Elevator
by Thaddeus Rutkowski
I got into an elevator, something I had never done before, and then I was in an apartment and seated at a table, eating food just taken from a refrigerator. They didn't have elevators where I was from, because none of the buildings were more than a couple of stories high, and they didn't even have apartments, though they might have had subsections in houses. They did have tables where I was from, so sitting at the table was a familiar thing, though this table was higher and wider than what I was used to. The refrigerator was a mystery to me, so I followed my host into the kitchen and watched while she opened the appliance door. She looked at me as if to say, "Why are you following me into the kitchen? I'll bring you whatever you need." But she said nothing, and I said nothing, and I just pointed to the cool, lit box, and she gave me a beer. An odd choice, since I was barely old enough to drink. Then we both returned to the table and to the food, which had a certain freshness, having just been taken from the refrigerator, except for an Easter egg that could have been almost a year old, since that was when we'd had our last Easter. I avoided the decorated egg and thought about the elevator, the likes of which I'd never taken before—not before today, that is. I just wanted to get into the elevator and ride up and down, maybe sleep in it as others rode, just as soon as I could politely excuse myself from the table.
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