The Closet Door

Midnight Wonderings of the Closet Door



If there was a tapping on the door, I should have heard it.

         I did and I didn’t-

                   if you’ll allow me to explain:

I’ll hear what I want to hear, is the explanation I’ve been told. I didn’t think it was something I had wanted to hear but I heard it anyway- that can be our secret, for if anyone asked, no matter how much they pleaded, I would tell them I didn’t hear a thing.

That door was something I despised with every ounce of my being, yet I was drawn to it like a magnet, listening to it and watching rainbows spill from the beveled glass doorknob.

I was morbidly intrigued.

It was always closed, I kept it that way, always locked,

         shut with a lock and a key and

                   kept that way with a doorstop.

When I do open it, which at times I must, not by my choice at all, it is a closet, with some of my clothes and a few pairs of shoes. All the other times, when I think of opening it just to prove it still is simply a closet whether or not I need something inside it, I don’t because I can never be quite sure that it will still be a closet on the other side.

You think I’m crazy, I know it. People tell me so often enough.

My fear of the door is about as logical as my fear of the dark, but that fear is an ancient phobia, it exists timelessly, so long I’ve long since forgotten why it started in the first place.

         Back to my point, there was a tapping on the door –from the other side that is- inside the closet.

                   That I had decided was eerily impossible, it was a closet right?

But I never really believed that, so tapping on the door sounded almost logical. Logical doesn’t mean that I like it. I despised the door, the tapping, and most of all, the beveled glass knob.

         The doorknob shook, twisting with a squeal. I secured the doorstop beneath the door- just in case. I really hated ‘just in case’ because it meant that it could be the case; that I needed a backup plan at all, especially one so apt to fail.

         The door didn’t open,

I was lucky that time.

         I wonder about this, my reality from yours, from everyone else's.

                   If I worry, will you?

                             If not, would you believe my tale,

                                       my story,

                                                 my truth?