The Elevator

I’ve been coming home from work around 7 p.m. every day, every week, month, and year. I have been doing this for seven years now, ever since I moved into this apartment down on East 81st Street in Upper East Side after my divorce, and never have I noticed this. I live on the top floor, and, as usual, I walk through the glass turnstile, give the concierge a fleeting but friendly nod, walk up to the elevator, press the call button, wait for the “ding”, the elevator doors open with a sliding and grinding sound, I step in and my index finger finds the button to the twentieth floor with sleepwalker-like precision.

Today is different. The elevator doors close, and the cabin begins its ascent. Leaning with my back against the side wall, I glance at the mirror pane opposite me. My tired reflection from another long day at work stares back. A bit fazed out, my eyes drift over the mirror, they pause on the mirrored image of the button panel.

I have this feeling that you have when you look at something and immediately know that something is not right. Your gut reacts before your brain catches up, but your mind is just blank. Something is wrong with this button panel. An intangible off-ness. I bend forward a bit to turn my head to the left to look at the button panel that’s mounted to the wall I have been leaning against. I look at the mirror again. I lean forward and squint my eyes. And then I see it.

There is a button above mine. Above my twentieth-floor button. Frowning, I turn back to check the real panel again. Nothing. Just the twentieth button being the end of the row and the brushed aluminum panel above it. I place and hold my finger on the twentieth-floor button and turn to look at the mirror image. There I see my finger over the button, but there is another one above it. Wow, this can’t be right. I rub my eyes in an attempt to shake off the strangeness, – and do it again. This time, I keep my eyes trained on that new button in the mirror, and slowly move my finger upward on the panel. As I watch my reflection, my finger reaches this other button, and I feel it. My fingertip traces its edge–it feels solid, real. I glance to the panel itself again, and I see my finger moving in a slow circle–but on the blank, smooth aluminium, where no button exists.

Tracing the contours of the button, I place my fingertip in the slightly concave button. It feels cold.

I arrive at my destination—the twentieth floor, my floor. The elevator doors slide open as the digital bell chimes softly. I hesitate. Should I? Before my brain can process my options, I push the button.

The doors slide shut again; nothing happens at first.

I was about to regret having pushed the button when the light goes out. “Oh, you have to be . . .”

The sudden sensation of falling hits me. My stomach heaves as my feet lift off the floor, I begin to float. Shock. I am falling. Oh, my god, the elevator is dropping. I am going to crash into the basement. Adrenaline floods every cell of my body. I curl into a fetal position, bracing for impact, as I tumble inside the cabin.

This fall is taking forever. And there is no sound, except my heartbeat pounding loudly in my ears. Something is wrong here. Shouldn’t I be dead by now? My crushed and mangled body mushed against twisted, bent, and torn metal parts in the dark dead-end of the elevator shaft?

But instead, I am floating. In absolute darkness. Confused, I slowly and cautiously uncurl from the fetal position. My right foot bumps into a wall, the soft thud of the rubber sole hitting the panel is proof that I can still sense, that I still exist. I can hear my own panting, mixing with the gasps that escape my throat.

I reach out with my hands. My left arm touches the mirror. I can feel the cold glass, push against it, my body rotates away from it until my head bounces against the carpet of the floor.

As if from a far distance, a hissing sound begins, hardly noticeable. Like wind. At the same time, a subtle yellowish-orange glow appears, seeping through the narrow gap between the elevator doors that never fully close. The hissing grows louder as the glow turns into an intense light, cutting through the darkness like a blade. The sound is loud now, as if compressed air shoots out of a cracked pipe. I watch in disbelief as the floor of the elevator cabin moves towards me, touching the tip of my right shoe. My body slowly rotates towards the floor. I reach out to it with my hands to stop the rotation. My entire body begins to accelerate, drawn inevitably towards the floor.

Is this how you die in an elevator? Is this how you die at all? Experiencing everything in agonizing slow motion? Will I feel my bones break, my spine snap, in slow-motion, too? No quick lights-out, no pull-the-plug, no peaceful fading into nothingness?

Oh, please no.

And what about my life flashing before my eyes? A fleeting thought about my life, moments I’d wish I could relive. But no–I’ve been too busy trying to figure out what the hell is happening here. I feel cheated.

The hiss stops. Silence.

Intense light pierces through the gap in the elevator doors. I am on all fours now.

OK, so I‘m not dead. It feels more like gravity coming back.

What now?

The doors slide open, with the same familiar sliding and grinding sound they have been doing ever since the elevator was built.

I look into a large, round room, roughly twenty meters across. Huge windows curve upward into a dome-like cupola, their edges sloping gracefully toward a white sill just a meter above the floor. The floor itself has a soft, muted gray finish. Through the towering windows, an intense blue sky tinged with hints of yellow stretches out before me. The entire scene is flooded with warm daylight.

Slowly, I rise from my position on all fours and now I am able to see what’s behind these windows. A sprawling cityscape stretches out below—a sea of buildings in every shape and size. Hundreds of slim buildings that rise in sharp and bold lines towards the sky, their surfaces gleaming with glass and shiny metal, interspersed with white-walled structures. I am so awestruck from the sight that I forget to be scared. I slowly step out of the elevator, pausing after a few steps to look back. I don’t know what I was expecting, perhaps my mind anticipated the familiar stairway of my Upper East Side apartment. Instead, I see only the elevator doorframe set within a large cylindrical structure in the same muted gray finish as the floor. It appears as though this entire room exists solely for this cylinder. I turn around once more and face the captivating view outside again.

Something moving in the sky catches my attention. It looks like a white blimp, just without a cabin underneath–but rows of windows along the entire sides. I cannot see any engines or control surfaces. It glides majestically above the city, seemingly defying all laws of gravity. My eyes follow it for a bit until something else grabs my attention: the suns. Yes, plural! Two suns! At first, I think it is a reflection of some sort, but one sun is clearly just half the size and has a deep, reddish hue. Ok one thing is for sure: This is definitely not New York.

Where am I?

"So, there you are," a voice said behind me.

Startled, I turn around.

Leaning casually against the cylinder stands a man with short, dark-blonde hair, hard to tell the age, somewhere in his thirties or forties. He is dressed strangely. Modern and functional, yet a bit worn clothing. The stranger pushes himself gently away from the cylinder and begins walking towards me. He smiles knowingly. "Don't worry, the initial shock or confusion you are feeling right now fades quickly.” He extends his hand to me.

“Welcome to the Crossroads."

“Who are you? What is this? Where am I?” I manage to stammer as I am struggling to keep calm while I shake his offered hand. Firm grip, by the way.

“My name is Michael, and as you might have realized by now, this isn’t Earth.”

“What? Are you saying I am on another planet?”

“Oh, it’s more than that,” he smiles knowingly, his blue eyes reflecting a calm amusement. “You're not even in your solar system anymore. You have just arrived on planet Aurenna in the Tyralis system. We are in the inner sector of the Sagittarius arm of the Milky Way galaxy. Basically, just around the corner from the galactic core.”

I just stare at him incredulously. “Is this a joke?”

“Afraid not,” he answers with a slight smile and a hint of pride. “We are twenty-five thousand light-years away from Earth—that’s roughly two hundred thirty-six quadrillion kilometers. Come, have a look.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder and leads me towards the expansive row of windows. Standing at the sill, I finally grasp just how far above the ground we are. It appears to be that this floor, or whatever part of building this is, is about a hundred meters above the surface.

Far below, I see smaller buildings, and in between, where you’d expect there to be streets or roads, there are forests, parks, little lakes. Instead of busy street traffic, I see countless small craft of various designs zipping between buildings, crisscrossing each other effortlessly at multiple altitudes.

“Why am I here?” I ask.

“The Crossroads is exactly what its name suggests: a nexus—a cosmic intersection, where routes from countless places across the galaxy come together.”

I turn my head to stare at him blankly. He continues. “Think of it as the main hub for interstellar pathways—like cosmic highways, or wormholes, if you prefer. There’s a vast network of these pathways, and most converge right here, at the Crossroads. It’s the central nexus of our Milky Way galaxy—or rather, the ‘Enyxa’ galaxy, as it's known throughout the wider space community.”

I shake my head slowly, struggling to absorb his words. Michael seems to read my mind. “I understand it’s a lot to process, George.”

I freeze. “Wait—you know my name?”

Michael nods patiently, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Of course. I was made aware of your possible arrival. You’re here because you were meant to find your way to the Crossroads.”

“Now you got me curious,” I say.

Michael’s voice carries a note of seriousness. "The Crossroads is more than just a place, George. It is alive. A vast consciousness that spreads throughout the entire galaxy. It observes, it waits, and when the time is right, it chooses. You see, George, the Crossroads isn't something you find—it finds you. It appears to people who’ve reached a point of clarity, realizing that they've let meaningful chances pass by, or taken paths they regret. It senses when someone deeply needs a chance—to choose differently, to live with purpose rather than regret. That's why it chose you.”

Michael points to the cylindrical column in the center of the room, still showing the open elevator as if it is waiting for me. "That button appeared for you because the Crossroads sensed that you were ready. Ready to have your understanding of reality expanded. It gave you a choice."

“How did you get here? Did you also have a button in an elevator?”

Michael smiles in response. "I arrived here much like you, stumbling through a portal that looked like an ordinary door. Just in my case it was a door in my attic I had never noticed before. You know, the Crossroads seems to be very creative. I have heard of people coming through walk-in closets they never noticed before. One guy even discovered a phone booth in his backyard, to mention some examples from Earth.”

“So, where do they all come from?” I ask.

“Very few from Earth, some from Epsilon Eridani, Tau Ceti, to name a few from your cosmic neighborhood. But practically from everywhere. You must know, there are thousands of intelligent civilizations all over our galaxy.”

Michael's eyes take on a distant look. “What I discovered after coming here–Let's just say it shattered every notion I had about reality and my place in the grand scheme of things."

I take a moment to process his words before speaking again. "How long have you been here?"

"It’s been two years now." Michael's eyes scan the sky thoughtfully. “Two years in which I probably learned more than in my entire life, and I feel I didn’t even scratch the surface.”

He chuckles softly. "Believe me, the Crossroads doesn't extend its invitation lightly. It looks for those who have the potential to be truly transformed by the journey - those who can handle the weight of what’s going to be revealed to you in this city and beyond it."

“But I didn’t make a decision to come here,” I say. “I didn’t know that I had a choice for this when I pushed that button…”

“That’s correct, but you did not shrug it off like a freak hallucination and went on with your life. By pushing that button without knowing what’s going to happen proved that you have it in you.” Michael looks at me warmly. "The Crossroads chose you, George, to give you an opportunity. And now, the choice of what to do next is entirely yours."

“Well, what choice do I have?”

“Here’s the thing,” Michael says gently, raising a finger as if emphasizing the gravity of his words. “You now have the opportunity to return home, to reflect and process everything you’ve experienced here. But know this—once you leave, you'll have exactly one chance to return to the Crossroads. Just one. And when you make that decision, like so many choices in life, there’s no going back.”

“What did all the others do?” I ask, frowning.

“Most never return. They are either too scared and freaked out or they simply shrug it off as a bad dream. You know, the next morning, you might not even remember what you saw, like the elevator button in your case, or whatever was chosen as their portal simply disappears. But those who decide to take this opportunity either stay here, becoming part of this wonderful city, or they move on to explore other worlds.”

I swallow hard, my mind spinning from the revelations and possibilities laid before me. The immensity of it all overwhelmed me. I need space and time to think, to breathe.

“I… I think I need to go home,” I hear myself say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I need time to think this through.”

Michael nods sagely, a knowing look in his eyes. “I understand. But remember, the opportunity won’t last forever. That button might be gone tomorrow.”

Casting one last glance around at this world beyond the windows, I walk back into the elevator. The doors slide shut. The lights go out again, but this time I am ready. I lean against the cabin wall and brace my right foot against the opposite wall to avoid being tumbled again from the lack of gravity.

I endure the darkness, the lurching in my stomach, the hissing again, until a weak, flat beam of lifeless light seeps through the elevator door's narrow gap. Gravity slowly takes hold of me, and the elevator doors creak open, releasing me into the familiar stairwell. I am greeted with the faint hum of fluorescent lighting, the somewhat stale air, the scuffed walls that bore the marks of years gone by—not shabby, but lifelessly utilitarian. It was a tiring space, echoing the mundane rhythm of everyday life.

I stagger out and stop, using my hand to brush the wall to steady myself. The familiar sights, sounds, and scents wrap around me like a blanket. Deep down, I know I’ll never see this place the same way again.

How will I go to work again tomorrow? Will I yearn for my wife to come back to me someday, or will I find closure? We never had children, so there’s that. I think about all the lost opportunities in my life—moments I wished I could turn back time, undo a decision, or choose a different path. My life feels full of overlooked chances and lingering regret. A deep, sad emptiness rises in me.

Slowly, I turn, my gaze inexorably drawn back to the elevator. I ignore the mirror and turn directly to the panel, my finger searching for the hidden button above the twentieth floor.

It’s still there.

*

Twenty-five thousand light-years away, Michael stands at the curved windows, his hands folded behind his back, watching the twin suns about to set, as the doors in the portal pod behind him open. His face lights up and a broad smile stretches across his lips.