Again, But Better

This isn’t weird
. 
This is fine!
Inhale. Hold. Exhale. I punch the up button with my index finger.
The arrow over the elevator all the way to the left glows yellow. I nervously float up to the crack
in the gold doors until I’m right up on them. There’s a muted ding as they slide out. There’s already
a guy inside, holding a bunch of paper. When he looks up my eyelids snap back.
“Shit,” I breathe, stiffening as insecurities I banished years ago materialize instantaneously. 
It’s
him.
I was counting on having a few more seconds to prepare and he’s just here.
He’s sporting khakis and a white button-up shirt today, carrying two big stacks of paper. He
stares at me blankly for a half a second before actually registering that I’m me. I know when he
does because his eyes widen like he’s seen a ghost, and the paper slips from his hand. It flops to the
floor of the elevator with a hard thud.
“SHANE?” he spurts.
I inhale sharply. 
You are a grown lady who’s been successfully networking her ass off at medical
conferences the last four years. You can and will confront Pilot Penn.
I take the step forward into the elevator. “Hey, Pies.”
The doors start to close. He gathers the paper off the floor before snapping back to a normal,
standing-with-two-packs-of-paper stance.
“What are you doing here?” His voice is still laced with shock, but he’s trying to regain his
composure.
“I’m actually here to talk to you…”
His forehead crinkles up. “
To talk to me?
” He’s loud and confused again.

---

My instinct is to laugh, but his eyes catch mine and instinct drowns real fast in my ever-growing
pool of anxiety.
I suck up some air. “Yeah, I’m sorry to disturb you at work, but I kind of really needed to talk.
To you … Can we go grab a coffee or something?” I resist the urge to fiddle with the zipper of my
purse.
The doors slide open to reveal floor sixteen: a large, bright open room lined with windows and
divided into gray cubicles. Pilot steps out, and I follow as he strides along the edge of the room.
“I haven’t seen you in”—he pauses, turning to look at me—“six years?” He takes on a higher
pitch with those last two words.
He rounds into one of the cubicles, drops the two packages of paper on his desk, and collapses
into a desk chair. He closes his eyes and takes a breath before looking back up at me.
I hesitantly smile and wave. “Hi, cup of coffee?” I repeat.
He glances around and scratches his neck. He looks almost the same—different haircut, maybe
broader shoulders?
“Why are you here?” he repeats, calmer this time.
“I had an interview at NYU earlier, and I have one at Columbia later.” I pause. “I mean, that’s
not why I’m here, here. I’m here, here because I need to talk to you and I’d like to get a cup of
coffee,” I repeat, leaning a little against the thin gray divider entrance to his cubicle.
“For?”
“Their internal medicine program,” I say. His eyebrows pull together. He looks down, propping
his elbows up against his knees.
“So, you just randomly decided to come to the building where I work and ask me to go get a
coffee?” He meets my eyes.
“I mean, kind of, yeah,” I say with a strained expression.
He tilts his head. “Who does that?” Amusement creeps into the question.
“Crazies,” I answer sardonically.
“I’m not really supposed to leave right now,” he says quietly.
“Oh, um.” I glance around uncomfortably.
Pilot stands. He swings his head around, taking stock of the room until he finds who he’s
looking for: a heavyset man in his late thirties walking along the opposite wall.
He locks eyes with him. “Hey, Tom, I’m going to have to step out for an hour. Family
emergency.” I straighten abruptly and try to look solemn as Tom’s eyes dart from Pilot to me and
back to Pilot again.
“Okay,” he responds slowly.
“Okay!” Pilot replies, hopping out of the cubicle. He puts a hand on my back and silently leads
me from the room.
He drops it as we load back onto an elevator. We’re quiet until the doors slide closed.
“Okay, let’s do it. Coffee,” his says with small smile, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He
studies me for a moment. “It’s weird to see you.”
“Weird to see to you too.”
“Sorry about”—he shakes his head—“that minor freak-out; don’t know what happened there.”
He leans against the wall of the elevator.
“I know. That’s out of character for you.” I cross one foot in front of the other and bobble
slightly in my heels.
Pilot huffs a laugh and purses his lips. We’re both quiet for a moment before he says, “So are
you a doctor now?”

---

I nod. “Almost. Interviewing for residency programs, working toward becoming a
gastroenterologist. What have you been up to? What do you do here?”
“Oh, you know, computer programming, writing code, solving IT issues, exciting stuff.” He
crosses his arms, inspecting me like a riddle he’s trying to crack. I turn away to glance at the doors.
That’s when I realize—we’re not moving. The buttons are on Pilot’s side. I grin and mirror him,
leaning against the opposite wall.
“Hey, Pies.”
He tilts his head. “Yeah?”
“You never pressed any buttons, so we’re just chilling in a metal box.”
Surprise dawns on his face. He releases a quick laugh before jabbing the lobby button.
“You know, I usually travel the building with an assistant. He does all the button pressing when I
elevator,” he relays in a haughty voice.
A laugh busts out of me. The doors ding open, and we emerge into the lobby.
“You have a coffee place in mind?” he asks.
My heels clack onto the tile. “Um, I’m haven’t really—”
“You’re looking for a coffee place?” The guy at the front desk casually interrupts me. He grins
at Pilot.
“Hey, Jack,” Pilot greets him. “You know a place?”
“Somebody dropped off flyers for some new place just ten minutes ago.” Lobby Jack waves us
over and pulls a stack of lavender paper from behind the desk. “I was like: lady, this isn’t the
grocery store, we don’t hand out flyers, but she left ’em anyway. After reading the thing, I mean, it
actually sounds like a pretty cool coffee joint. Take a look.” He pushes the stack toward us.
“Interesting.” Pilot picks one up and holds it upright so we can both read it.