The Door
Where does it lead?
The door loomed in front of Micky. He shifted nervously from one foot to the other, hand tightening on his cane. It was smaller than he remembered, though that always seemed to be the case. Micky placed his hand in the center of the door, feeling the ghost of his childhood driving his movements. He had always hoped to feel some clue of what was hidden behind but never did. And still didn’t.
He heaved a sigh, not sure it was relief or disappointment, and lowered himself to the ground, leaning heavily on his cane. His knees protested but eventually, he sat with his back against the door.
“Hey, Mom. I’m sorry I haven’t been around these past few years,” Micky said to the empty space.
The door had been a mystery to him since he could remember. Nothing he had tried had gotten it to open and he could never find where it led to. Eventually, he gave up looking and it became his secret place. When his mother disappeared, he would come to the door, convinced she was behind it waiting for him.
He would spend long afternoons talking to her, telling her about his day, about how he was bored in class and dreamed of leaving the small town. How he had a crush on a girl but couldn’t build up the courage to talk to her. How years later he did have the courage and eventually they got married. Micky would tell his mother all about his wife, Laura, and how much he wished she could meet her.
“The kids aren’t kids anymore. You’d be so proud of them. Sara’s off teaching kindergarten halfway across the country and Marissa adopted a beautiful little boy with her wife,” he smiled to himself.
Micky closed his eyes and imagined his mother sitting next to him. Her eyes bright with energy, radiant and beautiful like he remembered. I wish I could see them she would say I wish I could see you. Then she would smile at him and brush his hair out of his face like she had done when he was a child.
“You’ve missed it all,” he said, his voice cracking. “You’re gone. Laura — She’s gone too. My whole life has past and you were never there.”
Tears start streaming down his face. His mother would look at him, a sadness hidden in the depths of her eyes. I would have stayed, you know that. I never wanted to leave you.
“But you did,” Micky yelled. The echoes reverberated down the alleyway. He took a deep breath.
“You did leave,” he whispered. I’m here now, love. He imagined her placing her hand on his. He felt warmth blossom on his right hand. Micky opened his eyes.
His mother sat next to him. He looked down at where their hands touched, her nails painted her favorite shade of green. Just like he remembered.
“I’m here now,” she said. “I’m never leaving again.”
He stared at her, wide-eyed. “How?”
“Come on,” She stood and gestured for him to follow. Micky followed her out of the alleyway, leaving a husk of an old man slumped on the steps of a door that led both nowhere and everywhere.
Kes Johnson is a writer, rock climber, and language enthusiast. She enjoys reading and writing in most genres but loves science fiction and fantasy the most.
