Conversation In a Lift
Conversation in a Lift.
An elderly lady and I was in the lift she was going to
the eight floor and I to the seventh. We stood there
looking at the dial, to avoid eye contact, and then
the lift, somewhere between four or five, stopped.
I pressed the red alarm button, so did she just to
make sure. Two strangers stuck in a lift, say something
clever I urged myself. “I´m not really Portuguese” I said
and wondered why I felt the need to tell her that.
“I´m a Greek, she said, lived in London for forty years my
husband ran a shipping company but he died so I came
here to live.” She would never have told me this if it
hadn´t been for the bloody lift that had forced me into
being sociable. She spoke with an upper class accent
which annoyed me, how could I respond by telling her
I used to be a cook? The lift shuddered and she held on
to my arm. Then the escalator began moving up again
I gallantly stayed with her to the eight floor, before
going down to my own flat. I have seen her since when
she is out walking her dog; she pretends not to see me.
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