Elevator Conversation | Promising Young Man

He was a tall, chisel-faced young man. Gorgeous dark curls peeked out from under his hoodie which was pulled down over his face. He was smoking just outside the government housing where I was visiting a friend.

The door was locked and the intercom system broken. While I was texting my friend to let me in, he said, “Here, just use my key.” He passed it to me through the broken window of the outer door. Then he put out his cigarette and joined me inside.

Only one elevator was working. He started a conversation while we waited.

“How old do you think I am?”

“At least 20,” I answered.

“Nope!” His face beamed. “16!”

He said he was even born premature. It was clear he loved being man-sized. He told me he was the youngest in his family, a big family from the Middle East.

“Which country?”

“Syria. But we are NOT refugees. I was born here in Canada.”

I asked him where he went to school. “I don’t go to school, ” he said, a little less proud than before, “but I plan to take a program.”

“Do you have kids?” he asked me.

“Yes, two, 18 and 21.”

“Wow,” he said while he pulled back his hoodie from his face. “I could be your son.”

“Yes, you could.”

The elevator finally opened punctuating our tender small talk. We both went to press the button for the same floor. “Wow,” he said again and smiled the whole way up. He helped me unnecessarily find the door I was looking for and ended our short time together with a promise.

“See you around!”