The guy who lost his smile

The Rooftop

The elevator opens onto a narrow corridor flooded with natural light. Bass vibrates in the air, I recognize the sounds of electronic music barely muffled by the walls. After a few shy steps, embarrassed by a stupid impression of imposture, I go forward, as if attracted by an irresistible force. From here on the twenty-third floor, a grand and unusual vision mesmerizes me through the large window: behind the few smokers who enjoy the terrace, in the majestic background, Central Park reigns over the urban horizon.

I remain frozen in a contemplative state, until a young couple leaves by the door located on my left, thus releasing the powerful waves of the music then sharper in my ear: a tribal rhythm enriched by high repetitive and soaring melodies. The volume is not as high as in a night club, but enough to create a catchy atmosphere.

The man wears an impeccable white shirt with a starched collar, his clear gaze settles on me. I display a stuck smile, hesitate to say hello, then seeing the distance mask on his face, do not. The woman who accompanies him is captivated by her iPhone, she seems to follow her companion on the radar, focused on her thumb swiping the touchscreen. I hardly move back to let them pass and feel the wall in the corridor behind my back. Despite my empathetic gesture, they brush against me, constrained by the reduced space.

"Excuse me" says the guy. The girl remains impassive and doesn't even look at me, still immersed in her colorful pixels. She makes me think of yet another ersatz of Kim Kardashian with her black hair plated back, her tight dress, her big ponytail and her false nails with ridiculous dimensions some of which are adorned with small shiny stones. I see her iPhone for a moment when she walks past me, while the fruity smell of her perfume rushes into my nostrils. Instagram, of course.

During the few meters to the elevator, she continues to scroll through photos in a disturbing automatism that gives me the impression that her thumb has acquired its own consciousness. She stops for a few hundredths of a second on each image, scans the screen, then freezes again on the next, the time of an eyelash flicker. The posture of her body, her gestures repeated endlessly and her gaze plunged towards her palm appear to me as an illustration of the sleepingness of her soul.

Is she only aware of my existence? Did she see me? I'm not sure, I'm just a shadow with coarse contours in her field of vision, an insignificant detail that will disappear with the scrolling of the floors.

I watch them rush into the elevator I just got out of. The girl remains frozen in her digital contemplation of likes and stories and begins to type a message, while the man imitates her, also unable to accept for a few seconds the serene solitude of the present moment. He immerses himself in his intimate screen and locks himself in a similar pose: the back slightly curved forward, the chin in the neck, a stiffened forearm, the face captivated by his palm . The doors close, I turn and face the lounge. The metallic percussions of the electronic music call me. I'm going in.

The place looks like a luxury bar. Well, it is a luxury bar, I tell myself. A dozen tables line the length of the room, all encircled by club armchairs and benches. The bar overlooks half a dozen high chairs, three of which are still free. I approach motivated by the vibes of the music broadcasted by the sound system, as if I were the hero of an American series. The mundane is exceptional in New York, I tell myself, penetrating this microcosm, imagining I am one of these privileged Americans.

Over the entire width of the room, a large picture window gives access to the terrace by a sliding door. The incredible panorama mesmerizes me. Central Park emerges from the urban magma like a lake of vegetation taunting the exuberance of the towers. Its perpendicular borders hold in respect the agglutinated skyscrapers, as if a magnetic field forbade them any existence. The aerial point of view enhances the picture and gives me the impression of floating on a cloud and observing the city and its green lung with a divine eye.