All the Way Up

The Cloud View tower was the largest free standing building in the world. The completion of its construction a week ago was the biggest news around the globe, and especially locally. Visitors from around the world flocked to the city, craning their heads in a hope that they may be able to see the top of the needle stretching into the sky.

From the base of the building, it was impossible.

The breathtaking beauty and awe of achievement on the outside was somewhat lessened if one knew what the building housed; offices and businesses headquarters; two things so ordinary that a structure of this magnitude seemed like a waste. It was the dream of over-zealous architects and the creation of people with pockets too deep to fathom.

Jim waited in the line that stretched around the building. He was one of the last and he cursed himself for not arriving earlier. The site was normally only an hour-long commute from his home, but today, the first day of tours, it took three times that long.

The sun beat down on the building and reflected off the glass, sending a stinging light into his eyes when he tried to catch a glimpse of the top. He reached into his sweatshirt pocket and removed a pair of aviator sunglasses, placed them carefully on his face, and attempted again. The glare was still too strong.

The line moved quicker than he would have guessed. In an hour, he was in the doorway, watching as groups of people were herded into the elevator like sheep scared of the horse-riding cowboy.

Two lines converged into one. The left side, the one he was in, was strictly visitors and tourists with cameras. The second line that wound through the doors on the left was for employees heading to their various places of employment. Insurance companies, fast-food corporate headquarters, and the leading manufacturer of televisions were just a few renters.

The line on the left was filled with men and women in suits, shooting annoyed glances towards the line of people snapping pictures and pointing in every direction. Jim laughed. They’re dreading riding up to work and we can’t wait to go, he thought.

The elevator doors directly in front of him opened and people spilled out. Some were wearing Hawaiian shirts and showing digital pictures to those around them and others were business men discussing plans and ruffling through papers.

Jim thought of himself as smack dab in the middle. His attire was casual, but not too casual. He wore a dress shirt without a tie, khaki pants, and the gold wristwatch his grandfather gave him so many years ago. It stopped working long ago, but he couldn’t surrender it. He liked the memories more than he liked knowing the time.

When the last were clear of the massive metal box, a security officer motioned to him. He walked into the freight-sized elevator, overwhelmed by the array of buttons. People from both lines collided as they crammed into the back, but he tucked himself into the open space next to the man on the stool operating the array of destinations.

The man on the wooden stool shouted to the giddy tourists and the stoic business men. “Those here visiting, we’re going up to the one-hundred and eleventh floor. That’s where you’ll find the observation deck. It’s the best seat in the house.” While he spoke, he tugged on his pants leg, pulling it over the top of his shoe, acting as if he had given this speech a hundred times. There was a good chance he had. “If you’re going to work you have my sympathies. Just let me know what floor you want.”

Numbers flew from all four corners of the large chamber and Jim watched the orange, glowing buttons light up to form of a mangled tree. When everyone was done shouting, he spoke to the man quietly. “One hundred and twelve please.” For a second, the man examined him. The wrinkles under his eyes narrowed and he looked at him with questioning eyes.

“What are you doing up there?” he asked.

“I’m the head of maintenance; I’ve got a few problems to fix,” he responded.

“Let me see some identification.”

“The best I can do is my driver’s license. We don’t have any ID’s yet.”

The man’s wrinkles narrowed even more and his brow furrowed; it was obvious he was thinking twice before he made a decision. Even though he sat on his stool looking up, Jim felt as though he was being looked down upon; like his mother was scolding him for something shameful he had done. Jim struggled to think of a way to avert the shameful glance.

“Could you just press the button? I’m already late and I’m sure these people don’t want to wait here all day.” His tone was purposeful and authoritative.

Without a word but with the same questioning look, the man punched the button, sending a ding throughout the close quarters.

He could feel other questioning eyes on his back, but he shrugged them off his shoulders, unbuttoned the top button of his shining blue dress shirt, and closed his eyes.

He was jolted from his concentration when the man to his left elbowed him in his ribcage.

“Sorry,” he whispered. He wore a look of worry on his face and immediately went about shuffling through his wallet. “Where the hell is it?” he whispered; this time even quieter than the previous word. After a few seconds of papers rustling and loose change clanging, he pulled out a slip of paper with the numbers Floor 44, room 106 printed in black marker.

Jim noticed a picture fall out of his wallet and fall to the ground like a leaf on an autumn day. It twirled through the air and landed on his shoe. He bent down to pick it up and took a quick glance before returning the elbow gesture. “Hey, you dropped this,” Jim said.

“Oh,” the man sounded surprised. “I didn’t even notice. Thanks a lot.”

“Is that your son?”

“Yeah. Jason.” The man paused before speaking again. “Turned twelve yesterday.”

“Twelve, huh? Relish in it while you still can… I’ve heard they get a little hard to handle in their teenage years,” Jim said.

The man gave a polite laugh. “Trust me,” he said laughing, “it starts at twelve. I can just imagine what delights the future has in store”

The elevator stopped. Jim looked at the display that read 22 in red numbers. The old man on the wooden stool shouted “Floor twenty-two!” A balding man in the back began pushing his way to the massive doors. “’Scuse me. ‘scuse me,” he repeated as he momentarily walked between Jim and the man he was talking to.

“You have any kids?” the man asked, peering around the man pushing through them.

“I did.”

“All grown up?” he asked.

“No, they died last year.” Even Jim was amazed at how cold that response sounded. It had been so long, he figured he had just gotten used to saying it. He forgot that it wasn’t that easy for anyone, especially someone he just met.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” The man’s condolences held a genuine quality that comforted him.

“I had a wife and a little daughter. Emily. She was six. The sweetest thing in the world. Everything any father could ever hope for, really I was a very lucky man.” He paused for a moment. “Would you like to see her?” he asked.

“I would love to,” the man said.

Jim pulled his wallet from his back pocket and showed him the picture of his daughter on her fifth birthday, wearing a shining birthday hat, a blue dress, and little black shoes she liked to wear even though they were a few sizes to large. She was aglow in the picture; smiling from ear to ear, and petting their golden retriever, Max.

“It was taken on her fifth birthday. That year, we got her a plastic oven because she always pretended to cook. That’s why she’s so happy.”

“She’s adorable.”

“Thank you,” he said. Showing the man was his own kind of therapy. Normally, he didn’t like to think about it, but today, that particular memory had been resurfacing and he had been looking for a way to tell someone. It felt like a sigh of relief.

The elevator stopped and the man on the stool shouted “Floor sixty-three!”

“Well, this is my stop. Are you getting off?” the man asked.

“Just going to look around the top and then come down.” Jim replied and gave the man a courteous smile.

“It was nice talking to you.”

“You too. Take care.” As the man was out the door, Jim shouted, “Good luck with your son. Don’t let him drive you too crazy.”

The man raised a hand and waved in response, returning the same courteous smile.

The elevator began moving again, popping his ears in the process. He pinched his nose to equalize the pressure and watched the glowing red numbers rise; 64…65…66…67…

The elevator stopped, the man shouted, and a tall suit in front of the doors walked out in a hurry. Everyone in the elevator shifted into the new open space, got comfortable, and watched the numbers climb steadily again.

A man in the back of the elevator spoke out loud. “A new building and they have to install the slowest damned elevator I’ve ever been on.” By now, the crowd of people was cut in half. Most of the business men and women had gotten off on the lower floors, and now only a handful remained.

Jim looked around and saw the man that made the snide comment. The suit he was wearing gave away which line he was originally waiting in.

“It’s not the elevator, it’s all of you idiots that have to get off on every floor,” the operator barked. It was as if the man insulting the machinery had just criticized his dying mother. It made sense to Jim though; it was probably the only thing the man knew.

The rude businessman in the back shut his mouth. Jim could understand that too. The operator was not someone you would want to cross. He could tear people to shreds with his tongue.

“Seventy-four!” he shouted. The commentator in the back made his way to the doors and exited without so much as a glance at the old man sitting by the buttons.

Jim watched the man leave the elevator, half expecting him to slide in a remark at the last second, when he knew the operator couldn’t retort, but he didn’t. He watched the numbers rise again.

The elevator stopped on the one-hundred-and-eleventh floor. The remainder of the people in the elevator, about thirteen people dressed casually and two suits exited the metal box.

“Guess it’s just you and me son,” the old man said.

Jim found it amusing that the man called him son; he took it as a sign of affection.

The ride up one story, to the one-hundred-and-twelfth floor seemed longer than all of the others combined. Standing with the sitting man was awkward. For one, he didn’t know if he should move away or stay close to him. He decided to give the man a few feet of personal space. He was probably crowded all day.

The metal doors opened and Jim looked at the man.

Like before, the operator examined him with his furrowed brow and his narrowed eyes. “Goodbye,” he said.

This parting word struck him. He hadn’t said anything to any of the other visitors that exited earlier. All of a sudden, he felt bad about lying to him.

With a nod of his head and a friendly smile, he walked through the doors, up a flight of stairs and through another set of heavy steel doors.

He found himself on the highest floor of the structure. It was inaccessible visitors and only open to maintenance staff, and then only when they had to fix one of the two large antennae’s protruding from the needle like the feelers of an ant.

Gravel lined the top of the building and crunched under his feet as he made his way to the edge. The street looked like a writhing snake from so high. The cars, stuck in a traffic jam, inched along, giving the illusion that the road was alive. A few stories down, a window washer was busy wiping the new windows with a wet squeegee. It was such a dangerous job; he never knew how someone could do that everyday.

He backed away from the edge and retraced his steps to the heavy doors. He turned and faced the edge.

He began to run. The gravel threatened his stability, but he charged forward. At the edge, he sprung at the knees and spread his arms, catapulting into the air like a bird taking flight.

The height was almost blinding. Wind ripped at his face and tore his cheeks back, exposing his teeth. He did a half flip so that his back took the brunt of the wind resistance. His shirt flapped and slapped his skin. He ignored the pain because he knew it would be all over in a few seconds

The thought of the red numbers entered his mind, only this time, they were going down faster and faster; 97…95…90…82…

Battling the rushing air, he reached into his pocket, removed the wallet, grabbed the photo and gave the wallet to the wind. It unfolded and caught the wind as though it wore an invisible parachute, soon disappearing in the flashes of the sunlight on the building.

Looking at the picture of smiling Emily slowed his pounding heart. It’s true what people say about life speeding past the eyes of a person about to die. Everything was so clear; her first day of school, his wedding day, and even memories that he didn’t think held any significance; the way she cried when he would leave for work and the look of surprise when she got a dog for Christmas. Everything was at peace.

He wanted to stay in the memories; to relive his entire life again in the seconds he had remaining, but he let them go. His fingers relaxed and released the paper. It flew out of his hands and raced toward the heavens. He didn’t need it to remind him anymore; he never needed it.

Just before the blackness, he saw the glossy paper floating in the air above him and smiled.