“What are you doing?” I pulled back.
“Oh, sorry. I was just warming up your face. It’s beet red from the wind,” he answered, taking another step closer. We stared at each other for a moment as if in a trance. I couldn’t help focusing on his lips, wondering what they would feel like on mine. Part of me wanted to shove him away, but then I thought about what Melissa had said. My brain was sending me frantic warning messages and I could feel myself leaning in like I had no control of my body.
“Here, let me help you down,” he said, reaching for my hands. I sat for a moment, confused about what had just happened. Did he just play me, or had I misread his signals? The look on Justin’s face gave me no indication. Either he had a great poker face, or he was oblivious and I was the idiot who thought she was about to be kissed.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Huh, yeah, I guess,” I answered, hoping I didn’t sound as squirrelly as I felt at the moment. “I thought you only painted people?”
“Most times I do. I was asked to do a series for the hospital, so I’m kinda mixing it up.”
“Wow, that’s awesome. It must be cool to earn money off your talent while you’re still in school.” Money was kind of tight for me since I only worked a few hours a week at a local daycare. Working around my school schedule had proven to be much more difficult this semester and I had lost a ton of hours.
“Nah, this isn’t a paying gig,” he answered as we approached the ticket booth.
“What? That’s insanity. Your work is too good to give away.”
“It’s cool. I just like being able to do what I love. Besides, think about all the people who will get to see it every day.”
“I guess, but I still think you should get paid. I know a hospital is a more charitable kind of thing, but I also know they make the bucks too.”
He shrugged, making it obvious he wasn’t all that crazy about the direction of the conversation. I wanted to say more about the fact that he was being taken advantage of and that he needed to know his value, but I let it drop. It wasn’t any of my business to tell him what he should or shouldn’t do.
Some of the awkward tension left Justin once we walked through the aquarium doors and he linked his fingers with mine. I could have easily pulled my hand away but became quickly distracted by the large window in front of us with hundreds of fish swimming behind it. We didn’t have anything this cool near Woodfalls. My only experience with aquariums was a trip to the Baltimore National Aquarium I had won in a short-story writing contest when I was thirteen. Ten winners got to go. The best part was our English teacher, Ms. Cooper, was our chaperone. The worst part was the twelve-hour van ride to Baltimore. I felt nauseated the entire way, but once we got there it was completely worth it. I enjoyed seeing all the different exhibits and being able to feed the dolphins and touch the stingrays. The Seattle Aquarium was tiny in comparison, but I kinda preferred the intimate feel. Plus, it was a hell of a lot less crowded.
“Oh, wow,” I proclaimed, staring into the large enclosure.
“Pretty cool, huh?”
“It’s crazy cool.”
“I remember you saying how much you liked Puget Sound last week, so I thought you’d enjoy seeing what’s beneath the surface,” he said, sitting down on a bench. He unzipped an old worn-out backpack that had seen better days and pulled out a sketchpad and a thick pencil.
“So, you’re doing fish for the hospital?” I asked, nodding toward the large window.
He ignored my question and focused completely on the sketchpad in his hands. It was as if he had been put under some kind of trance the moment the sketchpad hit his hands. The pencil seemed to have a mind of its own as it moved effortlessly across the page. I turned my attention back to the fish behind the thick glass. It was entertaining to watch the dynamics of life in a world so different from my own. Some of the fish swam lethargically along, like they didn’t have a care in the world, while others seemed to be chasing each other as they darted in and around the plants. With my eyes still on the live show in front of me, I settled on the bench next to Justin, who still had not looked up. Minutes faded away and many families came and went. Some gasped over the fish behind the huge glass, while others didn’t look impressed at all. Through dozens of screaming and squealing kids, Justin and I remained on the bench. If not for the scratching of the pencil, I would have assumed he had fallen asleep. >He eyed me critically for a moment before looking away, almost satisfied. My sudden anger had dissipated any panic I was feeling. Judging by the look on his face, it was as though that had been his intention all along, but I knew better. It would be a cold day in hell before he ever did anything that came close to helping me.
The little bit of adrenaline I felt from my outburst was short-lived. Slumping back against the elevator again, I no longer felt like the walls were closing in on me, but it didn’t make the situation any more comfortable. We both sat in stubborn silence, as if the first one to talk would somehow lose the battle. The tension was high and began to feel heavy and oppressive, but I wasn’t about to cave.
“Since when are you scared of elevators?” Justin asked, without looking at me.
I silently celebrated my small victory and even debated being petty for a moment and not answering him, but the silence was wearing on me. “Since always.”
“Why didn’t I know?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because we never went on an elevator together—or maybe we just didn’t talk about those things.
“Yeah, you’re pretty good at keeping secrets.”
I sighed loudly. This was why there would be no reconciliation, even after two years. I had made a decision that threw down a gauntlet between us. I clamped my mouth closed, determined not to say another word until we were out of this situation. Pulling my iPhone from my bag, I began to scroll through my apps in search of anything to help pass the time. No bars meant no Facebook or Twitter, so I clicked on Spider Solitaire. I could feel Justin’s eyes boring into me, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking up. By the time I was playing my second hand of solitaire, I had successfully managed to put him somewhat out of my mind. When he finally did speak again, the suddenness of his voice made me jump.
“So, why the hatred of elevators?” he asked.
Glancing up, I weighed his question, wondering if it was even worth it to tell the story. Surely the elevator would start moving at any time. Justin continued to stare at me, waiting for an answer. This was how it had always been with us. He was always asking questions about my life before college, wanting to hear all my stories. I had chalked it up to the artist in him, who seemed to look at life in layers, as if it were a painting or a sculpture. Looking back now, it seemed crazy that I had never shared the elevator story with him since it was such a traumatic moment in my life.
“When I was in seventh grade my hand got crushed in an elevator door,” I answered, flexing the fingers on my right hand, which to this day still tended to tighten up and often went numb.
He didn’t say anything, waiting instead like he had so many times before for me to continue. It was so achingly familiar that my heart actually hurt. In the two years since our breakup, I had convinced myself that our relationship had been nothing special. That it only seemed that way because it was so intense and new at the time. Now, sitting here, it was painfully clear that I was kidding myself to think I could dismiss what we had shared.