the electronic sensors detect a body in transit. i was a step behind him now, and the doors would have stayed open on their own accord, but his hand stayed put until i was inside.

i could see all the bones underneath his papery skin, the little brown mountains that were his knuckles, the bones connecting fingers to wrist, the bones that i always likened to the hidden structure behind piano keys.

the doors closed. he asked my floor in a quiet ruffle of sound, his shoulders protecting the button grid from me.

four.

i watched him in the mirror. he watched the button grid.

when the elevator stopped, i looked at his face and said, have a good day.

his head sharply swung farther downwards and bobbed back up to its normal downcast stance. you have a good day too, now, he told me, his voice several times louder than before, deep and lilting, his eyes trained on the button grid.

9:37 am - 10.03.03

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