The door opened with familiar creaking hinges, a sound that told Amanda she was home again. But the face which greeted her was unfamiliar: a man of twenty-something year’s old, mildly attractive but unkempt, hair uncombed, eyes red. It was early on a Saturday morning and she might have awaken him, but then again, the faint odor of marijuana met her nostrils.
“Yeah?” he said. Not mean or impolite, just wondering what a teenage girl was doing at his door. He looked her up and down, took in her beat up Chuck Taylors, her jeans ripped at the knees, her t-shirt stretched out at the neck, and her unwashed dark hair. Amanda thought she must look like what she had become over the last year: a street kid. Now, she’d had enough, but something was very wrong.
Amanda blurted out, “Who are you?”
“Well,” the guy said, “I’m Chad. Who are you?”
“What are you doing here?” Even as she asked it she looked over the guy’s shoulder and into the apartment. Her grandmother’s furniture was gone, replaced by a beat up maroon loveseat and a secondhand end table. No lamps, but a room fed by natural light. A hanging plant spun lethargically in the breeze from an open window. She felt tears coming to her eyes, sobs gathering in her chest. Amanda sat down on the steps to steady herself.
Chad glanced up and down the hallway nervously. “I live here. Hey, who are you? What’s wrong?”
“How long?” said Amanda, and the release came. She was crying for the first time since the night she’d ran away.
“What?”
“How. Long. Have. You. Lived here?” She was crying for a different reason this time. This time she did not feel stifled, overly protected, caged. She was not opposed to curfews, restrictions on dating, doing homework. She was ready for that again.
“Six months.”
But that was gone. –James Grange, Spring Creek, NV
cradled. that’s how it feels.
the lattice of the cobwebs help. and the groans of the house above, and the thickness of the air. small details that insinuate neglect convince me that i’m the only one who even knows.
the world is so very big, so its nice to have a small place. reminiscent of the revolving door of garage sale kitchen tables i hid under as a child… dimensions were different, but the feeling was the same. watching feet shuffle, hushed voices, taps of the wooden spoon on stockpot.
in the stairwell i feel the activity of the world around me, but muffled. i find this comforting.
mutterings and rushes in the pipes, vibrations of the washing machine. the world can go on without me, the machines will busy themselves, and the humans will continue their buzzings.
my housemate’s girlfriend muffles a sexmoan in the other room. the neighbor’s dog is barking. there’s a leaky faucet somewhere.
all this gentle noise filters though the walls and into my bones. my phone vibrates and vibrates on the couch in the living room, and i have no intention of answering it. —Madeline Enos, Coos Bay, OR
Did he mean it? What difference does it make if he meant it. How am I going to tell her? Who is she going to blame? Me or him? She always blames me.
How many doses did I take? And what was the pink stuff? I feel panicky, but I can’t move. It’s like one of those dreams where I’m in the shower.
That’s the third time I’ve heard a Michael Jackson hook. Get over the eighties already Ferris Buehler.
I feel like I’m choking on warm milk.
Sagittarius. Sagittarius. I forgot to read my horoscope this morning. I should have seen this coming. I always get in trouble with Sagittarius.
How tall am I?
I really need an orange. I just need to smell one, or any kind of citrus. Grapefruit, that always makes me feel better.
Why can’t I fucking move? Why did I take the pink thing?
Maybe she’ll come looking for me, like last time.
I like this song. Maybe he meant it. – Dan Adler, Portland, OR
And finally, my own attempt:
When Hannah woke up she was leaning against a door, her legs draped stiffly across the stairs leading downward. She couldn’t remember how she had gotten there, and had no idea whose doorstep she was sleeping on. She stood up carefully, leaning against a wall for support. Her legs felt wobbly, as if the bones had been removed and Jello put in their place.
She began walking down the stairs, away from the door and towards the pinprick of light at the bottom. But she never reached the bottom, the stairs just continued to unravel in front of her. She turned around to look behind her to see the door, as close as it had been when she first woke up. Waiting for her. She knocked gently at first, and then began pounding furiously with her fists. She tried the doorknob, but it wouldn’t turn.
“Let me in, er- out!Let me-“ Hannah stopped screaming and turned around. A light buzzing sound had begun, soft at first but growing louder.
It was coming from behind the door, and it was coming fast. The door began to bulge and rip at its hinges, splintering out at her. The buzzing was deafening now, something was coming for her. She looked down the steps, and did the only thing she could.
She started running downwards, she ran for what felt like forever.
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