"Still like this old building," he said as he stepped out of the elevator and out of the way of the arriving passengers. He was dressed in a smart charcoal suit that fit him perfectly and was accentuated by a crisply starched white shirt. His black hair was slicked back, save for a few wayward strands that drooped across his forehead. He was maybe 5'9" and had bright blue eyes that somehow found you at the end of the darkest shadow.
"I grew up in New York," he said. "It will always feel like home to me."
I got out of the elevator and joined him in the corridor. I was taken aback. He was unspeakably good looking. I didn't really make a regular habit of dressing up but, this time I had made an extra special effort in make up and matching my outfit with my shoes and bag. It's the sort of thing that at the time seems like dressing up but turns out to be hardly anything at all. I was wearing the freshly tailored black dress, under which I wore a pair of skin-tight black tights and a touch too short pair of black heals that I had bought on sale weeks ago for a home party. I had never worn them before but their appearance inspired me to self-confidence. It's a well known fact that nothing inspires self-confidence like an accessory on sale.
"Do you ever just sit here with such a good view of the city?" he asked as the two of us stood side by side and looked at the panorama below.
"I suppose sometimes I do," I replied, "when I just want time to think for a while, as it seems we have a little of now."
"It is a great view," he said, "It's the sort of view you want to carry with you always."
He was looking at me now. We both stood still, staring at each other for a moment. The situation is unexpectedly charged with meaning. For it to the right moment you would have to cut that sense of anticipation with a knife only to find it wasn't a sense of anticipation at all, but an invisible signal from a stealthily installed microwave installation that had only just been activated.
Ah! What a view it is.
But the moment passed.
And any heat that had been in the air vanished.
Just so the uncomfortable awkwardness in the air could be replaced by unbearable awkwardness,
At that stage I was acutely aware of the fact that this handsome stranger was looking at me whilst I was looking at him. I wanted to make a connection with him and so I made a connection, but it was his turn to make a connection and he didn't.
"Well, I'll leave you to your thoughts," he said as he stepped aside and moved down the corridor, moving to the glass double doors at the end.
I stood there for a moment, having quite a bit of difficulty connecting the moment with something real world.
Then it came to me. The long view of the city.
And I found myself as pale as a ghost as I rushed into the glass doors and descended to the glass floor below. He had already been down there for a while looking towards the city, staring out the windows, looking at the long view of the city.
"I saw you leave the elevator in front of me," I said, "and saw you come out this way. I thought I should catch up."
"I'm glad you did," he said.
As I looked down at the city beneath us I could see a slight smile spread on his lips at that moment.
"Does this city ever wake you up in the middle of the night," I asked him, "and startle you with the feeling that you are alive?"
He looked down at me from his vantage point.
"It does," he said, beaming with sincerity.
"What does that feel like?" I asked.
"It is like a light switches on on a rainy night in my soul," he replied.
We were both looking out the windows.
An awkward pause descended. As silence takes over once again. A real gap in both of us. In the city. In us. In the elevator.
"Oh sorry about that," I said, remembering I had been rushing down the corridor.
"No problem," he replied, "I'm not in such a hurry."
It wasn't easy saying what I wanted to say at that point. But I did anyway. And the truth is, this is the first time I have ever admitted to the whole world of the sensation of being alive. And the reason I found myself saying it was that I felt somehow that if I said it as one person to the world. It would mean something to someone. It would have that feel about it. About the thing itself. About being alive. It would be true. It wouldn't be something that I imagined, it would be something that others could see.
"Sometimes," I said, "I feel that I could just close my eyes and just be afraid for a while with no reason at all, and hope it will be enough."
I found myself finding meaning in his gaze.