I've been stuck in the elevator for a very long time with Giselle, Armelinda, and Kylie. It's weird. Our hair hasn't grown. Nobody has had to pee. Yet it's obvious that a lot of time has passed because Giselle is deconstructing. Armelinda and Kylie have barely done more than check their makeup, talk business, and nod sympathetically as Giselle dissects her past.

For a long time I've known that I am a supporting player in Giselle's life. I've also realized that Armelinda and Kylie are sidekicks. Tropes. They could be any two pretty girls who care about their pretty friend and support her narrative. Right now they are planning the next social media ad blitz.

What I haven't known until now is my role in this story. I thought I was an unlikely and more perceptive sidekick. Not pretty in the traditional sense. More like an advisor than a sidekick. After all this time to reflect in this elevator I realize that I am The Mentor. Usually the mentor is older, not a peer, but I'm an old soul. I am the one who provides Giselle with information and psychological support. I gently nudge her decision-making. And she gets the credit. It's been that way since we were kids. Unlike the other three I majored in literature in college. So while Giselle has been deconstructing and

My conversation with Giselle in the elevator has been a lot of back and forth, helping her deconstruct from her parent's influence. She's been stuck in the cave. We've spent far longer on the threshold. We graduated from college and opened an online fashion outlet that is reasonably profitable. The four of us have found SOs with whom we are reasonably happy. We each have purchased decent starter homes in okay neighborhoods where we park our mid-priced medium-sized SUVs. No bumps in the road. No personal growth. Just day after day of walking our respective poodle mixes and getting massages.

Until this elevator. And nothing bad had happened in here either. Except that I've realized that we are as physically stuck as we have been metaphorically stuck.

The elevator doors open. We are greeted by a friendly man in basic business attire.

"Right this way."

"Do you remember why we're here?" Giselle whispers.

"We've been in that elevator so long I've forgotten," Armelinda whispers back.

Kylie shakes her head and I shrug.

We are led into to a conference room and asked to sit.

"I hope the wait isn't as long as the elevator ride," Armelinda jokes. She's the funny one.

The door opens and a person walks in. They fill the room. I can't describe it any other way.

"Allison. We need to talk."

I look at my companions who seem to be calmly sipping on coffee and looking at a screen in the conference room.

"They aren't having the same experience right now. They are listening to a new designer pitch their small clothing line. It will be a big break for all of you."

"Sorry? I'm not following."

"Allison. You figured something out in the elevator didn't you?"

The eyes hold me. I feel exposed. Known.

"I kept you there long enough for Giselle to work through what's been holding her back. And for you to understand your role in her story."

"Who are you? What is this?"

"I am the writer of the story you are in, among others."

"Well, couldn't you have just put the thoughts in our heads then?"

"That doesn't always work. Not for this type of story. Giselle thinks she's in a romantic comedy right now. She's had a sparkling life with funny little inconveniences and cute skirmishes with her love interest. But in that elevator she's remembered the traumas of her childhood. And they are dark. She hasn't told you everything. She will. And her boyfriend. She will tell him."

"I suspected something when we were kids."

"Of course you did. I made you perceptive. Maybe too perceptive. You were not actually supposed to realize this isn't your own narrative. The trick of writing life is that everyone needs to think they are the main character in their own narrative and also as supporting characters in their loved ones narratives. Otherwise mental health devolves quickly."

"Am I going crazy? Is that what this is?"

"Not at all. It's just that Giselle's narrative is central to affecting change in the world. Yours isn't. It's not that you don't matter on a micro level. Just not so much on a macro level. Except in the way that you influence Giselle. So far you have done a stellar job. But now it's Mike's turn to take that role."

"So it will get serious with them."

"Very."

'Okay, so I'm the mentor. How am I supposed to ment."

The writer smiles.

"When the time comes you will say wise things. Beautiful, memorable things. You will hear them in your head as they come from your mouth. It will feel natural at the time. It will be soon. And then your part in the story will be over."

"Over?"

"I can't tell you what a joy you've been to write. I've tried and tried different versions to get the same result. In a story like this, the main character must experience loss. The thing with her parents is the start. But, on order to move where she needs to be even Giselle's positive ties with her past need to be severed."

"Me."

"You."

"Where will I go?" I know already but I want to make them say it.

The kindest, gentlest voice answers, "Your death is pivotal. It will bring movement, wisdom, strength, empathy, power into Giselle's character. She and Mike will become forces for good in the world. Armelinda and Kylie will become three dimensional."

Tears roll down my cheeks. "It's hard to take. Not mattering in my own right."

They nod, "For what it's worth, writing you has been one of the delights of my infinitely long stint as a life writer. I have tried killing off every other character in hundreds of thousands of drafts. I broke the wall to tell you how much you mean. Giselle's childhood trauma is good for a few more years. She'll need you for that. I promise to write in some delightful surprises just for you. You won't remember this conversation. But from now on your instinct will be to live as if every day might be your last."

"Thanks for that, I guess."

Giselle, Armelinda, and Kylie are standing, laughing, talking excitedly to the young man who met us at the elevator. Beautiful clothing samples hang around the conference room. I am sitting, dazed. My coffee is cold. My mind wandered. I get up to go and stand beside Giselle. I sense she is going to need me.