It had been a long while since Melinda had been home. She stayed away for as long as possible but there was something inside of her that told her she had to return. As she stood outside the large, old, wood-paneled French doors nostalgia finally struck. She had always felt as though she weren’t complete until today, until right now. A deep hole darkened the center of her core.
Melinda stood motionless for a while, mesmerized by the immensity of the frame that stood before her. She was not sure whether she had ever noticed just how overwhelmingly beautiful the façade of this building was. Her bundled red scarf suffocated her breath; she didn’t let it matter much. There she was – confronted with her past – what would she do? What was her next move? Long inhale. Her breath became more weighted and more significant as a flood of images passed through her mind. She watched them go by as she mustered all the energy and courage she had left in her- courage she had built up over the past little while that she had tucked away for safekeeping. Image after image zigzagging in front of her mind’s eye.
Contemplating whether this was a good idea or not, Melinda decided to think no longer. Here she was. She looked right and gazed beyond the narrow street before her. A gust of wind picked her hair up behind her- blowing with the wind for an instant she felt free. A tress blew across her face and brushed up against her lower lip. She licked her lips together; the taste of her own hair was therapeutically reminiscent. One, two- now or never. She was ready.
She placed her hand on the knob and felt the cold steel against her palm. She let it sit there for a moment before she removed it. She felt a shiver run through her veins. She wasn’t sure if it was the memories this handle evoked in her or if it was just her warm body shocked by the chill of the raw material. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and fished through her pockets to find her key.
It took her longer than necessary to find the chain- she was biding for time; she knew she always kept it on the inner wall of her purse. She was moving in slow motion. She was waiting for something to catch up to her, her memory perhaps. She held the single key in her right hand, feeling the contours of an old, but familiar shape. Rough and spiked on one side, flat and smooth on the other. The perfect combination of ridges and cuts- only this key would grant her entry through this portal. She gripped it in a consciously tightened fist. She stood staring at the door, nose to wood. Perhaps she was taking her time to make the moment last longer. Maybe. Probably not. She shook her shoulders, shaking off the thoughts that were suffocating her. And then she pierced the keyhole- she considered the possibility that this might be the one instance when she might be denied entry. She had always taken so much for granted. But the key slid in, turned clockwise, and unlocked the door in one swift motion. There is one key out there for every lock. And with the turn of that key, a past reopened. Poetic.
With the sound of a click, the giant door opened revealing the piazza that enjoined the three structures where her home once lay.
She stood aghast for a moment, contemplating the beauty of the sight before her. She had never realized just how unique it was: a classical edifice hidden behind a classical portico. Three tall apartment buildings with an open space at the heart of it all; connecting its residents with a common vestibule- connecting its residents in a shared memory; each story with the same beginning and end- taking shape in an entranceway.
When she originally left she thought to herself that she was leaving behind the rubble that forever qualified her life- she thought she could leave her life behind. But upon reentering this bright room, she couldn’t seem to remember what had ever made her want to leave this place.
As she walked in, she took notice of every stone, every tile and every single brick that had been laid however many years ago. A true throwback to traditional European architecture: a hidden treasure. So picturesque, so powerful, so peaceful. She noticed the details of the walls that stood facing one another in magnanimous and stylized proportion, framing the open roof, which was what made this structure even more rare and innovative. How had she never noticed? How could these details have slipped into the background? How could the pillars of this structure that now stand to support the foundation of her home have ever gone unnoticed? Worse, how could she not have been able to look past her own shadow to see the light that shone through the sunroof?
The sun lent its light to this space for several hours throughout the day due to the layout of the design. She remembered never having needed to leave this courtyard to find entertainment; she would play and play for hours every day. No wind, no rain, just sunlight. Whoever thought this up really thought it through. Not one decision was made at random; every choice deliberate, allowing the dwellers of these homes to enjoy the benefits of intuitive design and innovative thinking. She didn’t think her parents were aware of the beauty they invested in at the time when they originally moved in. She, on the other hand, was too young to understand the splendor that was being offered to her every time she walked in and out of those two large doors. She was too blind to see what was right in front of her. No. She could only see what was right in front of her.
She couldn’t see past herself to see what was around her. What was pleasant and beautiful to most, was horrifying and haunting to her.
In the many years that she had stayed away from this street, she never considered the home as a separate entity from the memories it housed. But now, as she opened the door to her past, she stood in awe of the beauty and serenity that continued to stand in the middle of such a busy and bustling city. She stood staggeringly still as the memories of her childhood poured into her mind- all the time spent in this piazza, playing, laughing, running, but ultimately, hiding.
She crossed the threshold and lugged her baggage over the step. She walked toward the middle of the space, the place that brought the three buildings together to face one another. She took notice, as if for the first time, of the benches that went along the south wall. Had she ever sat there before or had she simply used one of those benches as a secret hiding place? She whisked around and saw the many plants that were housed by her private getaway; so many green plants and colorful flowers. Who watered them? Did her neighbors care when she used to pluck the leaves off, discarding the petals that wilted and drifted to the floor keeping the branches to forge a barrier to keep monsters away? In the northeast corner, there was a statue. She remembered once when she was younger; she was playing tag… with herself. She was being chased, so she ran fervently in circles around the statue that stood before her here now. She remembered how it fell over when she got caught and was tagged “it.” It fell to the floor and shattered into a million little pieces. “GO AWAY!” she yelled and ran in circles looking for the culprit. She could still hear herself screaming, screaming, screaming. She was screaming then and still screaming now. Nobody heard her. Nobody had ever heard her. The statue still stood in its corner, but now it was super-glued back together and looked even more new than before. She moved toward the ivory stone and closed her eyes as she inhaled the scent of superglue. Toxic.
Memories seeping through her tightly enmeshed sieve. Just being back in this place allowed images to drown her thoughts. Don’t think, just feel. Don’t think, just feel. Maybe other people could do that, but I think. I think.
This place had seemingly escaped her memory. However, it is as though no time has passed between then and now- here she was, reliving the same scenes that had haunted once upon a time.
So consumed in the moment, Melinda had hardly noticed that she was being watched. Or was she? When she was younger she remembered there was a man that used to sit in the corner of his kitchen on the second floor. He would sit by the window and his eyes would peer through the curtain. He thought nobody could see him. Melinda used to look right back at him. Stare down. She couldn’t believe, eighteen years later and this man- still there. He looked the exact same, only he dyed his hair a strange shade of purple. Perhaps he was trying to turn back the clock and feign youth. He looked stupid. Melinda stared up at him as she typically did when she was younger- but this time, instead of competitively staring back, he shut the curtain.
She took a final look around and decidedly lifted the handle out of her luggage and dragged it to the stairwell.
Thinking back to all of those times she walked into her home, she remembered only her private doorway, off a long corridor, six floors up. Home was nothing if not a wing off this adjoined atrium. Where she stood now was not the front door to her house. This piazza was just another obstacle standing in the way of her front door: the front door behind which her real life was concealed. The closed door that kept her neighbors out and kept her locked up. As she made her way to the sixth floor she walked down the long hallway to door 6C. While she had been standing in that shared quadrangle beneath her she could only remember the creepy feeling that lurked over her youthful years. She thought she had escaped the dark puddle that stretched beneath her. But as she stood before her front door once again- the fear began to settle back into her chest. It tastes too much like home. She swallowed hard as the heat began to rise from her feet. She looked down and saw that she had never truly been able to shed the darkness.
“Hi mom,” Melinda said to her mother as she crossed the threshold. “I’m back.”
Melinda’s mother stood aghast; she hadn’t seen her daughter in years. Melinda looked back at her and saw what her mother could see:
Hide-and-go-seek is not a child’s game; it is a not a game at all. Not when you are hiding from yourself.
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