Coats

I brushed my wool coat against the security lock. It was an awkward daily routine, bending just slightly so the wallet tucked into my breast pocket could trigger the lock. I stepped inside the hallway, and tagged the up button. It lit up faintly red.

The elevator door opened up. There, three co-workers, all women, leaned against the walls, waiting for their floor. I stood between them all, staring at the numbers above the door in silence. The doors opened up.

"Excuse me." The blonde woman stepped off, lugging her bag behind.

The doors closed, and the elevator dinged another floor. I squeezed to the back, to lean against the wall myself. I think we all like to tell ourselves it's because we get off last. The truth is we're uncomfortable seeing the same strangers everyday, never saying a word. As I settled against the brushed steel wall, the women shifted away from me. It had entered their no wake zone.

The brunette broke the sullen silence that hung in the air like the morning's frost.

"How are you, Trish?" said the woman leaning against the back of the elevator. Her jewelry jangled, and her fringed coat caught my eye.

"I'm old." She sighed. Her face looked pained, and dark lipstick covered a tired scowl.

"I left my coat in the car. I hate coats," Trish said.

"I do too," said the fringed-coated woman frantically. Her jewelry jangled again, like a belly dancer's sash.

"It's part of the reason I hate winter," Trish said

She heaved herself off the elevator wall and onto the third floor. They exited together in their misery. Quietly, I watched the fringed coat, its tassles dancing to the jangling noise, disappear as the elevator doors closed.