Jealousy 5

We leave Belmont. Addison is next and I am reveling in thoughts of John. It feels so good to think of him sitting next to me. I imagine him reaching over and taking my hand into his. His skin is warm and has the manicured smoothness of success. Our eyes meet and I feel myself falling into his deep browns. I stay there for a while, swimming in his eyes. He smiles at me and I feel his other hand start to trace the hand he is already holding. It’s a beautiful moment and I bask in it, releasing my grip on the pole. “You have arrived at…. Addison.”

I open my eyes and see the blond laughing at me openly. “Seriously, no one could want her!” She stares right into my face, taunting me to argue with her. Coldness crowds out the warmth I felt. I turn and walk off the train. My body language and face dares anyone to challenge me. People move aside and let me pass easily. Quickly, I walk up the stairs and the consolation of my daydream dies in the heavy wind.

“How could he want me?” my brain begins to whisper to my soul. My emotions plummet as understanding dawns that he has finally noticed me and my carefully constructed story of how it would be falls apart. I start to run. My apartment is at the end of the block on Ashland. Surely I can find some solace there.

I round the corner and walk up the path to the large brownstone apartment building. It is one of the nicer apartment buildings in the area. It offers luxurious detailing in the stonework as well as a rich history. There are shrubs that run the length of the building on the sides that can be seen from Addison and Ashland. And the management company is easy to work with.

When I first moved downtown for college, I took the boat tour and learned a lot about the buildings on the river front. It sparked a desire to learn more and I took several classes in architecture to fill the elective requirements toward my degree. At the time, it was purely for my enjoyment. I read an interview a few years ago and was surprised to learn that John also has an interest in architecture. I feel a tingle thinking about having something in common with him as I turn the door knob to enter my building.

My skin begins to warm, but I still feel cold inside. I punch in my security code on the phone pad mounted next to the door and the door swings open for me. I walk through it, glad to be out of the wind. I cross over the green marble floors of the lobby, listening to the heavy clicks of my work shoes echoing off the butter cream walls. A few people are congregated on the heavy furniture arranged under the soft glow of the chandeliers. No one looks up and I don’t stop to talk to anyone. I step silently inside the waiting elevator and press the door close button to avoid having to share this small compartment.

As soon as the doors close, I begin to cry hot tears. Before, my tears were cold in anger. Now they are hot with humiliation. They come quickly as the elevator rises to the tenth floor, falling onto my white Wollensky’s shirt. A small ding alerts me that the doors are about to open. I don’t try to hide or cover my face. I let my raw emotions flow.

The doors slide open to an empty alcove and I leave the safety of my confined space. The air in the hall is warmer than it was downstairs and I shiver at the temperature difference. My appearance is reflected in the grand mirror hung across from the elevators. I look like what a cat might drag in.