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"Okay, 30 minutes? Thanks so much."
"30 minutes," I reiterate to Jude, after I hang up with the operator on the emergency elevator phone.
Help is on the way...30 minutes isn't that long...
"Look Jude,"
"Don't talk to me and this will be so much more bearable."
"Okay," I shrug nonchalantly, staring at the control panel. Maybe if I stare at it long enough, it'll just magically work again—or not.
10 minutes later
"That music is going to drive me crazy,"she snaps.
And we were doing so well with the silence thing.
"Are you talking to me?" I ask, feigning shock. I look around the elevator, mockingly. "Oh, you must be. I'm the only one in here."
"I'm talking to myself."
"And now you're officially going insane," I nod.
"You know what? This is your fault," she says, sitting up on the bench, waving her hand in my direction. "You're the one…who wants to stop the friggin' elevator just so…" she trails off.
"So we can have sex…" I fill-in for her.
She gapes at me a second before reclining back down on the bench. "This isn't funny," she chuckles, looking up at the ceiling. "Did I do something wrong? You can't count the thing with him," she says, pointing at me. "Because nothing happened, and I am not married yet."
"You're not getting married to him," I holler. Annoyed with her for trying to blame the whole thing on me, I mash in the buttons of all the floors—the elevator not responding at all.
No use.
I'm stuck.
With her.
21 minutes later
Things would be so much better under different circumstances. If I didn't want to kill her, if she wasn't being so disagreeable and stubborn and dense, and if I could actually stand her it would be so great.
I sigh, and stand in a corner, pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. I was doing pretty good, imagining myself in a deserted island…just me. My guitar. Until she had to go and ruin that too.
"I hate this damn music," she complains…some more.
"You already said that," I grunt, closing my eyes and pinching harder. "Stop being such a damn drama queen."
"Then stop being the source of my drama," she mumbled, reclining back.
"That doesn't even make sense Jude," I slide down to the floor, leaning against the wall with one leg up, one stretched out.
Wouldn't she still be a drama queen if she didn't have drama? Wouldn't she then create drama if she didn't have it?
"It does, if I say it does," she quips.
"Oh, yeah, Jude. It must be fact since you say it is," I sigh, rolling my eyes.
"Exactly…"
37 minutes later
"You said you didn't need me but you did / you said you didn't want me. But you do "
It's been 37 minutes since I hung up with the operator of the company who's supposed to be on call 24/7. She said it'd take 30 minutes for the elevator technician to get here…liar, liar.
"It's kinda like a comedy"
Now it's been 38 minutes.
"First you kiss me and then say we're through"
38 minutes and 8 seconds.
"I say you've got some issues, Yeah you do"
38 minutes and 13 seconds…
"Some things you gotta work through, you really do"
I think the walls are closing in on me…not quickly but inch by inch. And it's getting hot in here. I only wish we would have taken the side elevators—those elevators were glass. Better yet, I should have just taken the stairs.
"It's sorta like a talk show / No wait, a freak show when the freak is you"
"Jude, just shut up already," I nearly shout, but of course she only gets louder.
"I'm the smoke from your fire / I'm that guy you can trust / I'm a chord on your guitar / I'M THAT GIRL YOU CANNOT SHUT UP"
"Girl," I moan, hitting my head kind of hard against the wall. "Please be quiet." I sigh, trying to ask nicely. Perhaps I should have tried it like that before I shouted at her.
"I'm the blood you might need / in your car when you speed / in that cigarette you breathe / you can't get rid of me"
"Jude," I whine, near tears.
"I'll stop singing this song, if you give me your shirt," she sings.
I look at her like she's crazy for a few seconds and decline the bargain.
She shrugs and continues more loudly. "You said I wasn't funny when you laughed / you said I couldn't drive fast, then you crashed / Funny how it works out with your big mouth / You'll always get it back"
It's been 40 minutes…
"You thought you had me worked out, YOU'RE NOT DEEP / Mr. I-Screw-About / you're still a creep / At best you could've confessed that YOU'RE A BIG MESS / And that you're SO DAMN WEAK"
A positive thing about her singing is she's drowning out the horrid elevator music.
"I'm the smoke from your fire"
It's not so much the singing that's bothering me—god I love her voice. But she and I know that song's about me.
"I'm that guy you can trust / I'm a chord on your guitar"
It's a shame it was written 5 years ago and still describes our relationship. You'd think we would have moved a further along in all of this…
"I'm that girl YOU CAN'T SHUT UP"
Ha. Isn't that the truth?
"Okay, okay, okay," I sigh, standing up, taking off my shirt. "What do you want it for anyway? Are you planning to sew it up?" I smirk.
"I said I'd buy you another one stop bitching," she responds, taking it from me, and balling it up.
I have to laugh off that one. She said I was bitching…I'm the one bitching? I'm not going to even touch that one. She's being quiet and almost civil, might as well not start anything.
"You wanted to use my shirt for a pillow?" I roll my eyes laughing incredulously, sliding down, and leaning against the bench in front of her.
"Yeah," she says, lying down on her side. "You know how many people's butts have been on this thing? Do you think I'm laying my head down on it?"
49 minutes later.
I discreetly unwrapped my roll of Lifesavers. Ah—a red one. Perhaps big guy up there doesn't have something against me.
"I want one…" Jude said, holding her hand out. Damn, I thought she was dozing…
"Damn, girl you've got the shirt off my back already," I whine, passing her the candy.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she says."It seems like we're going to be here a while, doesn't it?"
"30 minutes," I say, mimicking the operator's voice. "30 minutes my ass."
"It is the weekend…" she yawns.
There's this thing called 24/7 service.
"I thought you were already sleeping…"
"No, I'm resting my eyes," she says, taking a green Lifesaver, and passing it back to me.
"And you claim that I'm the on who's getting old."
"I had a rough night last night and a rough morning," I can feel her smiling behind me.
Ugh. I know she's talking about him. Why must she do that? She's must ruin the little moments when we're actually getting along by bringing him up. She does that shit on purpose—I'm convinced she does it to get underneath my skin.
And of course I let her do it…
I lean my head back against her side, getting more comfortable. Well as comfortable as I can on the floor of an elevator. She starts to run her fingers through my hair.
Damn, I wish she wouldn't do that.
The whole touching thing—I can't deal.
"Why do you love him?" I ask, suddenly.
"Let's not to this again," she sighs, her breath, tickling the back of my neck.
"Just answer me that, and if it's a good enough answer, I won't bring it up again. I promise to back up. Hell, I'll buy you a damn a wedding gift and sit on the bride's side."
She chuckles at that and sighs once again. After a while she just simply says, "He gets me."
I get you Jude…
"We never have all this drama…"
I'd like to call it a history, Jude. You haven't even known him a year…no of course you don't have any problems—you don't know each other!
"He's always there…"
I'm here Jude.
"He's always so thoughtful."
That's because he hasn't got tired of you yet Jude. The relationship is still new. You haven't even hit that I'm-tired-of-being-around-you-all-the-time slump yet.
"He sends me flowers just because…"
Probably 'just because' he's guilty about something.
"He encourages me—he's my inspiration these days—"
Jude, you know I'm your inspiration.
"He's okay with my music career with the crazy long hours and time away from him…"
I am your music career Jude. I am your music. You spend crazy long hours with me fulfilling your—our dream.
"He just—he's just, he's just Jax."
I nod my head. It sounded good—it was all such bullshit. But it sounded good and that was the bargain. They're not getting married, but I'll back off for until she finally figures that out.
"So, I'll be buying the coffee maker on your bridal registry," I smile, sadly.
"I was thinking more about this teapot set from Tiffany's…" she laughs, still massaging my scalp.
"Really?" Pshhh, her ass isn't getting a damn teapot from me. "So coffee maker or toaster?"
END OF PART I