the door

I went outside to do something. At the moment, I can’t seem to recall why. Regardless, I am out here. I look around and there are dark clouds moving in, threatening to open up and unleash torrential rain. The ground is barren and rocky. It is bone chilling cold. And quiet. I take a deep staggering breath. I realize I am still outside.

I go back toward the house. The glass door stares back at me. My reflection doesn’t look like me. I walk up to it and press my face to the glass. My breath comes out and fogs the door. I can’t see anyone, but I know they are in there. I can hear the music. I smell the food. The lights are on and it feels like a party. Where is everyone?

I knock. I hear myself say, “Hello? Can you hear me?” But there is no one.

I remember my car keys are in my pocket. I could just walk around to the front. That would mean climbing over the fence. But I could do it. I know I could. I just keep hoping someone will open the door. Don’t they know I am out here? Don’t they realize that I am gone?

I look in again and see someone walk past the doorway. But they don’t stop.

I knock again. Louder this time. HELLO?

I feel the keys – heavy. Jingling.

I walk tentatively over to the side of the house. I crane my neck around to see. There are weeds sticking out of the ground thinking they will take over, but eventually they will get pulled out and tossed aside. Our orange tree is leaning over as if it wants to just lay on the ground and take a rest. The ominous brick fence looks fifty feet tall. Happiness is just over that I think.

But instead I turn around and go back to the door. Waiting. Hoping.

Hours go by. What seem like hours. Maybe just minutes. I don’t really know.

I pull a chair over to the door and sit. I lay my head in my hands and feel the tears start to fall. It feels good to cry. Feels like forever since I was able to cry. I keep asking God to help me. Make the pain go away.

I see the exit. But I don’t move.

I think I see someone approach the door.

I jump up, but it’s nothing. Just false hope. I am used to that. False hope. It lies within me and eats me alive.

I keep thinking someone will see me. Come rushing to the door, fling it open and pull me in. Throw a blanket around my knotted, fatigued shoulders and give me a hug. With relief in the their voice they tell me, we have looked all over for you. Worried they were. I would feel needed. I would feel loved.

Instead, I feel lonely and hollow.

I sit and I wait

The keys taunt me. You can do it. You can be free. It will be rough. You will have a few cuts and bruises, but they will be manageable. Just get up and go around the side. Now. Come on.

And yet I can’t seem to make my feet move. My heart just isn’t in it.

I sit and wait. Sporadic hope floats in and rejuvenates me. Why do I feel hope? How is it not squashed by now?

And then fear clutches at me. I could die out here. I don’t want to die.
Why can’t I just get up and leave? Why? It’s killing me to stay here. I know it.

Get angry, I tell myself. Fight for yourself.

But I can’t. I have too much at stake. I have to see this through.
I twist the ring on my third finger. It sparkles. It is truly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. On occasion it has made me smile. Full of memories. But what good has it done for me? Heart ache. Hurt. I want to throw it away, but I can’t part with it. It is a part of me. Just as those people inside are too.

But like an endless, excruciating cycle, I sit here and wait. Hoping, but nevertheless waiting.