This was my last day on the late shift. George's wife has recovered from her surgery and I will be going back to my usual shift on Monday. I was so early this morning, that I paced restlessly about the foyer of our building, sipping on the cappuccino grande I picked up on the way to work. I was going to speak with Eleanor the moment I saw her, I told myself sternly. I was going to ask her to the Jazz club, or coffee, or lunch, or just to exchange email addresses. Something, which will make us stay in contact further.
I paced the foyer some more, watching the minute hand on my watch creeping closer and closer to twelve. I had to face it. Eleanor was not coming. Maybe, she doesn't work Friday, she could be only a part time employee. Maybe she was still studying while completing her internship and she was on campus every Friday. I admitted defeat and entered the elevator alone. It closed grimly, no cry of "hold the lift!" was forthcoming and I rided it silently all the way to my floor. It was the quietest lift I've taken all this week.
This afternoon, I had a heap of paperwork to finish up and sort out before I handed the files back to George on Monday, and so I was the last person in the office. Everyone else has clocked out and Dave, Maria and some others had headed off to The Craic for drinks. I wasn't interested in loud, raucous fun. The Mike Freely Quartet was playing at The Duke, but I didn't feel like sitting there alone, so I locked the office and walked toward the lifts, no springs in my step, just Friday exhaustion slowing me down.
I pressed the call button and waited, studying the tips of my scuffed shoes, without actually seeing them. Like an automation, I shuffled into the elevator as the doors slided open.
"Hi," the voice was soft. "Tough week?"
I snapped my head up and saw the other occupant sharing my lift. It was my Eleanor, and all of a sudden there was 'Sunshine on a rainy day!' I nodded, unable to speak.
She smiled and sighed, "Me too." This was the longest conversation we have ever had out loud!
It was then that I noticed that she was carrying a box, an A4 Reflex copy paper box, and it was full to the brim of personal effects. The item at the top catched my eye with its glinting gold plastic. A name plate, 'Tamara Blank'. My mouth opened, then closes and I swallowed. Tamara?
"It's my last day," she said.
The door opened on the ground floor and with a small sad smile she stepped out before me. I heard her clipped heals taping across the marble floor toward the sliding glass exit, but I don't move, and the elevator doors slowly shutted in my face. I can't see my reflection staring back at me in their shining metal surface.
'Ah, look at all the lonely people who remained alone and love strucked for life'.
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