Another Opening

 

By Russ Bickerstaff

Somewhere in the midst of everything, there’s this door. It’s a totally normal door and everything. It's a simple door. Nothing out of the ordinary about it at all in any way. And it's been opened 1 million times. But this time there's something different about it. Something different about the way. It twists and swings. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that it's not actually on a wall anymore. It's been removed somehow. Not necessarily physically, but certainly existentially. The door has been existentially moved to somewhere el and it's not exactly where it was. It is not exactly where it needs to be. But it's been opened anyway. And there's something wrong with that. Because it doesn't feel right to anyone who happens to walk by.

 

And two people are walking by seeing this door that might be open it might be not, and it might be connected to a wall, and it might not. And they are just not exactly certain that they're actually saying anything at all. But it certainly seems as though they probably are. Because why would they be doing anything at all if they were noticing that door? It seems to be the center of everything. And certainly it seems to be the center of attention at this moment. But not for anyone in particular. So it's just there. Right where it needs to be.

 

And it's possible that somebody had opened it to go inside. But it's also possible that someone opened it to go on the other side of it. And that's possible too. But whatever it is, that is the case, the door is certainly open. And somebody had forgotten to close it. So I just sort of hung open. And it perhaps detached from the wall that it was a part of. And now whoever happened to walk through it probably didn't exactly remember having done so. Because a door like that doesn't necessarily get remembered. Once it gets detached from the wall, it'll get detached from memory as well. And whoever walk through, it might not necessarily remember where they were before they did so.

 

That person who walked through the door, has probably been forgotten by the door as well. Not the doors necessarily always remember the people who walk through them. They are, after all, doors. Most the doors don't have any kind of memory at all. At least none of that other people walking through them would have any knowledge of. And so it's a pretty good chance that this particular door had completely forgotten who it was, who walked through it to cause it to detach from the wall and people’s memories.

 

And show the door is just going to continue to float our lawn, completely untethered by any other form of architectural feature. It's just there with its handle to hanging ever so slightly open. The lads just sort of fumbling around in the open space. And it's all just kind of there. And most people would notice it but for the fact that it doesn't really fit into anybody's rental comprehension. And since everybody else is just a little too busy to take on the knowledge that a door is both there and not there, it doesn't really meet with anybody's full understanding.

 

And having been completely unmoored from the wall, it was a part of, the door begins to have a sort of consciousness. It has to sort of understand that it doesn't actually fit into anywhere. It may find itself turning to address the wall that it had once been a part of. And it may in some way recollect, the whole, to dilation that it used to have a purpose. But the door doesn't have a purpose anymore. It's just floating out there in open space not actually being acknowledged by anyone because it doesn't actually make sense for it to be there in the first place.

 

And maybe the door begins to drift by other doors, which clearly aren't detached. And then maybe it begins to understand something about itself. Maybe it begins to understand a certain kind of displacement. But it's looking at these other doors that aren't necessarily looking back at it. Because they don't have consciousness. And these other doors are simply they are being pushed open and pushed closed and things of that nature. And maybe the door begins to realize that it's not quite as it had been. And maybe it's not quite looking at what it is. No definite reflection at this stage. Just another possibility.

 

Having realized that it has an identity that the rest of its kind a like the sides that it's not a door at all. It might've been at one point. But it's not anymore. So it simply begins to drift. Matt realizes that in movement and motion it is less architecture and more identity. And as there are so many others walking by wearing identity, it decides to do so more openly as well. Before long it's not actually drifting so much as it is gambling. Walking. Like the rest of the people who wear identity. The door feels a little bit more comfortable. Finds itself shrugging a little bit more into a pair of shoulders.

 

The door continue to walk. But it wasn't really doing a very good job of it. It had to be close attention to others. The sun climbed into the sky muffled by clouds and the occasionally bit of precipitation. The door was halfway down the block before it realized that I had forgotten something. I didn't know what I had forgotten. I just looked back. Looked around. Made eye contact with a few people. And continued to move forward. Whatever it was that I had forgotten, I knew that it was going to remember eventually. It just had to figure out what it needed to do. And once it figured out what it needed to do, all would be well.

About the author:

Russ Bickerstaff is a critic and author living in Milwaukee, WI.