Drum of the Door

I thought I was alone, but the drum of the door is loud in the quiet. My ears must pardon as it is not the door's fault. What a wooden beauty. Deep red and polished it stands locked and latched to the frame. It almost allows a person to stare at it all day, get blissfully lost, and call themselves an art enthusiast. Almost. Oh how that door has saved me. So many times that pounding of the drum has come and gone, sticks of great force and human flesh. Yet I have remained safe inside. However, this instance has the little hairs on my back trying to flee. No three knocks separated by a short intermission, no knocking in a combination, no secret knock, no single confident knock, and no muffled screaming to get my attention. This time the order is horrendous, and the hits dramatically increase and decrease in intensity with no tell. Why are they not aborting this attempt? I tiptoe over to the wooden beauty. It is as if the door is unsteady and pushing itself farther from me, and my heart can't take the pace. What lurks beyond?

This is not my first tiptoeing mission. I am a silent agent. By now I know every creak in my floorboard and how to avoid such sounds. The last steps being the most important as I must get just close enough to peek through the hole to see the world outside. As I lift myself to take a glimpse, I am temporarily blinded by harsh rays of light. There did not appear to be a face, no outline, only an illumination too bright for such a small visible entrance. I collapse to the floor in tears. I try to communicate.

"My walls are dark, the curtains darker, at the moment my head even darker than them both. Why must you shine?"

Silence creeps in following my voice.

"My eyes are in pain. Please leave me be. Shine somewhere else."

The knocking continues with no answer to my question or an action of sympathy. As the circles in my vision start to fade from the light, I stand once more growing with anger while the tears still drip confusingly.

My voice now raises with cracks of raw emotion, "Tell me why are you here? Why are you not going away? Do you wish me harm?... Do you need help? I cannot help anyone! I cannot even help myself! Please leave!"

The knocking still comes.

I run to the kitchen. No need to avoid the creaks anymore since I have made my presence known. I grab the carving knife from the block that it sat in. Back to the door I head as I grip the knife's handle. It feels like if I loosen my grip and the knife slips and lands on the floor, I would be the one falling and it would never stop. If it will not leave, then I must make it go.

The cold of the knob sends a shiver up my arm. Now unlocked, I turn it until it is released from its hold. I swing open the wooden beauty and what I saw confirmed for me how the birds flying in my head had it right. I must be cuckoo. There is no possible way that what stands in front of me can be real. A figment it must be, yes. A hallucination, one of broken dreams and innocence. One that had not yet breathed in the black fog. There is an aura that makes it hard to tell completely, but in my heart, I know that is her. It feels like forever since she has been gone. She died back when I had come to the realization that I could not control anything. Knowing I would live tortured as a puppet with strings too tight to break loose from. There is not much to say here. I am certain she is aware that I have tainted who she once was.

The illumination starts to lessen, and the shape appears clearer. She reaches to my hand – the one strangling the knife. I allow her to take it as I have no reason to harm her any further.

"I have missed you all these years, long and miserable," I announced sincerely.

I begin to see her childlike face which brings a warmth to me like my soul has received a hug that was perfectly snug. The warmth turns quickly into a sharp pain in my torso. I do not want to look away from her face, but I find my eyes wandering lower and towards myself.

Drip. Plop. Drip. Plop.

“I forgive you, and I thank you.”

“I forgive you too. There is no worrying past this point. It is time for us to rest.”

In the pain I have found healing just as through time these words have found me here at my home.