Behind the Grey Door

Inside my house are many doors, each a different color.

These doors are mine. 

It is up to me whether they are slightly open or closed and locked.  I know that each room, behind each door, holds what is remebered and even what is forgotten. 

It’s all there. 

Each room is the same size. They came into being as conscious space for me as a little girl. 

I have been filling these rooms and choosing the colors to paint these doors. There are no empty rooms left.

When I can fit no more memory into a particular room, I  remove a few things that will not be missed. Or at least I must presume they will not be missed, since I no longer remember what is destroyed. 

Today I will pick the lock of one of these rooms that has been padlocked for 50 years. 50 years is a long, long time. The lock is rusty. There is no key. Or at least I don’t think there is a key. That would be too easy. I am destined to work at this. Otherwise I would have been given the key along the way somewhere. 

Today I stand before the darkest of the doors. It is so old that years of stormy weather has beaten the black into grey. I am surprised at how small the lock is.  Instead of the hairpin I thought I might use to gain acess, I decide to try a slightly remembered combination.

...Right around twice, then stop at eleven, left to twelve and right to nineteen and left to forty-six. 

 Silence.

   Nope, that’s not it. Try one more combination.

...Right around twice, stop at eleven (again), left to thirteen and right to nineteen (again) and left to seventeen. CLICK!  

Hey, that’s it!  

The combination into this dark and dusty little room is not MY birthdate but my mother’s.  

Alright then. 

I have now opened this creeky grey door and I think I am ready to poke around inside.

But, before I step over the threshold... 

There is a comfy looking easy chair right out here in the hallway. Let me take a rest here first. I relax into the soft chair and hold the padlock in my hand. Yes, it really is a cold, old lock. It has only been used for one thing for these last fifty years and that is to keep this room locked up, no entry by anyone, especially me. 

I have decided that I will take my camera with me into this room because I may see something that I will never believe later, if I don’t have proof. A record of what I find might be useful. I might toss what I find.

Or maybe I will manipulate what I find there. 

Why not? 

It’s mine.

I will not need this padlock again, so I throw it in the garbage. No use to try to recyle something this inexcuseable. 

After a sip from my teacup I get up and prepare to finally go exploring. But first I pull open all the other doors, just an inch or two. I don’t want any one of them to get stuck shut just from the suction that I expect, when I open this door. It is a phenomenon I have read about. Opening a door that has been locked for fifty years can cause others to close and get stuck that way for a very long time.