Doors like this can appear anywhere—in your basement, in your relationships, in your dreams. This door was all too familiar in my early house.
This house was rather pristine, although no more unique than all the other pop-up suburban houses that neighbored it. Most suburban doors are white adorned with indented rectangular quadrants with a gold-plated door handle. I would knock on this particular door often. It was always cold on my knuckles and my muscles tensed upon finding the handle constantly immovable. The door kept more out than letting anything in.
“Hey, can I come in?”
The door spat back, “No. Go do something constructive—like read a book.”
“I just haven’t seen you..”
The door would sometimes yell and scream in different voices. It acted like I wasn’t there listening, but I was. When I heard the lock pop, I would scurry away, only to come back later in the night to listen to it whisper. My name came up often, but it spoke of things beyond me. Sometimes, I thought the door was hurting because I could hear it moaning and panting at night. Then sometimes it was completely silent, no matter how many times I asked for it to open.