Merely a Madness

5:13...5:12...5:11

Grayson grieves to see what he has revealed behind the paneling in the elevator.

In the meantime, Patty is trying to wriggle her way around his broad body, “What? What is it?”

Postponing the inevitable, he turns to her with a broken look. Her eyes, he notices are like a haunting work of art - portraying hidden sadness. This makes his job all the more difficult as time is ticking away.

“Sorry," he says gently. "You weren’t supposed to be here.” 

His masculine features do a little work in assuaging her sense that something isn't right.

Through some miracle Patty is able to look around his massive body and see what is protruding from the wall -- what turned this man's once virile face so pale. A watch one could buy at the dollar store, it seems like, attached to a bunch of wires. 

“It's -- It's -- " it seems so surreal, she can't form the words.

“That, my dear, is a time bomb,” Grayson explains pacing away -- as far as one could in an elevator -- to give her a chance to soak in the reality.

Reality also dawning on him, he goes into his jacket pocket, pulling out a flask.

“I know. Not the type you see in Marvel movies. I’m disappointed actually.” 

Patty is still processing what’s going on. “Wait. What is it doing here?”

“Trying to kill us -- I assume. Well, me,” Grayson throws back a shot of whatever it is in his flask.

Patty hears the sound of him slurping the liquid over her shoulder.

She turns, her senses on edge and suddenly this handsome man -- who so happened to step into the same elevator as her -- looks like a miserable drunk in her eyes.

Patty is still confused, “Why you?” 

“Well, I’m this special brand of person known as an asshole. And it turns out lots of people don’t like that. So it could be any one of a million people trying to kill me," he shrugs, "I’d have to check my Facebook list of friends to be sure.” 

Patty wonders if dying is like in the movies and if ghosts wear whatever they die with. Suddenly she feels woefully underdressed for the occasion -- in her Creed t-shirt and ratty blue jeans. And ratty in a totally unfashionable way.

Her elevator-mate in his fancy blue suit makes her feel even worse.

“Anyway, it was only a matter of time," he rambles on, a distant sound in Patty's ear. "I keep vodka on hand for such an occasion. Want some?” 

She briefly awakes from her daze to curtly say, “I don’t drink.”

“There’s a last time for everything.”

“How can you be so flippant at a time like this. We’ve gotta figure a way out of this.” 

Patty moves toward the device looking at the wiring as if she can magically figure it out through osmosis. Nothing is coming to her -- only panic and impending doom.

As if reading her mind, Grayson interrupts, “I wouldn’t touch that. It’s not like the ones in the movies. Blue wire -- good. Red wire -- bad. Nope. Every single wire…” he makes an exploding sound. 

“Our phones have no reception. The building is empty so -- not to sound like a horror villain but -- no one can hear us scream. Romantic, isn’t it?”

He glances at her to see if she is receptive to his dry sense of humor. The furrowing of her brow sends an emphatic no.

He sighs to the sky and continues “And even if we could call the cops I doubt they’d make it here in...”

3:24..3:23...3:22

“Three minutes?” he laughs. “You know it took them four hours to show up last time I had a bomb threat. The pizza man beat them to my place.” 

“What do you do for a living that you deal with bomb threats on a regular basis?” 

“Oh, nothing. I just have one of the most successful podcasts in the world where I go and talk about racial injustices, economic inequality, climate change. And I may have called a few right leaning individuals subhuman pieces of pond-scum worthy of an eternal hellfire -- if I believed in such a thing. I guess you could call me a professional asshole -- except for good.” 

Patty can't hold it in anymore.

“Well, thanks a lot, Mr. Asshole. Because of your fuckery I’m going to die.”

She walks to the far corner of the small space -- as far away from him as possible. Not having many weapons in his arsenal for this situation, he goes with his strong suit.

“Come on. You don’t want to die mad. I hear it’s bad for the digestion.” 

It was as if that specific combination of words was created to pinch a special nerve in the young woman’s brain.

“Look, I know in the context of a podcast that mercilessly shits on human beings for a living that might seem amusing, but in the context of an elevator where you’re about to die, it’s annoying as fuck.” 

“You make a good point.” 

He decides to change his approach and sits down on the ground. He pats the area right beside him. She half obliges by sitting across from him.

“Well,” he takes another swig of his vodka, “If we’re going to die in the same elevator, we might as well learn to like each other.” 

She notices a twinkle in his eye that she does not like.

“Are you seriously trying to turn this doomsday scenario into a make-out session?” 

“I resent the Social Darwinism of that claim. Not every male endeavor is a secret cabal to get into your pants. Maybe like ninety percent but this is in the Goldilocks zone.” 

“Goldilocks zone?” 

“Not too hot. Not too cold. Just right.” he rambles on like Patty is learning he has a tendency to do. "Dying in an elevator because some rando on Twitter decided he didn't like your bit on MAGAtrolls isn't the hottest of situations I could imagine -- nor would I want to take advantage, but dying with someone with your personality isn't the coldest. It's just right."

He notices Patty is thinking about what he has just said. He leans in, really curious as to her opinion.

“I just had a Nobel-Prize-winning idea," she proudly proclaims.

“Please share.”

She waves her hands in the air as if casting a magic spell.

 “Complete silence.”

And she shatters his dreams just like that.

 “Fine, I’ll be silent..." he mopes, but complies.

She sighs in relief and is leaning back trying to cope with the moment and trying to suppress a headache when Grayson bursts back in.

“But before we just give up on conversation altogether..." he leans in, hoping her body language will be at least a bit receptive. It isn't, but he continues anyway.

“I have to share something with you," he says, cautiously, "and if you don’t want to continue after I’ve shared this, then we can finish this death march in pure silence.” 

She doesn’t answer, she just rolls her eyes again, giving him leeway to continue.

“I make over 500 K a year," he explains. "I live in an opulent mansion -- does opulent sound too pretentious? Because I was looking for a word that didn’t sound pretentious. Anyway, I have three cars -- all electric, but one I never drive. I once bought a golden ostrich because -- you know -- why the fuck not. I have everything in the world you could want except for one thing.” 

And then, abruptly, true to his word, he’s finished. He just sits there, a plain expression on his face, staring into space. He looks quite comfortable with the silence too, but not Patty. The abrupt halt in his words gets under her skin. The clock is ticking down to 2 minutes and the next thing she knows she’s blurting out. “What’s that one thing!” 

His face lights up and he comes to sit beside her. “What’s your name?” 

“Patty.” 

With that, he answers, “Love, Patty. I don’t have love.” 

Grayson is silently impressed by the acrobatics her rolling eyes are performing right now as they could rival Cirque du Soleil.

“I know, cheesy right? And I’m the opposite of a hopeless romantic. But something in me -- maybe it’s the life or death adrenaline talking but -- something has me thinking maybe this will be my happy ending.” 

“Are you saying you’ve fallen in love with me in the span of four minutes.” 

“Five minutes.... and I’m saying maybe.”

She groans to the gods, wanting to just fast forward to the explosion and get it over with already. How could this stranger possibly see anything in her?

“Good god, you don’t even know me.”

“I know you’re feisty. I know you don’t take anyone’s shit. I know you have a good vocabulary (flippant -- that’s a good word) I know like Creed -- so you’re not afraid to show your love for awful bands.” 

“Hey!”

“You march to your own drum and you don’t care. I live in a world where I walk through a door and it’s a parade of ‘yes sir’, ‘what can I get for you sir'. To find someone who actually challenges me in the last moment of my life is not only ironic but refreshing.” 

Patty is annoyed that this handsome man is trying to make her smile in the throws of death. She fights off his advances. 

“Well, maybe you’re not seeing the real me," she says. "Maybe you’re seeing trapped-in-an-elevator-about-to-die me.” 

She hears the sorrow in her own voice, the self-hatred and realizes she's being vulnerable.

Grayson picks up on this and tilts his head, curious, and responds.

“Philosopher Hank G. Frankfort says that everything in life is essentially bullshit. Marriage, patriotism, authenticity. Maybe it's only in the last moments of life when our true faces are shown.”

She can't argue because she doesn't have enough time to. For the first time in her life, she decides to take the compliment and go with it. 

"Thanks," she says. "But I did have someone trying to distract me to keep my mind off my impending doom.”

“Well, it is my fault. I should have been dying alone. I at least didn't want us to feel alone."

She rubs a consoling hand on his back, but pointlessly reminds both him and herself “I have a boyfriend.” 

Satisfied with the ounce of sympathy he now has, he just smiles, “Is this a real boyfriend or the fictional one you tell sleazy guys about to get them off your back at a bar?” 

“I don’t see any bars here, but I will take that drink now.” 

He hands it to her no problem and she takes a swish, handing it back.

As if pretending the liquor has already taken control of her senses, she just lets her next words flow out.

“I’m nobody," she explains almost to herself. "I just spent my life floating from thing to thing -- never landing, never taking off."

Despite the shortness of time, she admires the patience in Grayson's eyes as he observes in her periphery.

"For a free writing project," she goes on, "I was once asked to make a six-word epitaph to describe my life. Do you know what it was?"

"What?"

" ‘She could never finish anything she --' ”

Grayson thinks about it, then laughs.

“I see what you did there. That’s an added bonus. I didn’t know you came with jokes…”

She smiles at the compliment.

“And behold she smiles,” he shoots back. 

“Take a picture. It won’t last long. At most 54 seconds.” 

She looks at the clock.

0:54...0:53...0:52

Seeing time winding down, she mourns, “None of this will be real, you know?” 

"How do I know that?" he asks and he's looking at brown, soulful eyes and they're looking at him in such a way that he's never seen -- as if examining his soul. Then, with seconds left, he says it, “I love you.”

She bursts into laughter, “You’re insane,”

She looks over at his face only to notice he’s not laughing with her. He is smiling, but it is smile of a different sort Of admiration. Of silent resolve.

She stops laughing and stares blankly at the dwindling stopwatch -- a porthole to the abyss. As if succumbing to madness, a mischievous smile creeps onto her own face as the words just ooze out, “I love you too.”

They feel lovely on her tongue. Heavenly in his ear. Still, the two of them don't know how to process the moment. Her next words don't even seem odd as they naturally follow.

“Do you believe me?” she says, seemingly not knowing the answer herself.

He looks into her eyes searching for that answer. She turns them to him, opening in wide exaggeration and the two of them laugh at the gest as if knowing each other for years.

“What if," she philosophizes, moving closer to his face, "I’m just trying to grant a man his dying wish?”

“That’s a possibility,” he says, reflecting the motion.

“Or maybe this isn't a shotgun romance," she goes on, their faces gliding closer to one another through some unknown force. "Maybe I saw you walking down the street once and noticed you and thought about saying hello, but gender norms being what they are, the girl never asks the guy and your tie being an obvious Armani, I thought you were just a couple K's out of my league.”

She inches closer to him.

“Or maybe I noticed you noticing me but I thought 'If that woman doesn't have a ring on her finger there's something sorely wrong with the world' so I thought pursuing you was a waste of time.”

He inches closer to her.

“Or maybe we’re just fucking with each other,” she smiles.

They share one last laugh.

Noses apart, Grayson lowers his voice, warmly, “Well, I hear there’s a sure-fire way to find out.”

0:04...

"Careful..." she says.

0:03

Their noses are touching.

0:02...

“...You might live to regret it.”

0:01...

They kiss.

0:00 ..