Let Go

The elevators in the hallway must have been broken, they were taking forever. The office across the way was much more interesting to watch while the elevators took their time. The space behind the glass, where the hip coders lounged on their couches and did wheelies on scooters and hacked away at the world’s grandest problems. The work day was coming to an end and a dull, diffuse sunlight crept through the wide windows on the other side of the tech company’s glass doors. Two shadows approached. They entered the room from out of sight, two men, one confident, perhaps overconfident, and the other one — the tall one — looking back over his shoulder as if he was being followed.

They had momentarily traded places in demeanor. You could tell the tall one was normally the confident one, and the small one, his body was accustomed to bouncing every which way in a random rhythm to mask his nervousness. But today, they were opposite. That same incessant rhythm lent itself to a contagious energy in the small one to which the tall one was somehow immune. Then there was the tall one. As piercing as his eyes were, he seemed loath to use them. They darted every which way, two mice trapped in a maze searching for the way out. Blue and sharp and pointed, daggers cutting through the solid surroundings, but always feigning away from contact with the eyes of the small man.

The tall one’s mouth moved, and inaudible words came out on the other side of the glass. A battle of eyes began. The small man’s green eyes searched for a response from the blues, but they dodged to ceiling and nearby furniture. The green’s sought competition, recognition, and invited, even antagonized the return of the knifing blue stare to which they were so accustomed. Anything but these evasive maneuvers. But the blues eluded masterfully, hugging twiddling thumbs and locking onto neatly noosed shoelaces. The green eyes waited. Finally, blue met green.

Another volley of words from the tall man’s mouth. The green eyes fell, downcast, to the depths of the patterned carpet, dazed and instantly glazed. The small man’s body flopped into the chair. He ran his hands over his face, smearing trails of half formed tears over his bald head.

The elevator dings. But they don’t know I’m here, and I can’t turn away.

More words from the tall man behind the glass. Less comprehension of simple reality from the green eyes. To them, the world has become a suspended watercolor, melting and dripping away any substance into a messy, formless puddle. The men stand. The first parry of words from the small man. A rigid hand shake. The tall man exits. The small man teeters between the exit and the hidden depths of the office, still assimilating to his new vacuous world where he can no longer tell if the ground is real. He leaves and returns moments later with a small box. The elevators have arrived again. This time, our eyes perform a dance. We step into the elevator. In the box: blank post it notes, a Batman action figure, and a birthday card covered in signatures.