Released on Probation with Voluntary Surrender

Sooner or later Rebecca was going to get attacked in that elevator. She just knew it. She got in - unusually early that day after leaving work at 3pm to meet an old lover. The elevator: empty. Then, four floors down, the unwanted stop on the sixteen floor occurred. He got in, about 5’11,’’ 180 pounds, and very built. His hands presented two visible scars, and looked pretty bit up. Rebecca unconsciously reacted by immediately moving to the back of the tiny and half-elegantly decorated Federal Probation Office 1920s wooden elevator. I say half elegantly decorated because the ‘modernizers’ of the lift had done a tremendously awful job at mixing metal and wood in that vertical transport system. Her breathing pattern had gotten slightly altered - she unpleasantly noticed.

‘I cannot believe it,’ she said to herself. ‘Why do I have to ride the same elevator as all the offenders that are currently under Federal Probation?? I mean, this job- come to think about it- should at least pay me more, considering the risk. Thankfully I learned Spanish back in high school. At least I will know what he is planning...”

The elevator ride turned out to be as intense as trying to decipher why loving someone can, sometimes, be completely unpostponable, volcanic, and unfeasible all at once. Each fourteen-second stop on every floor felt like an abysm. He, little by little, stepped back closer to her, head down and constantly moving his hand in and out of his right pocket. Then, his wrist began hitting the left wall, three times exactly. His puffy winter coat almost touched Rebecca’s left arm at this point. She was very nervous, still pretending not to have noticed his odd behavior while in reality closely and anxiously following his every move. Exactly two milliseconds before his wrist hit the wall for the fourth time- she will never forget- he quickly and aggressively turned around, and said to her in perfect English: “You look exactly like my daughter would have looked at your age.”

Rebecca’s system froze. Her brain tried to process the incident, but her soul wouldn’t let her. Instead, she leaned against the back of the elevator while its doors slowly closed making that particular ‘we may break this time’ sound. And there she stood, completely alone, with no ammunition to understand what had just happened, with no direction whatsoever, her mind completely detached from her body, somewhat paralyzed, and definitely not ready to leave. Ironically, Rebecca had just experienced what ‘offenders’ feel when released on probation with voluntary surrender.