When is a door not a door
The walnut door seems impossibly tall to the 3 yr old.
Behind it the Judge says, "your mother and father aren't going to be living together anymore. Where would you like to go if you could pick"
The flimsy white door of a mobile home where she grows up for years with her father. He's attentive, thoughtful and playful.
The white door with the golden knob she slams in her father's face. She packs to leave. I'm moving in with mom and Don!
The French door with the sheer curtain. She can see him on the other side. She prays as she lays in her bed. Please not tonight...make him go away God, please not tonight again.
The doors are all locked. The special door is industrial green on one side, padded on the other. There is wire reinforcing in its mean little window. She screams, cries, and is reduced to nothing behind that door. When she's let out the other children remind her.. Play the game, tell them what they want to hear, you'll go home if you do. And she does.
Doors to the police station, where she tells over and over and over. Doors to the court room. The door that opens slowly, bitterly to the words Not Guilty.
Dozens, no hundreds of doors later.
The door to the hospital room. With a hand written sign "DO NOT ASK MRS RED IF SHE'S HAD HER EPIDURAL. 8 hrs later behind that door a reason to live again is born.
The door to personal freedom and independence was brown metal with a broken window she replaces with plywood. But it's hers. And she's more or less content for the first time in here life.
I wrote the proceeding sections of this probably 6 1/2 years ago. I found it tucked into a book while I was reorganizing after my return from the trip. Needless to say the rest is new.
The red door missing the number 1. Trust grows again. The most fragile of flowers, Bruised easily, but the most wonderful bloom of all. The fruit, however, is bitter sweet.
The mint green door of a lonely bedroom. With a lonely bed. One day the door will open and happiness will stand on the other side.
Behind it the Judge says, "your mother and father aren't going to be living together anymore. Where would you like to go if you could pick"
The flimsy white door of a mobile home where she grows up for years with her father. He's attentive, thoughtful and playful.
The white door with the golden knob she slams in her father's face. She packs to leave. I'm moving in with mom and Don!
The French door with the sheer curtain. She can see him on the other side. She prays as she lays in her bed. Please not tonight...make him go away God, please not tonight again.
The doors are all locked. The special door is industrial green on one side, padded on the other. There is wire reinforcing in its mean little window. She screams, cries, and is reduced to nothing behind that door. When she's let out the other children remind her.. Play the game, tell them what they want to hear, you'll go home if you do. And she does.
Doors to the police station, where she tells over and over and over. Doors to the court room. The door that opens slowly, bitterly to the words Not Guilty.
Dozens, no hundreds of doors later.
The door to the hospital room. With a hand written sign "DO NOT ASK MRS RED IF SHE'S HAD HER EPIDURAL. 8 hrs later behind that door a reason to live again is born.
The door to personal freedom and independence was brown metal with a broken window she replaces with plywood. But it's hers. And she's more or less content for the first time in here life.
I wrote the proceeding sections of this probably 6 1/2 years ago. I found it tucked into a book while I was reorganizing after my return from the trip. Needless to say the rest is new.
The red door missing the number 1. Trust grows again. The most fragile of flowers, Bruised easily, but the most wonderful bloom of all. The fruit, however, is bitter sweet.
The mint green door of a lonely bedroom. With a lonely bed. One day the door will open and happiness will stand on the other side.
posted by Anonymous at
8:37 PM
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