~Through the Door ~

~The Door~
The air this day is hot, humid. I choose the seat closest to the old, rattling fan. The constant hum of the ancient motor is reassuring. My shoulders begin to relax, my eyelids close. I sleep for what seems only for a few seconds when suddenly the driver stops and announces this is where I am to get off.

He instructs me to continue down the alley to the french, blue door. He pats my hand as he hands me a large, black key. The touch of his hand is filled with kindness. I feel a prickle down my neck. This is always the first sign my fear is about to interfere with what I am trying to accomplish. I am afraid. I feel the need to turn back as I view the long alley way. I swallow hard, and slowly walk to the door.

The temperature seems ninety and I shield the sun from my eyes. Finally, I am in front of number eleven. The gloss paint upon the door is lovely. I run my hands across it. It's smoothness and even texture consoles me.

All the hardware is jet black, running around the sides and top of the door. Black nail heads are riveted into it's edges. I play with the key nervously and stare at the over-sized oblong lock. Instinctively I know it's time to go in. I put the key in the hole and turn left, the sound is clanging, permanent. I debate pushing on the tall structure when I feel instant coolness - it draws me in.

Patricia
Posted by Picasa