It’s the middle of the day, and you’re in a school you’ve never seen before. You’re there for an assembly–perhaps the most important one of your life. Students and teachers from all over the world are attending. Everyone is talking excitedly about who will appear on stage. You weren’t really paying attention, but you have the impression that it’s someone very, very important. That morning, you rushed to get ready, barely reading the assembly guide, and rushed out. It’s all the same to you. You’re there, right? That’s good enough.

The lights over the stage suddenly brighten and excited chatter turns into hushed whispers. Everyone is looking around eagerly for a glimpse of the speaker. But at the moment, you suddenly realize you need to use the restroom. Annoyed, you weigh out whether or not you can wait, but you don’t know how long the assembly will be, so you quietly get up and exit into the hallway. Whatever it is, you can catch up later.

You find the restroom easily enough. For the second time that day, you rush to get back to the assembly. But when you step back out, something feels wrong.

This isn’t the same hallway.

You look ahead and begin to walk around searching for the assembly room. The restroom was easy to find, so it shouldn’t be too far off, right? Feeling awkward, you smile at anyone you pass in an effort to blend in even though you’re a total stranger.

Your confusion grows as you come to realize that nothing is familiar. The more you walk, the more the hallways feel like a labyrinth. Or maybe one of those hay mazes at the Pumpkin Patch. The panic starts settling deep in your chest.

You turn the corner and sigh with relief–ahead is a pair of familiar double doors. Thankful, you walk quickly towards them and push through.

The shock of noise hits first. Not a speech, but instead a collage of noise that shouldn’t be there. A whistle blowing. Something slamming against polished wood. Sneakers leaving tread marks. Your eyes adjust to the motion around you and you freeze.

You’ve walked directly into the middle of a basketball game.

The players stop moving and stare in confusion. The crowd turns and stops cheering. The referee lowers his whistle. Heat rushes into your face as dozens of eyes pin you in place. The silence is deafening.

You mumble an apology no one can hear and stumble backward out of the gym.

Your throat tightens. Where is the assembly room?

You try another door nearby. Maybe someone else can help.

It’s a classroom. 

Small children are running around playing loudly. Some of them are arguing with each other while others are crying. The teacher, hair frazzled, is trying to tend to each group to get them back in order. They run in circles around her, ignoring her instructions and drowning out her voice. You look at her pleadingly, hoping she’ll notice you amongst the chaos.

She looks up. There’s no kindness or concern. Not even surprise. Just tired irritation. The kind of expression that makes you feel like a burden for existing.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, already backing away. You’re sure she didn’t hear you. Your eyes are burning now. You shut the door.

The hallway feels even longer than before.

Door after door. Wrong room after wrong room. Every interruption earns another harsh stare, another expression that says you aren’t welcome here. Everyone was trapped in their own trouble; they didn’t have any space for yours. Loneliness begins to creep in as you fight the nagging suspicion that maybe you should just give up already.

In the battle to remain calm, tears begin to slip silently down your face as you wander. It seemed like hours had passed. Every turn leads to another unfamiliar hallway. Hope is sinking quickly now. It feels like you’re in the ocean, fighting to stay above water, until your arms become tired and you realize you’re not going to find the shore.

The thought settles deep into your heart.

You’re never getting out of here.

You turn a corner and see a random stairwell ahead. You don’t remember going up any stairs, but at this point, you’re just wandering in the shadows.

Eyes on the steps, sadness blurring your vision, you begin to go down one by one. The further down you go, the more your hope is diminished. Even the desire for help is gone. No one could save you here.

Then, in the silence, you hear a voice.
It’s gentle; close.

“Why are you crying?”

You look up and scan the figure standing before you.

It’s a man. He’s standing near the bottom of the stairs holding a mop in one hand. His plain uniform is faded from years of wear. Over his heart is a small embroidered name patch:

JANITOR

His eyes are fixed on you with such tenderness that it almost hurts to look at him.

“I’m lost,” you finally whisper. “I can’t find my way out.” The words break something open inside of you. “No one wants me here. I’m so tired. I think I missed the assembly. There’s no point to anything anymore.”

The man’s expression softens. Then, without hesitation, he sets the mop aside and walks a few steps towards you. 

He quietly holds out his hand.

“You don’t have to stay lost,” he says.

You stare at his hand. Earlier, you would have taken it immediately. 

But now? Now you don’t trust that kindness even exists. And you hate yourself for it.

For a moment, he says nothing. Then, slowly, he lowers his hand. Not offended — just sad.

“The door is just down this hallway,” he says softly. “The assembly is still going. I can walk you there if you’d like. I have plenty of time.”

“I’ll find it. Thanks,” you say numbly. You already feel the twinge of regret in your quick response, but stubbornness is a tricky thing, and you turn to walk down the hallway.

After only a few steps, fear begins to return. Deep down, you already know what’s going to happen: You’ll get lost again.

You stop.

Then, slowly, you turn back toward him.

“Actually… do you think you can come with me?”

The Janitor smiles.

It’s not the smile of someone who won an argument. It’s the smile of someone who was waiting for you to ask.

Suddenly, all the bitterness inside you begins to loosen its grip. The rejection. The fear. The ache of feeling unwanted. 
It all starts falling away. Warmth returns to your chest and you feel something you’d given up on: hope.

Real hope.

The Janitor walks towards you and offers his hand once more.