The Door was Heavy

You had to lean your whole body against the steel bar to open it.

The bar was a rectangular slab across the width of the door.

You had to lean against it until it pressed in and released the lock.

The click was loud and metallic. There was a smell too 

of metal and cold and stale air….like it would be in a submarine,

although I’ve never experienced that. This door is familiar. 

I’ve pressed against it many times. 

It led me somewhere, I just can’t remember where. 

What’s on the other side? Fresh air? Cement? Darkness? 

It feels like a blank and yet the door—the pressing against it—the click and release of the lock—-all of this, keeps repeating over and over…like a meme. 

The solid feel of metal against my shoulder—the urgency—the wanting to be outside—all of this is in the push, the weight moving, the door opening. 

Of course it is a symbol—a cliché. 

I want to leave—to pass through to another reality—past the heaviness

past the closed-in smell of metal and the cold of steel against my shoulder. 

Where do I want to go? 

I must have been young, I now realize, because it was my shoulder that was against the bar. And I had to push hard. A school door? out to the school yard? I should go back—-back to Toronto—back to St. Thomas Aquinas School—one entrance marked Girls—another for Boys. I should check and see if there is a door like the one in my memory. But is that what’s important? Do I need/want to connect with that much shorter version of myself—-the one who acted from a place of raw nerves—like a new arrival—an immigrant to a foreign country—eyes wide open looking for the way—the right way to navigate this life. 

You push your shoulder against the steel bar—you hear the click and the door opens. You step out onto the cement, into the unknown. No instructions. No one is taking your hand and saying come with me. You watch, you listen, you make yourself as invisible as possible so their loud voices, their yells across the cement, their choosing sides for games, their scraped knees, their lining up and shoving, their knowing what to do. 

All of this can be like a movie, The Boy with the Green Hair—up on a screen far away—not touching you—-and you can learn a way to be and hold your breath and hope it’s the right way and maybe no one will notice if it’s wrong.

That huge light going through the door, 

held in by tight nerves and a choked throat. 

Take her hand and walk with her. 

Let the light in your eyes show her 

how brightly she shines.

Written on March 18, 2021