When getting from the bottom to the top, you have 100% of your time to use. 1% of your time is actually spent being at the top, and the other 99% is all about getting there.
I feel like the 99% of time spent getting to the top is really the best part. Once you’ve reached the top, you’re done. However, in that 99% of time spent getting there, you sometimes encounter things that will ultimately determine how important it is to actually spend that last 1%.
I find myself sprinting up the steps of my apartment building. I am in dire need of having the comfort of my own room at the top floor. I glance down at my feet for a brief second before I start skipping stairs. I can almost feel the cool softness of my bedsheets against my face, the gentle hum of the air conditioning against the dead silence, deep in my ears. I crave it…I need it…and then I trip.
Ugh, what misery! The stinging from the hard contact between my hands and the ground is excruciating. I look around myself and gather my things up. Thank god I at least fell on the platform between stair levels. Otherwise, my things would probably have fallen between the railings and down to the bottom staircase…
Where is my phone? I feel a little panicked, looking around me furiously, but thankfully the feeling leaves almost as quickly as it had come. I see my cell phone a few feet away, it appears to have slid all the way over to the next flight of stairs. I crawl my way over to it and snatch it off the floor. My sigh of relief is followed quickly by a voice, one I’m not at all familiar with. It appears to be directed at me.
“Are you alright?” The voice asks. I look up and immediately feel my face get hot with embarrassment. God I hate blushing, but what a beautiful hunk of male he is! This tall and lean figure with these perfectly toned arms, just the right amount of muscle. Perfect arms used for holding, I imagine. He’s giving me a weird look…I better answer him.
“I…uh…yes, I’m just fine, thanks.” I quickly make an attempt to get back up onto my feet, but my ankles start to buckle a bit in the process. I feel so foolish right now.
“You really took quite a fall there,” he says to me, his face seems burnt down with concern. I straighten out my jacket and carefully fix my hair.
“I didn’t fall! I just…well, I attacked the floor!” My words are triumphant as I answer him, but what the **** did I just say? I can feel my face shift into one of discomfort and confusion. He starts chuckling and reaches his hand out to me. I think he wants me to shake it, so I do. He says his name is Todd, and I return the favor my telling him my name: Harper.
“Well Harper,” he says, “you just keep on doing whatever it is you do, and I guess I’ll see you around.” He gives me this smile that I can’t really describe. It’s not exactly crooked, because nobody actually smiles crooked, but it’s got some sort of mischievous gleam to it, as if he’s up to something.
I smile back at him and we say our goodbyes. I turn to watch him head down the steps, wondering to myself which floor he must live on…if he lives here at all. I can still tell my face is red as a tomato, how embarrassing. Why couldn't I have tripped in front of that old Grandma across the hall from me? Or maybe the mentally challenged man from the bottom floor? Seriously, of all the people I could have fallen in front of, why did it have to be that Todd boy?