Elevator You/I Sequence Start
by Barbara Genova
it’s going down
how many floors? nobody knows for sure, that’s the alleged beauty of it, light display says ninety levels overall
silver doors stay shut after the signal it’s a relief
you wait for the music to kick in but it never comes
capacity: ten, occupants: two
you can be the psychic you can be the action item
you can be triangle wired and acid jeans and stare at the doors, safe in the knowledge i’d never call you slim
you can be white stripe red star, the face, universal heir to the darkest triad of personality disorders and the urge to rule
less than an hour ago you/i caved a man’s head in with a glass tray grabbed from the flower service table
wanted to curb stomp him for real but there was no curb, we happened to be on the terrace of the tower hotel where eyeball used to work six-to-dawn shifts for food and sleep opportunities, what you gonna do, setting dictates your actions, you go to war with the army you have, diana ross said that exactly, it’s a famous quote!
i/you went to war on the guy twitching on the ground
ripped his sound patch out, threw a painted hand up in the air, spinning
screamed at the crowd, tell your friends
we’re coming back in two weeks leave town we’ll be back for each and every one who disrespected us
and then: come on, honey
that was for you, finger snap one two
face wasn’t even scanning the room for escape pods
eyeball could make a choice there and then, eyeball could still nope the fuck out of a fantasy revenge expedition, but could they
speed box goes smooth, smells like dog fur, thank you, do not ask about dogs
face is big on respect
all those lonely rage-fueled nights spent banging to no avail on the partition panel as the neighbor celebrates his last fertile year, excuse me i’m trying to work here, who in hell wants to get pregnant on the planet, you tell me
face got the two-week pancake done for the journey – it’s when you stick your head in a plastic bag and the needles go brrr
was deemed unworthy of the shauna, wrangled the corrine out of a despondent, broke tech dude, so there’s red all over their skin in the shape of stars and stripes
face hasn’t checked their reflection in any flat surface, not once!, that’s how much trust goes into the process
we’ll be having a protection layer on the zero floor, allegedly
some no-name kid, eyeball scouted him outside the strip mall
asking about day labor he was, you tell me
how contraband he is already, our chances are not beaming here
good, said face earlier, i like our chances a lot, and besides,
you gotta have a human shield
face is set on vibrate tonight, full body shakes free hand grabs a bangle match and the white noise setting crashes just enough for a happy sunday my friend my dove to sweep in, golden and low, embracing us both
was it you? (y/n)
no me neither
one of us starts singing
if you’ve done nothing wrong you have nothing to fear
if you’ve something to hide you shouldn’t even be here
and it doesn’t take, that last e goes under, dives, gone, wheee
we got in the elevator booth in a desert plaza, level 43, the service dropped us off after a remarkably sedated drive it must be said, two days ago i/you paid extra to smoke nonstop as calls were made and by cashout time we were semi-good with the driver man, driver man remembered us and wanted us to come back swinging
music from a tin speaker never mind the blood dust on the seat
acceptable night for a dive on the boulevard route
modeled after the circonvallazione interna of cities past, that is correct
face was still buzzing off the tower stunt – the guy had been asking for it, yes he was!, he had disrespected your girl twice in the span of twen-ty-four hours, called her trash form first then done, so, best believe your girl wasn’t gonna whistle a sentimental tune once her mind shot up in the game – her teeth gleaming black
eyeball was all about the quicksand awaiting us both
we stepped off the service car we marched towards the speed cabin, our shadows jumping fierce and tall ahead of us, one hand waving clear in the dark, the better to rip your braces off
what’s on the zero floor? nobody knows
people who’ve been down are crazy slippery, they change the subject it’s impolite to be blunt, it’s viewed as a micro-aggression
still you hear things if you pay attention
for instance:
– blockades are there to keep them out, not to keep you in,
– groups are organized and corralled by guides, there’s a reputational wildness to the border, a true disservice to its native charms,
– yeah it’s, have you ever been in a parking lot riot, on the mainland?, same vibe, but think bus station,
– you have your masses of supplicants and your bright sides, you’re gonna have to run for the gates if you want to board on time, so it would behoove you to try and look like you know where you’re going, rookies,
– oh dipende but i saw one man being smuggled out?, they were hiding him in a barrel of all places, he jumped straight into it, a bounce cat toy,
– i bought this chain in the duty free shop, can’t miss it, they have security outside
you are now thinking about: all of the above
where’s your sense of wonder i ask
ding
attack stance
false alarm
door slides
no one there
possible but, what are the odds
a switch from [huge mistake] to [resentful determination] is settling in your calves, then it’s all the way inside your legs and it’s spreading on your shoulder blades, it’s warm
desire to rail your last words make a list of demands, sedation
you crawl up and down the elevator walls here you click and search for the sign of human passage you find scratches and letters keyed in the metal, one of us is a decoy and an arrow
any special identification mark? we both got plenty
how would you be recognized otherwise
if something bleak happens to you
ain’t nobody in the habit of wearing tags around their neck but:
one of us, two fingers never fully separated, has an arrow tattooed on the foot, jet blue pointing at the anomaly, and the name kath scribbled on their lower back
what’s a decoy (you asked once)
(you were so little you were fun you asked a bunch of questions, cute kids bro)
one in two used to wear a bomber jacket with a fine golden snake on the left side
one in two used to have a stun gun tucked in the pressure band of their underwear
brush a thumb over your hip bone, is it still there (yes/no)
you miss stuff sometimes, days skip to years to the break of dawn baby
face was never that forward when it came to violent ends
smashing up people in a public venue is actually pretty new
eyeball stares at the door, allows a shiver to play out, then:
– I gua-ran-tee you at some point an idle individual is going to rope us both in a conversation about which lifestyle would be preferable, eh, the gift of unnatural vision or the body coiled hissing beautiful –
face cracks a half smile of gratitude and wetness, it’s an out,
eyeball hasn’t seen the whole picture, per se, but it’s a massive given, the exiled love to play their rounds of choose in the black, as they roam and justify their blind turns off the beaten path;
eyeball has to sing a little to get in the receiving zone, did you know that? deejay please pick up the phone i’m on the request line
since when? since always
can’t believe you never knew
speed box goes faster as the end comes closer whoosh
the blow makes you sway on the spot but you suck it in, you ok?, yeah
remember, we make a run for it, and remember: we own this
we are kings in the ruins we are gods to the living
face licks her lips, cherry tongue swiping her front teeth on the way back, a gesture so familiar and so gone it hits a loose nerve inside your marrow, there’s a memory of her bending in the dark, getting dressed for school,
fingers reeling in the empty space between us
middle finger, ring finger
come on
honey
you know you want to.
Barbara Genova (she/they) is the pen name of an actress/writer who got stranded in Central Europe during the first Covid lockdown of many. She’s the author of Dirt City, a monthly column hosted by Bureau of Complaint. Selected credits include Hobart, Strange Horizons, Expat Press, Misery Tourism, FERAL, 433, Last Estate, Anti-Heroin Chic, Witch Craft Mag, The Bear Creek Gazette, A Thin Slice of Anxiety and the New International Voices Series at IceFloe Press. [She can be found on Twitter @CallGenova (almost never) and on Instagram @thebarbaragenova (way more often), and you can, in fact, contact her directly – name dot surname at protonmail dot com]
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