Deveraux is a junior at Cape Elizabeth High School, where she’s involved in theater, speech and debate and the literary club. Writing is her passion. She wrote her first poem at age 6 and recently co-wrote an opera libretto that was performed at the University of Southern Maine. She’s dedicated to improving literacy and creating awareness for literacy in the arts. Deveraux says she is honored to be included in this amazing group of writers.

The Coming and the Going

John stood at the far end of the elevator, eyeing an old man, possibly mid-80s, who leaned hunched against the elevator wall, wheezing with every breath he took. The interior of the elevator was a banana yellow which gave John a burning headache. The air inside was humid, the air conditioner clearly broken, if there was one to begin with. Dust bunnies snuggled tightly within the edges of the elevator walls, John’s eye twitched in disgust.

“It’s a nice hotel isn’t it.” The old man said, looking at a stain on his plaid shirt.

“I guess so.” John said, wondering how blind the old man was. Suddenly the elevator came to a jolting halt and the orange light above flickered. The old man stumbled a little, almost falling to the metal ground. Oh god, thought John, this can’t be happening. He suddenly realized how small the elevator actually was, how he could smell the foul old person stench that radiated off the man. How he could reach him in one small step if he wanted to. He could see it headlining the papers now; Little boy, John, brutally murdered in a hotel elevator by vicious perpetrator, Old Man. He wished he knew his name to make it ring more to the ears, maybe it was Hitchcock, yes, Old Man Hitchcock.

“Oh dear, it looks like we’re stuck. Hello hellooooo is anyone there?” Old Man Hitchcock yelled at a red button. John walked over and pressed the emergency call button that he was hollering at, nothing happened. He pressed it again and again rapidly and still, there was silence. With an apprehensive sigh he walked back to the far wall and slid down onto the cold floor.

“I was trapped in this same elevator years ago. It was a full three days before anyone came and got me out.” Old Man Hitchcock said, fiddling with a dried tissue is his shirt breast pocket.

“What did you eat?”

“What?”

“I said what did you eat, did you eat anything?” John said louder.

“Oh yes, as sad as it makes me to say it, I was forced to eat my most prized possessions.” What looked to be a small tear fell from the man’s eye like a grain of sand. Oh sh**, thought John, was a loved one trapped in the elevator with him? Did he eat them all screaming and kicking as they went down?

“My 1960 Newman leather boots, even though I lost a part of myself that day, I’m grateful that they saved my life.”

“You ate a pair of shoes?”

“No not shoes, 1960 Newman leather boots. And don’t be crass about it, we might have to eat our shoes if it comes to that.” John looked down at Old Man Hitchcock’s shoes, they were old dusty sandals where you could see his white crooked toes pointing out. The toenails all long and brownish. God, I wish he ate someone, he thought, that would make the headline even better; Little boy, John, eaten alive by cannibal, Old Man Hitchcock, in hotel elevator one sad, dreary afternoon.

“What did you do with your pee? Did you drink it?” John asked. Old Man Hitchcock didn’t answer, he looked down at the floor, his eyes glazed over with reminiscence. That really sent him over the edge thought John.

“Why did you come back to this hotel if you got stuck in the elevator before?” John said quickly. The man smiled and looked up at the ceiling.

“There’s a certain room I like to visit once in a while, it reminds me of the happiest moments in my life.” The old man brought the dried tissue to his face, he was still smiling.

“I hope someone won’t be too worried with you being stuck in here with an old geezer.” The man said.

“No, my mom couldn’t care less. She’s been sleeping since we checked in last night. She’ll probably be asleep as long as I’m in here.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know, she drinks I guess. She’s been drinking those vodkas in the mini-fridge.”

“Ah, yeah my papa used to drink too, drove my mama crazy over the years with his hell. She finally packed me and my brothers up one day and left him. You got a dad?”

“Never met him, never want to know him.” John said, crossing his arms. Old Man Hitchcock walked over and sat beside John. His old knees creaking as he slid to the floor.

“You’ll want to one day. I regret never talking to my father after we left, I was young like you, had a lot of hate towards him for the things he did to us. Oddly enough, I kind of miss him now, he built me and my brothers a swing set that he pushed us on every day. No matter how drunk he was. It was nice.” John looked straight at the man. He could see his blue, water-rapid eyes, his brown spotted skin, his thinning white hair that stood up slightly from static.

“Is anyone going to miss you, I mean with you being stuck in the elevator and all.” John said, fiddling with his thumbs. Old Man Hitchcock chuckled to himself.

“No, I don’t believe anyone will.”

“What do you mean? You must have somebody that will miss you, a wife, kids, how about your brothers?”

“Oh, my brothers died long ago, they were much older than me. And my wife and I didn’t have kids, just never got to it I suppose. We were too in love with each other to think about bringing in someone that might dilute our feelings for one another.” Old Man Hitchcock said.

“Well it sounds like your wife will miss you, she seems to care about you a lot.”

The old man coughed and looked at John’s white sneakers.

“I don’t think she will, I see her everywhere, all the time. When I’m walking, when I come to this hotel, to the room, even in the elevator.” John was confused, he couldn’t understand what Old Man Hitchcock meant by that. Suddenly the name he’d given him didn’t seem to fit. But as he was about to ask the old man his name, he saw that his eyes were closed and he was smiling, his lips quivering slightly as a tear ran down his loose skin.