if this doorway could talk

it has been so very long- i have been writing- but not blogging.  be patient with me.  this started one day as i walked down my stairs and truly saw my doorway in a new light.  enjoy!  all my thanks as always!

If this doorway could talk. It would tell you of a crush- a possibility- which gave birth against its neighboring wall as he picked her up once as they continued in their kissathon side by side but never again. He never did cross the space between outside and inside again.

The doorway would tell you about the box spring that didn't fit through it. It never made its way in and after hours of trying super burritos and Mexican cokes in their respective bottles were their own solace.

It would tell you how casual sex died for me. The door felt the brunt of my choice to sleep with someone I hadn't known well enough. I didn't know he had a girlfriend. Knowing. And months later. She found my doorway and beat it as if it was me and doorbell screaming in tones of a woman scorned and every word you could call a woman that you would want to destroy. Casual sex died for me and I walked with a kombucha bottle to protect myself until I got that pepper spray.

It would tell you of the Chinese food some cheap- some voted best in the country and pizza that crossed over into my hands. Always definitely a man delivered. Mostly to eat alone. Sometimes to share.


It would tell you that my parents come across its wooden bones only twice. Once when I had surgery. Second time when I graduated a week later. It yearns for another visit.

The doorway would tell of a fall first kiss after a date that resulted in me standing on one leg- good thing for yoga - other leg wrapped up towards him. It would tell you how the door opened and closed in indecision. He left. And returned. It would tell you how I said goodbye to him many visits later. And meant it. The wood felt the weight of my feet-my sorrow expressed in a heavy heart silently. I closed the door slowly and meaningfully. And walked back up to the reality of it all.

The doorway would tell you about the pounding through of the excitement of the rushing to change or find refugee in the couch or the soaring in my post yoga or run glow. It would tell you once I opened it braless in short shorts answered the door to Jehovah witnesses- who said they were looking for Spanish speakers. I told them necesito practicar and they handed me in a brochure in Spanish.

It would tell you once I needed help crossing its barrier as my father held me walking up the stairs swimming in the sea of sedation and incisions freshness of a surgery. It would tell you I wished for someone to knock upon it. More than once. It would tell you that my drunken feet had slide through it and sometimes how I put the wrong key into its keyhole. And how I would take a moment before taking on the hill of stairs. A reprieve. Hoping I can make the climb in my drunken feet. Not so much anymore.

The doorway would tell you the smile I get on my face as I look through it to greet a friend. Or the hope I have some days when I close it- something is beginning-something about being home. It would tell you I always double check. Double check it is locked.

The doorway sees me in my quiet moments of pausing after closing the door. I lean against its core. It would tell you how often I reach it just to run away again. Always forgetting something- always carrying more than one bag- my life long ode to the bag lady.

It will tell you of the most recent new beginning. Of being lifted in front of it more than once-our new ritual. Lifting. The perfect way to say goodbye to a new beginning of excitement and uncertainty wrapped into one of those desires I have held onto for so very long. The doorway sees my smile shone in my eyes that only newness can hold as I close it and make my ascend back home. It sees the questions move from my face to my head to my heart rapidly. And repeated.  Again.

This doorway. I barely recognize it. Or talk to it. But this doorway has seen so much. Of me. I never say thank you. Or hello. Or anything. I take this doorway for granted. But it has allowed the outside world into me and protected me when I needed it. Observing and holding.

I need to do more. Fix its blinds. Redo its varnish. Pay this protector some homage. It has seen so many of my beginnings and ends. It reminds me of the middle parts because I forget. I need to remember. It wasn't until I listened.

As I walked slowly down the good friend of stairs-30 and counting- I glanced at the doorway in the tunnel of lights and remembered. Remembered the doorway into my house knows me better than some of my closet friends. It would tell you of those who crossed its embrace and knowing that more will tomorrow and the next day. Opening and closing this door. The doorway. Where everything begins and ends. The doorway-the keeper of letting people in and out of my life. The keeper. The protector. Of. Me.