The 21st Floor

2. Twenty, Twenty-One

It was a pleasant trip. The lines were short, everything I wanted to get was in stock, there hadn’t been any traffic, and they’d even had some treats on special. You know, the things in the store that you look at and think to yourself, nope. No way. Can’t afford that, or no I am not willing to pay the price they’re charging for that. The side effect of growing up with a single mum, who worked her ass off but was still doing it on her own nonetheless, was that the last one pops up more than you would think. When I came back, there were a lot fewer people coming in, and the front desk was still empty. Chatter echoed over from a slightly less full cafe, but it was never really empty. My feet ached the way they did after a particularly intense walk, and the last of the sleepiness that I’d been plagued with before leaving had fully dissipated. Not that I can recall anyway. A phone rang incessantly, with nobody to answer it, and I felt particularly out of shape after my walk. Breathing hard as if I’d suddenly done my best to run like the Flash and got stuck in the revolving door. A stitch was blossoming on my left side. The phone seemed to ring louder.

“Isn’t anyone going to answer that?” I muttered to myself. I felt kind of silly when I did. I knew the answer to that. No. No they were not. You know if my phone skills were that shoddy while I was at work I wouldn’t have to go anymore, because I’d be fired. At least I’d got my shopping done. My arms started to protest as the two bags I held in each hand were suddenly feeling a lot more like they were carrying the contents that they held. I moved my way over to the elevator and sighed in relief when it opened almost immediately. I should have been more careful putting my stuff down, but I really wasn’t. The bags made a clattering sound when I dropped them as carefully as I could on the floor. I wasn’t very gentle, but my fingers were threatening to fall off so I pretty much just dropped them. Nothing broke so I called that a win. It all sat in a messy heap in front of me, and threatened to spill out of the bags all over the floor. I shrugged internally. There was, very nearly, nothing to worry about. I stretched out my hand and scanned the golden panel with its engraved numbers. Because I was on the sixteenth floor, I found it easier to scan from the top, and… What? That couldn’t be right. I checked it again, and strangely but surely, what I was looking at remained the same. I kept waiting for it to morph back, because that wasn’t supposed to be here, but it just resolutely taunted me otherwise.

“What the actually f**k?!” I blurted out after a moment, starting at the numbers. My ears start to ring, and somewhere in the back of my mind a small voice asks me what the big deal is. Why do I care? It made a very good point, but I seemed to be on the verge of panicking and there was nothing I could do about it. Except to try and get it to go back to the way it was supposed to be. Spoiler alert, it didn’t work. I blinked and waited, closed my eyes tightly for ten seconds, and then looked again. Nope. Still the same. My heart thundered in my chest. How did I miss this? I couldn’t, and there was no way that it could be changed in the time it took me to go and get groceries. Not something like that. There were twenty floors in this building, and there had always been twenty floors. I wasn’t mistaken, wasn’t tired, and most certainly wasn’t hallucinating. That last one I checked. So why? Why was there a floor neatly labelled 21, like it had always been there? It had pushed the whole layout into something completely different, ever so slightly, and…Was it? Had it been like that when I’d gone down? No, it couldn’t have been. Surely I would have noticed. Curiosity bubbled in the pit of my stomach, and my skin downright itched with the urge to see what it was. My finger hovered momentarily over the button, doors having long closed without me so much as paying attention to them.

Something told me not to. Continued to ask what the big deal was, and whispered that I'd only be disappointed whatever I found. There was no reason to go up there, just because I was embarrassed and didn’t want to feel stupid about missing a whole floor in a building I’ve lived in for years. They were good points. Good enough that it wasn’t even passive-aggressively that I pushed the button to my own floor instead. My skin still itches a little bit, thinking about how it was sitting there and almost taunting me with its baffling existence, but that was okay. I had things that needed to be put in the fridge anyway, and that would be more than enough to distract me. For now.

For now, being the operative part of that sentence. Once all my groceries had been put away, with a little hum of delight at just how much I had managed to squeeze into those four bags, the thought popped back into my head, and there was nothing to distract myself with now. I’d put everything away, making sure that any and all mess was neatly where it belonged, and now I was standing in my kitchen. Leaning against the cool stone benchtop of my kitchen counter. I sort of just stared blankly at the wooden grain of the cupboard door, while my brain tried to come up with something to do that did not consist of getting back into the elevator and finding out what was on the 21st floor. I tapped my fingers somewhat nervously on the counter behind me, and I think that was the part that bothered me the most. That it bothered me at all. I was nervous, I was curious, and I was literally itching to know what was up there. Usually that would have meant marching straight up there, and having a look for myself. This time… I don’t know, it was like every cell in my body was doing its best to keep me away… and that's what sealed the deal. There was a secret floor, and I was fighting not to go and look instead of talking myself further into the idea.

“You’re being nuts,” I told myself, and what really sealed it was the glance at my own reflection. I looked like a wreck. My lips were red, and almost bleeding where I had bitten them. I’d run my hands through my hair so many times that I might as well just wrap a scarf and be done with it, and the nervous look I had? I looked like I was waiting to see if I had been busted drinking at work… Analogy, I would never, but you get the idea. This was clearly making me crazy and I would box that away for as long as possible. I had no overly optimistic views about it being a long-term solution, but I was just happy that I was going to be able to put off the problem. I went about the rest of my day completely normally. The next morning too, if normal meant falling into a giant sucking void of don’t-think-about-it, don’t-think-about-it, don’t-think-about-it.

I called my brother. Which was nice. I should make an effort to do that more often. I ribbed him about his lack of a girlfriend, he picked on me for my lack of promotion at work, and we talked about mutually watching TV shows and movies. All in all, it wasn’t any different than normal. After we’d stopped talking, I was left with a warm feeling of fondness that warmed me from the top of my head, to the tips of my toes… I would have to resolutely never tell him about that, I thought dubiously to myself. Casey would never let me live it down. I sort of floated aimlessly about the apartment after that. Before long it was time to make dinner. Given that I’d just gone and done grocery shopping, I opted for a slightly less easy dinner. Purely because of my options, with a restocked kitchen, I could make whatever I like. This meant only one thing. Lasagna night. I didn’t care how much I sweated while the oven cooked away. Heating the entire kitchen and living room as it did, and yeah, I baked in winter for the extra heating. It was smart and delicious.

When the alarm to pull it out of the oven came, I did a little happy dance and grabbed a couple of tea towels. Oven mitts are for people who can ever remember to buy them. Steam billowed up in great big clouds, and smelt tantalising. My mouth watered at the end result because it was, and always has been, amazing. Perfectly cheesy, tangy tomato mince base, and drizzled in barbecue sauce. It was only my desire to be able to taste the rest of it that kept me from scarfing it all down as soon as it left the oven… and yes, I did learn that the hard way.

I did the dishes. Critically examining each and every single one for the slightest remnants of food, and washing them long past when they were clean. Urgh! I groaned internally, even trying to keep busy was starting to wear on me. What was up there? I clenched my hands in the cooling water of the sink. With a sigh, I pulled it out, because there was nothing else to clean, and made for the living room. I flopped back on the couch, back where I’d started this morning, and turned on the TV. There was nothing on, and I curled up on my side. Pulling my legs up to my chest and I did my best to ignore the little buzzy feeling that taunted me. I didn’t have much luck. My only hope was to find something worth watching, and as I flicked through about twelve different shows in the hopes that something interesting might magically appear, it was clear I was going to be disappointed.

Nothing beat the little mystery that was sitting resolutely waiting for me in the elevator. I ended up stress baking berry muffins. Which, yum, made for a fantastic breakfast. The next day, I cleaned my kitchen… again… twice, and wound up with an adult colouring book lying on the living room floor. One hand curing the bleak white of the page in front of me with riots of colour.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” I told myself firmly, and there was a little part of me that took the chance to reply with an immediate, ‘Yes, but satisfaction brought it back.’ I was rather proud of myself. For all that I’d really, and unnaturally, had to know what was out there, I had managed to at least sleep on it. Grabbing my keys, and throwing on some shoes, I huffed and made my way out of my apartment.