By Maysen Paul
The elevator dings as it stops at the 10th floor. Doors gaping wide, many different busybodies file out. Most already know their destination in this workplace, like pre-programed robots. After three years in this illustration company, it becomes hard to tell the difference between the blurs of people dressed in their monotone colored straight-jackets. Really, only a maximum of five people stop at the secretary desk standing almost nine feet away from the elevator, and sometimes it’s less. However, today, the secretary was no longer patient enough to wait for those five people to come and ask when Mr. Harper’s next appointment is, or if Mr. Harper’s paperwork is ready, or how Mr. Harper likes his coffee.
Today, she sat in her stiff, plastic, back-ache-of-a-chair while the beeping of the elevator
taunted her. Every time those metal doors opened, and someone else passed by her desk in that steady, fast-walk pace, she checked the time in the bottom corner of her computer. The little numbers read 9:20 a.m. Only 20 minutes have passed since she sat down, yet it feels like she has never left since the time she sat down three years ago.
Ding Ding
The secretary looks up from her timesheet paper and the doors slowly slide open. No one came out. It was empty, though not silent. Listening, she could hear the soft, slightest sound of violins humming between the metal walls inside the elevator.
Seconds pass by, the violins’ soft, long strums begin to grow louder, reaching her ears more audibly. Unfaltering, she keeps her gaze focused on the elevator’s empty space between those hidden open doors.
Ring Ring Ring
She jumps a little out of her chair, and her hands unclench from the fist-like-balls they were unconsciously in.
Picking up the phone mid-ring, she answers.
“Hello, this is Harpers’ Illustration Services, this is Ren speak-”
“I know who this is! Susan is out today, and I have a lot of work to do. I need you to grab me a coffee with…”
Mr. Harper’s deep, gruff voice is drowned out as the violins, cellos, and bases begin to play at the peak of their crescendo. The elevator has not closed yet, but Ren begins to anticipate that it will after a few more seconds, and her whole body flinches at the thought. It is almost like if she does not move now, she will stay frozen on the tenth floor forever. Her eyes eagerly tighten on the elevator. Before she can even consciously think her words over, she blurts out, “I quit.”
And without a moment more of hesitation, she drops the corded phone on the table and races towards the elevator that is beginning to shut. With perfect timing, she slips her hand between the drifting doors, and they glide open to reveal an empty checkered stone floor.
At this point, the music is still at a powerful forte while Ren stands in the back right corner of the miniature, cubed room. Her heart is beating as hard and fast as a jackhammer, but as the elevator lowers down to the ninth floor, the music smoothly and slowly descends into a mezzo-forte, and her breathing begins to sync up with the extended strumming of the string instruments.
Ding Ding
The elevator doors open on the ninth floor and a blue-tied, middle-aged man walks with his phone pressed against his ear. He pushes seven on the tree of numbered buttons and begins to tap his foot with his free hand sternly placed on his hip.
All the while, Ren continues to try to recollect and distract herself from regretting her drastic decisions by letting waves of instrumental elevator music wash over her. Though the waves of violins, bases, and cellos ramp up to a violent forte as the man’s phone conversation takes an overwhelmingly nostalgic turn.
“Do you think I paid for you to come all this way to drop out of Yale and become what? A nobody?”
The man’s voice fills the elevator, and his brief pauses are replaced by the violins sharply striking the air in swift, lethal slashes. Eavesdropping, Ren’s blood defrosts to a boil.
“Oh! A musician! So you want to waste the opportunities I have given you? That’s fine, waste your life away, I don’t care.”
Just like that, the heat in Ren’s cheeks subside, and her eyes swell with long-awaited melted tears. A sense of sorrowful déjà vu floods through her from the man’s conversation with his child, except in her case, she was the disappointment on the other side of the call who was forced to abandon her ambitions.
Ding Ding
The elevator doors open on the seventh floor and the man on the phone stomps out with all the aggression of the piercing string instruments. Entering as he leaves is a well-postured woman tugging her dancing daughter along. Her mature, manicured fingers press the fifth-floor button. Seeing the two come in, Ren quickly dries the tears that escaped her eyes to avoid anyone from noticing, especially the animated child who precedes to pirouette from one side of the elevator to the other.
The rigid woman, who seems to be the young girl’s mother, shot disapproving glares at her rambunctious daughter while she danced in her own world to the now peaceful tones of the violins. Unlike the little girl’s mother, Ren could not help but smile as she watched the child’s carefree movements. Plus, Ren could not blame the little girl, since the allegro music led her to sway as well. Surprisingly, the little girl notices Ren swaying back and forth and stops mid-turn to stand in front of her.
“I like your drawing on your hand!”
The little girl points to Ren’s tattoo on her hand of a blossoming cherry blossom tree.
“Thank you! I designed it myself, but someone else drew it on me.”
“It’s pretty! Do you want to be an artist when you grow up? I want to be a dancer.”
“I-”
Before Ren could answer, the agitated woman turned to her daughter.
“Analisa, stop bugging her and stand still like the big girl you are.”
After that, the young girl did as she was told with her hands interlaced in front of her. Similarly, both Ren and the child try to refrain themselves from dancing to the music that was once peaceful but is now slipping into a more melancholy tone.
Ding Ding
Both the rigid woman and her daughter leave the elevator with a now subdued buoyancy.
Ding Ding
The sturdy silver doors close Ren into the solitary space of the elevator. It feels like the perfect time for Ren to reflect upon her decision to renounce her stable-paying job. Or think about how she will pay the bills of her apartment in downtown New York. Or how her parents will react when they find out.
As her brain begins to take in the weight of her decisions, flowing throughout the elevator is the dimming music, playing sequences of both majors and minors. Then vibrations buzz in her back pocket.
“Hello?”
“Good morning Ren! This is Darleen. I am calling on Mr. Harper’s behalf. He is a bit confused with your sudden decision to leave the company. He believes that you are a valuable part of the illustration industry and would like to convince you to reconsider your renouncement. In addition, he would also like to offer you a much-deserved pay raise. Would you be interested in this proposal?”
For a moment, Ren desperately wanted to concede and accept the proposition. Yet, as the base violins played, all she could recall ever doing in her job was mind-numbing work. Minor and major notes move Ren to answer.
“I apologize for my unexpected renouncement; however, I have to respectfully decline the offer.”
Once those words leave Ren’s lips, she feels the storm in her brain dissipate to a refreshing drizzle. Yet, it is not over.
“Are you sure? This opportunity is only offered once?”
Regardless of the second chance, Ren is unfazed by Mr. Harper’s assistant’s persistence. Instead, Ren gathered strength from the vibrato of the major chords of the violin.
“You know… it is my birthday today. I am turning 24 today, and the thing I am most proud of doing since graduating high school is deciding to leave this job. I want to be proud of so much more. So, I am sorry, but I do not want to be behind a computer for however longer years I have left. Thank you for the offer though.”
Just as soon as the string instruments hit their peak of a crescendo, Ren hangs up the phone.
Ding Ding
A wrinkly, colorful old woman waddles into the elevator and pushes button number two.
Together, Ren and the old woman wait, swaying to the elevator music as the instruments gradually decrescendo.
“You know, I hear that the weather is supposed to be beautiful today.” The older woman states happily while glancing at Ren in the right corner where she has not moved.
“Wasn’t it snowing yesterday?”
“Yes, but spring’s right around the corner, honey!”
Ding Ding
The elevator arrives on the second floor to let the wrinkly, joyous woman waddle out.
The piece playing from the speakers in the elevator starts to sound very distant. Descending to a pianissimo, the violins’ prolonged notes dissolve into the air and Ren steps forward to pressbutton number one. It lights up.
Ding Ding
Ren can no longer hear the solo violins as the weighty, thick, metal doors slowly slide into the wall pockets of the elevator. Steadily, Ren walks out of the elevator and towards the shiny, glass doors of the building.
As she pushes the doors open and lets them shut behind her, she is greeted by the beaming sun. Swiftly adjusting to the sunlight, Ren realizes that the old lady was right, the snow is melting. Spring is coming.
Maysen Paul is a Penn State University Park student who is majoring in Elementary and Middle School Education. They are from Lansdale, Pennsylvania, which is about 45 minutes away from Philly. Some fun facts about them are that they love to do yoga and plan to become a certified yoga instructor in the future. They also love music, and that is what inspired this piece. They get much of their work done to piano and instrumental pieces, while other times they simply just listen to destress. The musical piece that inspired this fictional writing is Keaton Henson “Elevator Song.” Although not every description of the music matches exactly with the song, they found the music of this piece to be quite moving and had to write about it in some way.