What I Do Between Three and Seven

On the third floor he got in

and I was mid—

I can't say exactly what the thing was,

only that I had to stop

and be standing there instead.

He said: hey.

I said: hey.

We watched the numbers.

The thing I do between floors:

it's not embarrassing, exactly.

It's private the way some things are private

not because they're shameful

but because they're yours.

The specific version of yourself

that only the elevator sees.

The face you make

when no one's watching.

I spent floors four through seven

aware of my own hands.

He got off at seven.

The doors closed.

I looked at myself in the metal—

not really a reflection,

more like the shape of a person,

blurred, just posture and outline,

the floor numbers going up.

He didn't notice.

He definitely didn't notice.

I pressed lobby.

I did the thing again,

just briefly,

the last two floors.