Is there anyone out there?

“Is there anyone out there?”

“Is it safe?” I said, as my shoes squish underneath my weight, catching everyone's attention toward my untimely last-minute arrival aboard this crowded cage. “Sardines,” I mumbled to myself as I fell into ranks with this silent collective: strangers held together in such an unnatural habitat.

  “What floor?” the balding man said with a slur, his dull gray eyes peering down at my shoes. Keeping my eyes down, I said, “The eighth  floor, please.” His stubby finger presses the button,  with a jerk, this cage broke free from its gravity prison, ascending ever upward this brick and mortar structure, as the weight made it rattled, sending uneasiness to this unwilling occupants.  As we climbed, this cage abruptly came to a halt on the third floor, the steel doors quickly open, only finding emptiness, nothing more. With this new revelation, those of us view this both annoying and inconvenient.

Then, a faceless voice cried out in either terror or fear, “Wait,” this nameless person said, “wait.” And just like that, a young man, mid-twenties from what I can gather with, his neatly “man bun” so proudly wore  jump in only a few minutes more than he would have been, “well you know, a causality.”

             “Eighth floor,” he said with confidence, “Boy, it’s raining cats and dogs out there,” as he continued, being unsure of whom he was talking to until I caught a glimpse of him looking at me. Trying to ignore his attention, I glance down at my watch. “Excuse me, uh, Miss?” he added, “I said that it is raining pretty bad.” With an uncanny smile. “Yes,” I quickly answered, hoping that he would be satisfied; however, he kept on speaking; that I can only imagine that someone had never explained to this young man the proper etiquette of riding in a lift.

             Continuing onward, as the lift approaches the fifth floor, an elderly couple stepped off the cage just as middle-age women, nicely dressed, stepped across the threshold and into our group of travelers. She politely smiled, adjusting her red hat that sat perfectly on her golden hair. With a soft voice, she said, “The eighth floor, please sir,” Her teeth gleam behind her red lips, as she spoke to the balding man, who smiled.

             “It sure is raining cats and dogs out there,” the young man said

                            “Yes, it is,” the women answered,

             “You’re going to the eighth floor?”

                            “Yes, for a job interview.”

             “Same here, small world.”

             As they chatted away, my mind wandered, “are they going for the same office as I am?” A thought that caught me off guard, what if they are applying for the same position? I needed to know, just in case “Excused, me Miss,” I softly said,

             “Yes?”

                            “Uh, I don’t mean to pry, but are you going to the office of Mrs. Wallace, by chance?”

                            “Well, yes, why?”- “So am I,” the young man interrupted.  As they both chuckle, breaking the silence on the lift.

             “And so am I,” as my words quickly spat out, whereas they just smiled, not a genuine one, it reminded me more of a pity kind. Taking a deep breath, I smiled and turned my focus back to the steal doors that were keeping me in this cage.  As the two of them chatted away, I was busy counting the number of floors until the eighth, three more, I thought, only three more. 

             “Mommie,” a small voice broke through the silence,

                            “Yes, dear,” the woman-loving said

             “How long?

                            “Only a couple of floors.”

             “Mommie, I’m tired,” the child said

                            “I know, dear, but it won’t be long,” her mother said, trying to soothe her daughter.

                            “Only a few more floors,” I whispered, with a sigh, feeling unsure about this whole ordeal; part of my conscience was telling me to forget about the job interview; after all, who am I to think that I will even have a chance. Still, there was a small part that reminded me that experience plays a more significant factor than age. That was precisely the exact moment the lift shook and rattled until it suddenly stopped between the sixth and seventh floors.  

             Momentarily the lights began to blink on and off; the small child started to whimper as her mother quietly started to softly hmm, a familiar tune. Then what seems like hours, the lights blink again, then, they came back on. A sigh of relief for everyone, as a few members of our band, thought that our ride would start again on its way upward. However, this false hope founds its way quickly dashed aside for the cage remained still. 

             All eyes fell on the balding man, who unwillingly became everyone’s focus; questions started to rattle throughout this tin box, which began with a gentleman from somewhere at the back; “Excuse me, sir,” the man continued, “You, upfront what’s going on?” Soon a few other people seem to join in as well, all clamoring for positon for answeres. However, before this man was able to answer one question, another question arose.

             “Listen,” the balding man said with authority, whose name is Mike. “Listen I, say,” he loudly said, as a few people said, “Hush!” then the young man, Alan, said, “Quiet, let Mike speak.”

             “Yes,” the mother said, Irene commented, “Let Mike speak, please.”

                            “You needed not to worry none. This occurrence is most likely due to the storm outside.” Mike sternly said, “I have already pushed the emergency button, so sit back and relax.”

             “Mommie, I’m scared,” little Alice tearfully said as Irene hugged her, smoothing her red hair, “Hush, Alice,” Irene said, “Everything will be okay.”

             “Breath,” I reminded myself, “Just keep on breathing.” As fear gripped my heart as I looked to Mike, filled with questions, “Does he know what to do?”  “Will we ever get out of here?” I felt more like little Alice, who luckily had her mother closed by, whereas I was alone. Then an affluent older woman, Marge, spoke her words carried a great deal of  weight, “My dear people, there is no need to fear.” As Marge continued, “We will be rescued in due time.”

             Then the mid-twenty something, young man, Ivan, said, “Let’s play a game.”

                            “What kind of game?”, the middle-aged woman, Sophia, said

                                          “Truth or lie.” Ivan smartly answered

             “Truth or lie?” I repeated

                            “So how, do we play?’ Marge purposely said

                                          “Simple, we will tell a little something about ourselves, then the rest will have to determine if the statement is true or a lie,” Ivan said

             Stan, in the back, said, “Does it need personal?”- “No, just, something in general,” Ivan answered.

             “Okay, I’ll go first,” Ivan said, “I am an artist.”

                            Mike said, “All those who think it’s true to raise their hands.” Three out of eight of us believe it to be true. “Well?” Marge said, “Are you an artist?”

             “No, I’m not, I’m a writer.” Ivan answered, then he looked at me, “You’re next.”

                            “Hi, uh, my name is Janneke and, I am an um, a-“ as I took a deep breath-“ I’m an actress.”  My words spat out so quickly that I hardly had time to reel them in.

                             Ivan said, “All those who think Ms. Janneke, here, is an actress raise their hands,” I held my breath, embarrassed by such a statement as my cheeks started to felt warm, looking down at my faded soak stain blue shoes.  Glancing up to only see two people, Irene and her daughter Alice had raised their hands.

             “Well, Ms. Janneke, the question, is are you an actress?” Marge said under her watchful glare of suspension.

             Clearing my throat, I hesitated to speak, “I, um..,”- “Is it true or not, Ms. Janneke?” Marge said.  “Yes,” I quickly answered, secretly wishing that the doors would magically open up so I could disappear.

             “You were?” Sophia said, raising her eyebrow in disbelief, so did a few others when Marge pointedly said, “When, Ms. Janneke?”- “When I was in my early twenties,” I added, “that was a long time ago.” Hoping it will end any further questions by the other’s in our small group, glancing down at my shoes. 

             “So who's next?’Ivan announced that reminded me more like an auctioneer calling for the next item. Sophia quickly said,” Me, I want to be next,” as she added, “Me, please choose me!” “Okay, you’re next,” Ivan said with a flirtatious smile.  “Well, here goes, I’m a waitress,” Sophia calmly said. While some of us appeared to be surprised, Mike and Ivan raised their hands, singling she had told the truth. 

             “Well, Sophia, are you a waitress?” Mike said – “Yes, I am,” Sophia added,” That’s why I am looking for a more secure position.”

             The floor vibrated under our feet, causing alarm to spread to everyone except Mike and Ms. Marge, who appeared to be relatively calm during this surprise that was happening. A few more jerks accompanied by a rattle or two, then the lights flickered before our tin can begin to move upwards. As a loud shout of “Hurray.” Escaped our lips, a Jubilee outbreak as those of us could feel the excitement of our pending rescue. Amongst the celebration, Mike, who more or less is our tour guide with a raised hand he announced, “ Please, ladies and gentlemen.”—“And little girls.” Alice’s small voice squeaked. “And little girls, Soon, we will be set free, so please remain calm until the doors open.”

             What seemed,  like a lifetime of being held captive within this small tin box, with a few more jerks and rattles, the cold steel doors opened up to an array of emergency professionals, and Tom, the maintenance guy watching with great anticipation.   As we crossed over the threshold from the elevator onto the carpet, a variety of questions asked. Making sure that everyone did not have any medical conditions, once satisfied,  we then were set free, each going on to their final destination-and so ending our game.

             Mike said a few words to Tom before leading his arm to Ms. Marge, who turned and powerfully stated, “I would like for the actress, waitress, and the writer to please follow me if you would be so kind.” As we glanced at each other, Ivan said, “Excuse, me, Ms. Marge, may we know why you want us to follow?” “That is a simple question to answer, Mr. Ivan,” Ms. Marge continued, “because I am Mrs. Wallace.” Amazed, we followed them up to the eighth floor; never would I have imaged just how everything worked out, and it all started with a simple game in a tin box that broke down.

             “Is it safe?” I said under my breath. One will never know.

                            The End.