(no subject)
IMAGINE A door. You don’t have to imagine it, because it is right here in front of you. You see the ornate decorations. You see the gold trim. You feel the molding. The molding that was broken by a baseball and had to be replaced. You know that the door is ancient and has been on the house since it was built in the early 1800’s. You know that when the house comes down, the door will go with it. You reach for the handle. The door is locked. Now you need a key, so you find the key. The skeleton key opens every door in the house. You open the door. Inside you see the house. It is the house that your grandparents left you, who received it from their grandparents, and so on. You remember when you were little and came to visit. You can taste the candy and smell the mothballs. This is home. The door has opened your home.
Imagine a car. You are in the car. You see the yellow interior. You hear the opera music. You smell the sweet perfume. It is your first car. It is your first day driving. What do you do? Where do you go? Do you stop to say hello to your friends, to show off your new car? Or do you instead take a long drive away from everyone? You decide to take a long drive. Suddenly it is night. You don’t know where you are. It starts to rain. Out of nowhere a truck comes straight at you. What just happened, you wonder as you start to wake up. All you can see is an EMERGENCY ROOM sign as two white doors open.
Imagine a gun. You see the leather holster. You see the brass snaps that keep it in place. You feel the tremors run up your spine as you think of the damage that it can induce. The guard walks to your room and announces dinner. Where am I, you wonder. You hear the yelling of many others. You feel utter sadness. You are engulfed by the loss of hope. Someone in the distance is singing. You know the song but can’t remember it. You sense fear. Another guard walks by, this time to yell at you. “Why weren’t you at dinner,“ he wants to know. “Because dinner won’t be served again, and you know the rules.” But you don’t know the rules. Nothing makes sense. You see the gun again. He takes it out, as if to warn you, to taunt you. And then you remember. It was a gun that put you in here. Must get out! Must get out! You start to run, but the metal bars stop you. The rust has started to peel. You feel freedom in your hands, so close, yet so far. What do you do? The door is in your way.
Imagine a pencil. You see the yellow grip. You feel the white eraser. You pick it up. Suddenly you are entranced by the melancholy that overcomes you. It is as if you have just entered another world. One where the only feeling is happiness. Suddenly, you are inclined to write. You pick out a piece of white lined paper and begin to write. But something stops you. The voice of a young lady in the background intrigues you and captures your attention. What is she saying? Who is she talking to? You wander aimlessly, hoping to catch of glimpse of the body that holds the voice. “Come in,” she waves to you. “ We’ve all been waiting for you.” Who has, you wonder. You walk in, and take a seat next to her. She begins to write on the board. And then you remember. Your writing got you into the class. She is the Pulitzer Prize winning professor. You had finally gotten into the class. What do you do now? Something pokes you. You reach into your pocket and pull out something familiar. What’s this doing here, you wonder. Bang, bang, bang. The professor gathers everyone together, and hides behind the door.
Imagine a coat. You know that it is white, but it looks yellow. You know that it is cotton, but feels like Velcro. You notice a nametag, Dr. Antle. You see the pen she is holding, the paper she is writing on. She look into her eyes, what is she thinking, you wonder. “Tell me again what happened,” she says. What is she talking about, you wonder. “Are we going to pretend it didn’t happen again,” she suggests. This must be a dream, you decide. But she doesn’t stop. You hear the frustration grow in her voice. The lights start to hurt your eyes. You notice the mirror, the room length mirror like in the movies. The walls are all white. You suddenly become afraid. She senses your fear, senses your anger. A guard is called in. You remember now. This can’t be happening, get me out. He slams the door.
What just happened? Imagine this. A chain reaction, one might say. You were blessed with wealth. You were blessed with brains. Your family bought you a brand new car for your 16th birthday, but you already knew this. The accident, you must have realized it was an accident, was the catalyst. After the accident, life became a little more precious. You worked even harder to get into the class. But once you got in, you realized that the class was a joke. No one thinks like you do. No one appreciates life. So why not make them appreciate it. When the gun pokes you, you remember why it was there. You get up, walk into the hallway, and open fire. This brings you to jail. But jail, they soon realize, is not right for you. Something isn’t right in your head. Something will always be off. This brings you to the mental institution. And here you are now, wondering how to get out. The precious door is keeping you out. The door that opened your home, the door that saved your life, the door that kept you away from freedom, the door that kept the students safe… the door that is keeping you locked up. “There’s no way out,” they all tell you. But they don’t know that you’ve still got something that they don’t know about. They don’t know that you’ll be out. They never knew anything. The house, you think to yourself, will be coming down soon…