An old Plinky Prompt inspired this bit of nonsense yesterday. Maybe it'll inspire some passing reader to contribute their own response to the prompt.
I chose non-fiction, with a hint of fiction thrown in.
Plinky Prompt
Fiction writers: You’re stuck in an elevator with an intriguing stranger. Write this scene. Non-fiction writers: You’re stuck in an elevator with a person from your past. Write this scene.
I chose non-fiction, with a hint of fiction thrown in.
As I waited for the elevator to descend, standing alone in the glass "cage" a late-comer hurried in. An elderly man, thinning white hair neatly styled, designer spectacles, conservatively dressed, but with a touch of flair - a camel-coloured coat thrown casually about his shoulders over a dark suit. He looked faintly familiar, but I couldn't quite pinpoint why. He glanced in my direction, took in my casual jacket and dark jeans, my own greying hair and spectacles, looked away, then glanced across again.
"Did we meet before?" He had the trace of an accent, and a hint of breathlessness when he spoke.
The lift was refusing to respond to the "Down" button. I'd pressed it again and again. A few seconds, minute, or what seemed like five, passed.
"I don't think so, but...I wonder if maybe you remind me (and I you) of someone we knew decades ago, in England?"
An unwelcome thought and painful memories had obviously visited us both.
Another quick glance at one another, as both inwardly willed the elevator to move, so that this uncomfortable situation could end quickly.
"Did you, long, long ago, as a young man ever work in the English Lake District?", I asked.
He felt for the wall of the elevator, leaned back, somewhat shaken.
"I did".
"So did I, I believe we met there. The rest is some rather unpleasant history involving a brief marriage and long-winded divorce."
"Ann?"
"Valentino?"
Possibly the only harmony we had ever, and would ever, achieve came in that one chorus of realisation: "Yes!"
"What are you doing in the USA?", I ventured.
"Looking for my daughter."
" And you?"
"I live here now, married to an American".
The elevator, mercifully, began to move rather jerkily downward. Expressions of relief settled on both faces.
As the elevator landed in the hotel foyer, he nodded, turned and hurried off. I called after him,
"I hope you find her".
And that was that.
