Random Acts Of Storytelling
Page 4
Stepping Out
Colleen stood at one end of the entryway, the front door waited at the other end. It was a five month game of chicken between her and the door. There was nothing to physically stop Colleen from approaching and opening the door yet she felt it physically, her stomach knotting, the sweats, the dizziness, all growing worse the closer she got to the door. She knew this had to end.
Today she had promised Bill she would do it. Today she would open the door and make the journey to her mailbox. Thirty feet down the walkway to the curb then back inside. Bill said he knew she could do it; Colleen had her doubts.
Bill had become the rock, pillar, and anchor during these last five months. He’d always been a reliable, caring, and patient boyfriend. His strength, now, caused her to love him even more.
Colleen pulled her cell phone from her pocket and called Bill on his. Bill was never without his cell phone these days and answered immediately.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hi, Bill. Where are you?”
“On the porch, ready to go.”
“You could just open the door since you’re out there,” Colleen suggested.
“I could, but that would defeat today’s purpose.”
Colleen could hear the smile in his voice.
“I know,” she agreed. “I’ll just be a few more minutes.”
“I know,” Bill replied. “Take your time.”
They said their good byes and hung up. The conversation could have been just as easily conducted by opening the door. But that was the problem, wasn’t it?
Turning her back to the door, Colleen entered the living room. Everything was perfect; laid out on an invisible grid only she could see and that everything had to conform to. The three magazines on the coffee table were feathered evenly as well as in alphabetical order. The flower vase was as exactly centered on the table as the human eye could judge. Books on the bookcase were librarian perfect. Figurines were in military parade perfection. The lines in the carpet, left by the vacuum were in precise parallel order. There was nothing to be done here. Perhaps in the bedroom?
In the hall, on the way to her bedroom, Colleen stopped to fidget with the framed photographs that always seemed to need adjusting. She’d spent a week rearranging pictures and re-driving nails. Then she had to spackle the dozens of extra holes which then required her repainting the hall. She’d considered replacing the carpet at that point but Bill had managed to talk her down.
In the center was the most important picture. It was a picture of her family, frozen in time. Other pictures, like the ones of her and Bill, would be replaced from year to year, mile marking their adventures through time. But the picture of her family, her parents and her brother, could never be changed.
Absentmindedly Colleen adjusted a few pictures and moved on to her bedroom.
Once there she pulled open the folding doors of one closet and stepped back to look at her clothes. The clothes were ordered by color following the rainbow with white preceding and black following. Shades of color went from lightest to darkest and then from shortest to longest if the same shade of color.
This morning she’d pulled everything out to find something to wear. After that she’d re-hung everything in the only appropriate order she could stand. She had always felt compelled to put things in her idea of order, feeling uncomfortable until she did. Bill knew to keep closets, drawers, and cupboards closed when she visited his place. Of course that hadn’t happened for months.
Back in the entryway she again held her staring contest with the door. She was half the distance closer than before. Her stomach shifted nauseously. No one could understand the gut wrenching, the bursts of sweat on her palms, or the way the world seemed to shift sideways across her vision as she merely contemplated opening the door. The last time she had been there, opening the door to greet her family, she’d found a sheriff and one of their department psychologists.
However, this time she knew Bill was there waiting. There would be no surprises. Still that wasn’t all they had to do. The goal was the mailbox. Would she be able to do it, with everything out there pressing in on her? The sky overhead, cars zipping mindlessly by, children obliviously playing, everyone unaware that life could change without warning.
Colleen pushed the palm of her left hand to her forehead. She pushed at the pressure, trying to push it away. Five months was too long, she was a stronger person than this. She reached out and opened the door.
On the porch Bill turned and looked up from where he sat on the stoop. He had been reading a newspaper. A Starbucks cup was at his feet and an oversized paper shopping bag was by his side.
“Afternoon, sweetheart,” Bill said, folding the paper and climbing to his feet.
“Afternoon? Already?”
“Already. You ready?”
He set the newspaper and coffee cup off to the side of the door. Colleen fought the impulse to put the sections in order and then refold the paper so that it laid straight.
“What’s in the bag?”
“I’ll show you,” Bill said and reached into the bag, pulling out a baseball cap that coordinated with the clothes Colleen had on.
“If you put it on,” he explained, “it might block out a lot of the stuff that distracts you.”
“Oh, okay,” Colleen said, pulling the cap on low to block out the sky. “Why such a large bag for just a baseball cap?”
With a slightly embarrassed laugh Bill opened the bag to reveal to Colleen eight other caps that covered the range of colors in her closet.
“I wasn’t sure what you were going to wear so I had to plan accordingly.”
Colleen could only smile. Bill was always thinking, trying, and mostly just being patient.
“So? Let’s do it?”
“All the way to the mailbox?”
“That’s it,” agreed Bill, offering his hand.
“Well, maybe there’s no mail. We could wait until tomorrow?”
“I’ve already check. Someone sent you a card. It’s a Hallmark.”
“Who would send me a card?”
“I would.”
There were no more excuses. Ignoring the world pressing in, Colleen took Bill’s hand, squeezing it firmly. She took a deep breath and stepped back out into the world.