Part 1: The Girl From The Fifth Floor
Brain had seen a lot of things in his twenty-eight years living in the Parkside Apartments, but nothing had ever made him forget how to act right quite like the moment Kenya stepped into his life—or rather, into his personal space while they both waited for the world’s slowest elevator.
It was a Tuesday. Brain remembered because Tuesdays were trash days, and he was taking out a bag that was meant to taking out two days ago. The elevator dinged, the doors slid open with their usual grinding, and that’s when she walked up.
Kenya.
He didn’t know her name yet, but he knew three things immediately: one, she had a nice round booty; two, her right arm was a full sleeve tattoo —flowers and geometric patterns that probably meant something deep; and three, his brain had apparently left the building because his mouth said,
Brain: “Damn, you smell good.”
Out loud.
To a complete stranger. In the hallway getting waiting to get on the elevator.
She turned and looked at him, eyebrows raised, with a smile that made Brain’s knees weak. He doubled down.
Brain: “I mean Damn, and you’re beautiful.”
That’s when she did it. Pointed to her right ear with one manicured nail, then gestured to her lips. The universal sign of “I could barely hear you, but I can read your lips.”
He said he understood. Then he stepped around to face her directly, looked her straight in her eyes—and said it again, clearly:
Brain: “Damn, you are beautiful.”
“Kenya,” she said, and “Thank you.”
Im Brain
The elevator arrived. They both got in. Brain pressed 3. Kenya pressed 5. They rode in silence.
When the doors opened on his floor, he stepped out, turned back, and waved.
She waved back, still smiling.