Elevator Music
(Speculative Fiction) “Right,” Moira said. “But if everyone’s off chasing their dreams, who’s going to keep the world from falling apart?”
First came the elevator, then The Comb. Jean scoffed when she heard it on the radio. I was too busy listening to Herbie Hancock’s Maiden Voyage to care. Jean increased the volume on her internal speaker by tapping her temple as Sylv!a delivered the broadcast.
“The Global Peace Organization has completed work on a space hotel that will be managed by Luxury Star, an international corporation created by Leon Phish.” Jean was listening so loud I could hear Sylv!a over Freddie Hubbard’s trumpet.
“Travelers are welcome to begin booking rooms at The Comb as early as August, and tickets are available for flights, ferries, and elevator rides necessary to make the journey.”
Jean snorted. “What a waste of resources. Space travel is for the rich. I hope the ‘indestructible’ lines snap and all that space junk ends up like the Titanic.”
I turned “Survival of the Fittest” up a little louder. I don’t mind bitterness as long as it’s honest, but Jean was lying through her envy. I knew no one wanted to go to space more than Jean. Hell, I’d go. Who wouldn’t want to sleep in zero gravity? Who wouldn’t want to wake up and gaze at the earth from afar? Luxury Star knew this. That’s why they held the lottery.
Jean played the lottery and won. She played the numbers of every soccer jersey she had ever worn. 11 10 05 09 03 01.
“I’ve never won anything in my life,” she wept, and I wept too even though I knew she was wrong. Jean was killer at soccer. But a team win isn’t quite the same as being chosen among millions.
“Is this too good to be true?” she asked.
“Probably,” I laughed.
That weekend we visited Jean’s parents. We barbecued in the garden among the shrubs and perennials Jean’s father had planted to support local wildlife. Jean’s mother Moira thought there weren’t enough flowers on the California fuchsia. I thought there were too many bees.
“What do you mean you’re selling your home?” Jean’s mom was furious when we detailed our plans. “Your dad and I helped you with the down payment on that house. The market is in the trash and now you’re going to sell at a loss?”
“I’m sorry, Mom. Jean said. “Remember I always said I wanted to be an astronaut when I grew up.”
“Well, you might as well be a janitor. That’s what you’ll be doing up there right? Maintenance? My daughter is going to be a maintenance worker?
“Why do you try so hard to make me feel bad?”
“I don’t have to try. You’re a good teacher!” she urged. “We have a teacher shortage, you know. You are abandoning those children.”
“Okay, burger or hot dog Moira?” I tried to change the subject to spare Jean the double blow her mother was inflicting on her.
The night before, I’d held Jean in my arms as she sobbed in the middle of the floor in the home we’d shared together for the last eight years. It had been eight years of laughter. Eight years of joy. Eight years of Jean coming home every day a tired wreck after doing what I referred to as ‘the Lord’s work.’
“Am I a bad person?” she said through her tears.
“No,” I replied, and though I didn’t think anyone could do a better job teaching a bunch of ungrateful seventh graders how to survive in the world, I meant it.
Today, her eyes were swollen enough from crying that a person who really knew her would suspect she was having a bad day, choose empathy, and go easy on her. Her mother wasn’t that person.
“That hotel was designed by Leon Phish, you know. That guy is a nut job!” It was at that moment I saw the fear in Moira’s bionic eye, in the redness that surrounded the lid. The purple discoloration underneath. She was having a bad day too.
“Moira, I know it’s scary. Change is scary. But Jean has wanted this since she was a little girl. Who would she be if she didn’t show all those seventh graders she loves so much that they can achieve their dreams?”
“Right,” Moira said. “But if everyone’s off chasing their dreams, who’s going to keep the world from falling apart?”
Jean didn’t listen to Moira. She listened to Jean. She was allowed one guest, and that guest was me. We packed our things and prepared for the longest journey of my life. Two buses, one train, two flights, and a ferry ride later we arrived at the elevator.
The tethers stretched for miles above the floating platform in the middle of the sea. The wind, sun, and heat bit my cheeks as I craned my neck back and gawked at the thing. Behind me two women more prepared than I wore long robes and hijab. They spoke a language I didn’t understand.
“What do you think it’s going to be like up there” Jean asked, and all I could think was how I’d heard stories of astronauts getting stuck in space for months on end and how hard that had been on their bodies. Here I was volunteering to go up there indefinitely. At least I was able to keep my job. I worked from home. Things were about to get extremely remote.
I’d like to say the elevator ride was incredible, that it went “sideways and slantways and longways and backways,” like the Wonkavader, but it just went longways, and boy was it long. I spent two days trying to listen to everything Herbie Hancock had ever recorded and wondered whether The Comb had hired a house band, a DJ or both.
“Do you think it’s too late to turn around?” I joked.
“Nah, let’s head home,” Jean said it the way she had always said it when we were sick of anywhere or anything. Whether it be the scene at a bar on a Saturday night, a bad movie, or another insufferable backyard barbecue, Jean didn’t mind slipping out. But now, we couldn’t leave.
I looked up at the ceiling. The vessel was painted with a mural of the earth, moon, and stars to compensate for its lack of windows. The elevator operator noticed me.
“A taste of what’s to come,” he looked as hopeful and fresh faced as Jean. I smiled, then broke eye contact and looked around the room at the twenty-five or so other passengers.
“Where are all the billionaires?” I asked. “Is everyone here a new hire?”
“It’s the maiden voyage” said the operator, and he beamed as his voice echoed in the large painted box. I thought of the dogs and monkeys that had been sacrificed in the name of space exploration.
Then a crash, followed by a metallic groan.
The lights flickered off, and snap!
I held Jean’s hand as we entered free fall, and as miles of indestructible coil fell into the ocean we headed home.
A real space walk.
"Things were about to get extremely remote." Ha! Fun story!