The Double Hinged Door

Thresholds are supposed to be magical places, right?

Then why do I feed like this door is opening on a portal straight to Hell?

Come to think of it, I’d prefer the flames, screams, and creepy noises. It would at least serve as a warning so I could flee, and never return.

I thought I did, once. By the skin of my teeth.

Why am I back?

I’ve been asking myself that for the past week.

The last time, I had heroically refrained from yanking my hard-earned diploma out of Principal Sourpuss’ reluctant hands, because I’d showed the whole town what a boot-licking kiss-ass this odious excuse for evolution truly was. He didn’t want to give it to me, and it was painfully obvious. I stood there, hand out, eyebrow raised, and the silence stretched.

It was broken by a rather harsh cough. Principal Bunghole looked over my shoulder, startled. There was a lawyer offstage, glaring at him. Arms were not crossed, hands were holding a cell phone, filming it. Evidence, Mister Recto-Cranial Inversion, of course I brought my lawyer to graduation, you damn well better believe I knew you’d pull some last-minute horse crap, and we were prepared.

Folder was reluctantly handed over. I smirked when I took it, opened it right in front of him to make sure the document was there, inspected it for authenticity, then walked off the stage – and right out the door. Stay for the rest of the ceremony? Laughable. Even the ones that hated me in the audience were too busy laughing at Principal Twatwaffle to put up a fuss, though there were quite a few cheering as well.

Not enough to keep me there. Not enough to support me, after what I went through.

Principal Perv and the Coach were drinking buddies. Our school doesn’t care about sports all that much, but the Coach does. So when the star of the football team decided he needed to put the avowed lesbian in her place…

You know how the story goes. I don’t have to go into it.

But I fought, and tried to give as good as I got, and got him good enough to do some damage. He may have forgotten that it’s a bit difficult to move quickly afterwards, and I got in such a good shot to his groin that he was done after that.

The bastard was filming it from his open locker. I grabbed the phone, and Mom went with me to the police station. I was rather proud of leaping across the table to attack the moron who asked what I had been wearing. It took three other cops to pull me off him – and ironically, that’s what convinced them all that I was telling the truth.

The arrest and trial divided the town, because of course it did. Can’t have one of us slurs taking out an All ‘Murican, can you? Well, tough shit. Hopefully he’d have no kids either, ever, if that shot to his nut sack connected the way I hoped it did.

It became academic when he got blitzed and rammed himself into a tree before the trial. Oh, he lived, and the detective assigned to my case and my lawyer dragged his sorry ass in anyway, IVs and splints and all.

The judge, luckily, wasn’t a sports fan. I know it could have easily gone the other way, considering other airtight cases in the past. Handcuffed to his gurney till he healed enough to go right to prison, and no amount of his father whining about “boys will be boys” would sway the judge. I mean, come on! The video showed premeditation, I was screaming NO as loudly as I could, and even the old “but this would kill his career” argument was done the moment he wrapped himself around a tree. DUI and broken bones aren’t a good look when faced with agility drills.

And it turns out I got his gonads good, caused enough scarring to stop him from being a baby injection mold factory. So much for being the golden child, hanging all their family name hopes on his crotch goblins.

So many memories.

Why am I back?

Because I had come back to take care of my parents. The ones who fought for me, aside of me, and had stared down the entire town full of haters and blamers, and stayed, and watched as the haters left. Even the kids that tormented me that last year of high school, were driven out by the force of the organizations that Mom and Dad set up.

And the school was hosting a Pride-friendly craft show. I do love crafts...

Bear was with me. My partner. They identify as a bear. Yes, I did choose the bear, why do you ask? And they are also quite massive, quite protective, and quite effective in the “swat and destroy” method when literal push comes to shove. Bear is a floof, a rock, a boundary, and one helluva human to have your back. We don’t have kids, we have a library. A big one.

And Bear was the only reason I could do this.

Of course this door would be the same one that I had fled from, all those years ago. Both times, since the gym opened onto the same hall.

Funny, it had double hinges. Set the pin right, and it would swing both in and out, like a kitchen door at a restaurant. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? Did it change?

Bear rumbled behind me, a solid presence of muscle and unconditional support. “You can do this, honey. It is a building. The ghosts left a long, long time ago.”

Fallout.

Coach and Principal bounced so fast and hard their spouses divorced them. Lawsuits, settled; I had an amazing nest egg for college and a house and massive amounts of therapy. Meeting Bear in that little café off campus, when they held the door for my rain-soaked self dashing in for my caffeine fix. A smile, an offer, late-night discussions, a friendship that got deeper, more and better offers, sharing a home that now looked like half an elf’s nest, half a bear’s cozy winter den.

“Look. These are adults entering, not kids. Lights are on, and you can see crafty stuff piled inside on brightly-lit tables. Not dark, not bad. Not a place you have to run from ever again.”

I also looked at faces. Some were vaguely familiar, because families share characteristics of course. Freckles on a cheek, a flop of sandy-brown hair, a twist of smile. But none were what I remember, etched in my mind, memories engraved deep with pain and adrenaline.

I took a breath, joined the line going in.

The door loomed dark and bright and welcoming and forbidding.

And I was through, with a rush of air leaving my lungs.

I stepped to the side, drifting away from the stream of people aiming for the admission tables. I thought there would be memories, or flashbacks…

Nothing.

A foyer. One I had been through hundreds of times, coming and going.

Biology that way. English and Lit this way. Offices over there. Auditorium straight ahead, open, with tables crammed on the stage. Gym doors also open, to the right, lights on everywhere. Brighter than I remember – oh. Of course. LEDs took over where incandescents and CFLs failed.

“Hunh. The marquee is different.”

“How?”

“There used to be a zodiac up there, painted by a former graduating class. Virgo was always a popular zone of contemplation, since they saw fit to paint her naked.”

“Stark white seems like a poor substitute.”

“But better for the pearl-clutchers. The mural showed up too many times in the papers and on TV for the nostalgic apologists to smooth it over. I see the pencil marks for a WELCOME sign, but perhaps they ran out of money.”

“Or initiative.” Bear nodded at the line. “Let’s find out if they have some chain mail jewelry, and perhaps in rainbow colors? One can never have enough rainbow jewelry.” I nodded, pulled out a Hamilton for our admission.

I was fine in the hallways. No terrors there.

I was fine in the cafeteria. No ghosts there.

The auditorium was a bit off, since I was remembering the last time I stood there. The shine of the pleather on the folder, the gold embossed on the cover, the hope that this was the last time I had to stand here under the alleged authority of this pervert, thinking a team’s nonexistent chances in the state finals was more important than body autonomy-

“Ooh, honey! Come look!”

Bear had found someone selling little leather dragon pins. Soon I had an ivy one, and they had one in rainbow colors, clipped to our hats.

I had also trod the boards here. It wasn’t just for graduation. Musicals, putting on The Sound of Music, smiling as I joined the chorus in Oklahoma. Always a haven for the queer folk, our theater group was amazing. And fierce. And-

“But, honey, do you need another pair of three-dee printed skull earrings?”

“No, but the skull fidget toy? I don’t have one in that color.”

I didn’t feel watched. I didn’t feel hunted.

Even the gym room itself wasn’t bad. And Bear found a lovely rainbow necklace, the chain mail rings shimmering in soft titanium colors. They looked amazing with it. I was jealous, Bear can carry off bulk jewelry in a way that I can’t. Still trying to channel my inner waif, as Bear says.

But now I was being watched. I could feel it.

Bear, amazingly attuned to my emotions in ways I will never figure out, was suddenly behind me, growling softly at the figure in the corner of the room.

I relaxed a bit. Mop, bucket. Likely the new janitor, whoever replaced Old Man Miller. I made my way over to find out why he was staring.

He bobbed his head and touched his cap as I approached. “Ma’am. Sir? I’m sorry, Old Man Miller told me to watch for you when he retired, but he didn’t give me your preferred pronouns. I apologize.”

Whatever I expected, this wasn’t it. His gaze traveled up, and up. “Wow. That’s a person to have at your back! Also welcome. Old Man Miller showed me your picture, told me your story. Thought you might come back here at some point to exorcise some demons. I keep those locker rooms locked up tight, and I do patrols during the school year. No more what happened to you happening ever again, I won’t allow it. Old Man Miller felt so bad about it, he almost did himself a nasty mischief. Retired, picked me for the job, told me what to do and look out for. Some good will come out of this, somehow. So I’m here. And so are you. And I am at your service.”

I saw the tattoo when he flicked a salute. Ex military. Well suited to taking on high schoolers who don’t know the meaning of the word no.

Bear found their voice before I found mine. “Can we go in?”

“Sure can. You will find things – changed.” He produced that jingling ring of keys I remembered so well, picked the right one without looking. The lock opened with a small click, and he stepped back. “I’ll make sure no one else bothers you by staying here.”

Another door. One that…

I gulped, stepped forward, Bear so close that I could feel their heat.

I was not alone.

It was not dark.

Again, bright lights, fresh paint. School colors, pristine white below, forest green above. Rows of clean lockers, most with shiny locks on them. And above, in the green, an inspirational quote that wasn’t there before: “Discipline is the foundation upon which all success is built. Lack of discipline inevitably leads to failure. -Jim Rohn”

It was so different.

Bear chuckled. “Seems like there’s a new sheriff – I mean coach – in town.”

No stale, sweaty, teen, funk. Faint smells of cleaning agents and body spray.

I walked down the row of lockers, the waxed wooden benches. I was looking for a particular number, but I could see it coming anyway.

Number 202 wasn’t new-painted like the rest. Still a few dents in the door from the fight. I reached out to touch where my head hit, where his elbow met the frame when I slammed…

The only new paint was in the middle, a warning, a reminder. NO MEANS NO. The last word was underlined a few times.

There was no lock.

I opened it.

Inside, the weirdest shrine ever. Taped to the shelf were photocopies of the newspaper article, of when the verdict was read, GUILTY in President Dead type, a good picture of himself being wheeled out of the court room, handcuffs visible on both wrists. And the article, laminated for longevity.

Hunh.

I could feel ghosts, that had long haunted me, fading away.

I didn’t need to stay here.

The janitor flicked another salute as we came out, and he smartly locked up with another cheerful click. “I hope the changes meet with your approval. The new Coach makes sure the kids behave themselves, comes down like the wrath of God Himself when they forget. Teaches History here too, and actually teaches, doesn’t sugarcoat it.”

“Thank you, sir, I appreciate your effort. It’s… amazing. Freeing.”

Bear rustled behind me. “What happened to that piece of crap?”

The janitor looked grim. “Picked a fight with the wrong person in prison, not long after his bones healed up. Let’s just say he’s a permanent fixture in the hospital wing and leave it at that.”

“I guess some don’t ever learn.”

“I guess not.” He nodded, gestured to the room, or maybe the world. “Have a good life, you two, don’t let that moment define you. Live well, the best revenge.”

I smiled, and Bear and I wandered out among the tables again. When I glanced back, he and the mop bucket were gone.

Who would have thought, a locker that served as a tombstone for dead aspirations?

“Oooh, honey, look! I love masks!”

I smiled, and this time, it didn’t feel as stiff. I went to see what treasure Bear had found.