I am an elevator. My walls are smooth, and my buttons glow like little moons. I go up, and I go down. But my favorite thing to do is listen to the stories that step inside my doors.

This morning, a little girl with bouncy curls skipped in. "Floor five, please!" she chirped. "It's my birthday party! There will be cake and balloons!"

*Ding!* On the next floor, a kind man with crinkly eyes stepped in. He was carefully holding a tiny green plant. "A welcome-home gift for my new neighbor," he whispered to the little sprout.

*Ding!* A young woman with a big case slung over her shoulder joined us. *Strumm, strummm,* a happy sound came from inside her case. She was humming a little tune.

*Ding!* A tired-looking daddy came in last, with a tiny baby sleeping on his chest. "Shhh," he whispered, patting the baby's back. "Almost home, little one."

We were all going up, up, up... when suddenly... *CLUNK!* We stopped. My light flickered. We were stuck between the floors.

The tiny baby woke up and started to cry. "Waaah!" The birthday girl's lip began to wobble. "Will we miss my party?" she sniffled.

Then, the musician opened her case. *Strumm, strummm.* She began to sing a soft, sweet song. The baby stopped crying and just listened with wide eyes.

The kind man showed the little girl his plant. "This little sprout is very brave," he said. "It grew all by itself in a crack in the sidewalk." The girl gently touched its single green leaf.

Just then, with a little *jiggle* and a *whirr*, I started moving again. Up, up, up we went. I am an elevator. I carry people up and down. But sometimes, I think my real job is to hold their stories, and keep them safe together.