The Girl on the other Side of the Door

It became a place of familiarity. Sitting there on the ground with my knees to one side as I leaned my entire body weight on one arm. My loose hand drawing shapes or spelling out words in the short green carpet. The carpet desperately needed to be replaced. Years of foot traffic after the no shoes in the house rule wore off. Years of multiple pets including a litter of kittens who were birthed in my bedroom closet. I recall watching them all fight over their mother’s nipples finally nestling on top one another and slowly falling asleep as they filled their bellies with warm milk. I felt a sense of pride watching my cat with her babies. I had raised her from a kitten herself and now I watched as she bathed, fed and literally kept these 4 tiny felines alive.

The sequence of events would always repeat and became almost as routine as brushing my teeth or combing my hair. An angry set of footprints marched up the stairs quickly followed by another. The slam of the door became as natural of a sound as the chime on a clock or a creak in the walls. While the door was shut, the sun would set, and the moon would take its place.

Sometimes screams and shouts were heard and sometimes complete silence. Both were equally as deafening. Every few minutes I would sit up straight, place my ear to the door and knock. Each time I increased the effort, and I could feel my knuckles starting to become sore. Although I had been in this place many times before, I still thought that maybe if my knuckles drew blood, they would open the door. At the very least maybe my blood would push them to replace this ugly carpet. The continuous denial of my request was disheartening but I didn’t give up.

As my knocks became louder so did the arguing. The agitation in their voices would rise, the vocabulary becoming more hurtful and vicious. My pestering ways were irritating, and I knew it. It often forced one of them to lose their train of thought which potentially could cost them the argument. When the winner finally emerged, it was never a cause for celebration. Instead, it was a pause in the game. The progression saved to recommence at a later time.

The intensity of the fights varied like the climbs and descents of a mountain. My stomach twisted and tight from the thoughts of the unknown. Would one of them wave their white flag in surrender or would there be a fight to the death? Would we sleep quiet and peaceful that night or would I drown in my tears once again? Either way, I would always dream of another identity than the girl on the other side of the door.

Years later I would leave that home. She would finally leave too. There was no reason to shut the door any longer. The slams and shouts slowly faded and settled back into the foundation. The carpet was finally replaced from an ugly green to a plush natural beige. With more doors open, more light was let in, and all the spaces became brighter. The chaos fizzled away and was replaced with calm and content.

I made my way to new places with doors of my own. Doors I would fight to keep open for whoever wanted to freely pass through them. When the doors would occasionally close, it wasn’t for long. I had people that depended on me. I needed to feed them, bathe them, keep them alive- just like my kittens in the closet.