Loving a Black Rose & Life in an Elevator

Chapter 2

"Have you heard me, sir? You haven't moved. Do you speak English?" the tall man said visibly irritated.

"Oh, sorry, sir. I do speak English; I just didn't hear you. I'm truly sorry. I'll do it right now." I replied in a small voice. " 1st floor, right?"

"Yes it is!!" the tall man responded, his deep voice booming. I quickly pressed the 1st floor button with my index finger. A silence settled in the air. The tall man crossed his arms and planted his legs firmly on the ground, as if he were a hero facing an army of a thousand soldiers.

After a minute, he said, "I'm sorry I lost my temper. I have matters that are extremely important to deal with."

"It's fine," I replied, though it was not. All I wanted was to escape the presence of the man.

The tall man began to speak again, his facial expressions exaggerated and his hands moving energetically. He recounted how, after all his hard work, he had become a partner in his company and how everyone trusted him to save them from the chaos the city had endured. Then the tall man placed his hand on my shoulder and asked me in a paternal tone, "Are you working hard?"

The question shocked me. How dare this man imply that I wasn't doing enough? Throughout my life, I had worked tirelessly, only to be told it was never enough—I wasn't professional enough, lacked talent, and was always considered lazy. My aunt often told me I took it after my father, labeling him as lazy, undisciplined, and always eager to create disorder in other people's lives.

It wasn't my fault that, at nine years old, if I had drawn a flower on the living room wall. I had discovered a beautiful flower in an art book and was eager to replicate it. Proud of my creation, he had used paint brushes and watercolors to make it vivid. When my aunt finally returned home late from one of her jobs, I ran to her, excited to show her what I had done. Tired and struggling with two grocery bags in each arm, she grumpily had agreed to take a look. To her great horror, she had frozen and dropped all her bags when she saw the wall. What I saw in that flower was a powerful expression of creativity and beauty. What she saw was completely different: her home was in ruins. Paint splattered everywhere—on the walls, the table, the sofa—and worst of all, her cats. Two of her cats were covered in paint: one was running around wildly, scratching the sofa, while the other one had been partially shaved. It was time for me to face the biggest punishment of my life.

"Hey, are you hearing me, man? You've got some serious concentration issues," said the tall man, beginning to feel annoyed by the silence.

"Sorry, sir. I do work hard" I replied.

"Hard work should be the primary focus of men. Those who fail to achieve don't deserve the title at all. I always keep track of my hard work with my watch," he said, pointing his index finger towards the ceiling as if his words were the holy grail of wisdom. "Punctuality always makes a good first impression."

"Do you see this watch?" he said, showing off the watch adorned with diamonds and silver. "Do you want to know how I got it?" he asked confidently, without waiting for an answer. "I bought this watch when I became a manager at my firm. It was a great day, and I had my eye on that watch. There was someone else interested in it too, but when we shook hands, the seller knew how important I was to him."

"That's great," he replied nervously.

"If I may confess," the tall man said in a confident, secretive tone, "like the guy who sold me the watch, I know how to recognize an important man."

The elevator suddenly stopped with a "Ding." "58th floor."

A small man appeared and said, "Hey, guysss!" He had long, messy, thick, curly red hair that reached his shoulders, a long mustache, and a red bandana around his neck and a sombrero. He had two piercings in each ear and wore orange sunglasses, a green Hawaiian shirt, white shorts, and flip-flops.