Straight Home

I came home and stepped into the elevator in my building.

I pressed the button for my floor.

On the way up, the elevator stopped.

It was not a floor I had chosen.

The doors opened.

No one got in.

I thought something might be wrong and pressed the close button. But the doors did not close.

Puzzled, I leaned out slightly. The hallway was empty, and beyond its far end I could see the sunset.

The rain had passed, and only the edges of the clouds were bright.

When I drew my head back in, the doors quietly closed.

On another day, the elevator again stopped at a floor I had not chosen.

From beyond the open doors came the sound of a piano. Somewhere down the hall, someone was practicing the same passage again and again.

I knew the tune.

Before I could remember its name, the doors closed and the elevator began moving.

After that, it sometimes stopped at floors I never visited.

One where a wind chime was ringing.

One where a large moon hung beyond the end of the hallway.

One where the smell of dinner helped me decide what to eat.

At first, it frightened me a little.

After a while, though, I began to wait for the doors to open.

One evening, I came home late.

I stepped into the elevator and pressed my floor.

I wondered where it might stop that day, but the numbers passed one by one.

I was almost disappointed.

The elevator went straight to my floor.

The doors opened, and I stepped into the hallway.

Someone I had not seen in a long time was standing outside my door.

A small paper bag hung from one hand.

“I thought I’d surprise you.”

They smiled a little.

I smiled too.

That day, this was the right place to stop.