The Doorway

The Doorway / flash



Rachael didn’t feel threatened by this thing, and this pleased and perplexed her in equal measure. The daylight hours that brought a dimming of her eyes led to their closing by nightfall. She felt it was a temporary closing, and perhaps this was why she felt a wonder as to the cause of such a thing. Or, more importantly, the lack of one. She tried, from time to time, to open them, and the effort was straining, but even this didn’t cause her worry. This was a curiosity, and she loved curiosities.
A good and honest word for her life, she thought. Her parents often called her a precocious child; she decided it fit, if not defined her, and she saw no reason to change as she grew in years. But now, on the eve of her twenty-eighth year, curiosity had become a strange thing. She spent time asking herself why this should be visited upon her, knowing that any possible answer wouldn’t matter. Everything told her her eyes would open in time, and then she would have something to talk about.
But this mystery that had come to her did not follow the rules she had defined. For as the time for simple curiosity passed and grew to one of concern and then to worry, she saw her wonder over this thing vanish. She usually didn’t get frightened, and tried hard not to this time, but she was in new territory now, the effort she employed in trying to open her eyes frustrating and painful. Why won’t my eyes open? She thought. And then the scariest thing, What if they never do?

With these questions serving to strengthen her efforts, Rachael’s eyes began to open, and fright started to leave her. Remarkable, she thought, how senses can dissipate from one minute to the next. Wonder returned to her, yes, but not completely. Perfectly agreeable. The happiness she felt was that of overcoming something, a thing that she may not easily, or ever, understand. But, this didn’t seem to matter.