Closed Doors

This story contains sexual references.

Doors of any shape, color or make have fascinated me since I was a small child. If they were closed, I would want to know what was behind them, if slightly ajar the interest was piqued, and I would often end up being severely told off with the old scenario children should be seen and not heard.

I was a curious child wanting to know how others lived, but nevertheless I always seemed to end up in trouble. One experience had me completely puzzled. I was around six years old; Mum had given me permission to go next door to see if my little friend could play hopscotch with me. I had knocked on their back door, no one answered however with my knocking the door had swung open, I had played many times within this family home, so I knew the way to my friend’s bedroom. My thoughts and actions completely innocent as I entered the house, thinking perhaps no one had heard me. As I passed the lounge I heard muffed noises, and thinking I had found them, ran into the loungeroom calling out ‘hello, it’s me, can’. What I saw was her parents, naked, she was over sprawled over the back of the couch squealing and groaning, and he was leaning over her, his hand slapping her bare buttocks.  All action stopped when they realized they had an audience. He yelled and I took off home, immediately reporting them to my Mum that there was mayhem happening next door.                                                                   

Mum calmed me down and slowly pieced it together, her face flaming as I imitated the female squeals. She in turn repeated the story to my dad, I was not impressed with her rendition so offered to add the sound effects for impact. Dad promptly told me off for wandering into private property. But I saw the smile in his eyes when I was told to go to my room till a suitable punishment was decided, which was no dinner that night and an early bedtime, they wrote a letter of apology to our neighbors that night, placing it in their letterbox. Needless to say, being a small village, the gossip spread, how everyone knew what I had witnessed I do not know, I was called names at school, the neighbors moved away. All was soon forgotten when a new family moving in.

The next time I was tempted to walk through a mysterious door I was ten, my Parents had decided to go back to Ireland to visit my dad’s family, I was left with my maternal grandmother for four months. It was decided that she move into our home as it was easier to send me off to school and I could still play with my friends.  Now if my folks had warned me that Nana Nelly played with a Ouija board, or that she had regular Saturday night seances I might have been prepared a little better.  Mum and Dad had been gone about two weeks, I had last seen them waving me goodbye, my Mum tearfully, my Dad keen to get going, as the ship they had boarded sounded its horns, the band had stopped playing, only wet newspapers and the cry of seagulls were my companions my folks slowly became a speck in the horizon, I had never felt so lonely.  

I liked Nana Nelly she was nice to me and promised me we would visit the Zoo in the city and tonight we would have ice cream for dessert, only if I behaved. Weekends were great there was no one really to tell me off, I could play till whenever I felt going inside. Nana and I had been living together for a weeks now, I found she was so easy to live with, if I said I was hungry, she would lob of a huge hunk of white bread smother it in butter and Jam, ‘Here, shove that in your gob” I was allowed to help myself to big drinks of milk from the fridge and raid the biscuit tin whenever, that’s if she had not already eaten them. Fried eggs, sausages, and bacon was cooked for dinner almost every night. Either that or a big fat greasy chip butty loaded with salt and tomato sauce accompanied with mushy peas, which she taught me to make for myself so I would be eating my veggies. I could hear my mother’s disapproval every time I ate my dinner, I began to feel unwell lethargic plus headaches began to plague me. Nana would dose me with cod-liver oil saying You’re a sickly child”.

On a Saturday night every two weeks Nana would set up the parlor with a card table and chairs, which I was asked to carry in as she complained of Rheumatics. This Saturday night the word had spread, Nana Nelly was going to invoke the ghost of my grandfather her late husband to tell her friends about the other side. When I questioned the other side? I was told ‘To was to be in bed by seven pm and to not make a fuss’. Many people arrived; till it was standing room only, I was asked to pass small glasses of sherry and tiny slices of fruit cake to the ladies, the men were offered glasses of whiskey by Nana, I saw money exchange hands then Nana announced, ‘it’s your bedtime Dear, no fuss now, off you go”.

I felt slightly used, I was old enough to serve drinks and cake to her guests, but a seven o’clock bedtime? Come on! I’m ten, not a baby. I read for a while till I heard my Nana moan. Now the first thought was my experience with my neighbors three years ago, the image flashed through my mind. I decided to see what was going on.  The parlor door being slightly ajar, I hunkers down on my hands and knees crawling through the many legs before me. I thought hiding under the table would a perfect hidey hole and I would hear everything. To my surprise one of Nanas Guests was also under the table, and every time Nana knocked on the table and called out ‘are you there Jack’, this man would bump the table up and down with his hands. Now it may have worked for them, if I had not asked this person who had taken my spot “what are you doing?” I was marched back to bed by one very angry Nana, “now stay there” she ordered, in fact she was so upset sending off a telegram to my folks, the next day saying I was uncontrollable. My folks sent a telegram back asking for her to take me to my aunties home to live, till they got back. A seat on the train was purchased, a trip of four hours. Nana Nelly pinned a note to my jacket, my destination written on it, and Auntie’s name written on it. Nana gave me a paper bag with the token greasy bacon butty inside. Put me in my seat on the train ordered ‘don’t you bloody move till your told to” and marched off.

I read her note calling me a little wretch, that I needed a good lesson, and my parents would call for me once they were back.  I was hurt by her words, it was untrue, I was unaware one door had closed but another had opened.  At the railway station I was greeted an embraced by this wonderful lady who read the note roared laughing and threw it into the bin. ‘That’s were that rubbish belongs, let’s go home sweetheart’. Aunty who was really my Mums best friend, now looked after me. There was no school for me to go to, she rang the school to explain.  Life became a healthy mix of learning but in a very different way, there was no classroom, nature, the beach its tides and the cycles of the moon became my teacher. I learnt to gather eggs and garden in the harsh seaside environment.

Aunty and I loved being together, she being childless, I became hers. Ruby and I spent our days combing the beach for washed up treasures, healthy eating, sun and wind whipped colour into my pale face, the exercise of walking and running through water and over sand a pure tonic for me. I loved being here I became healthy as a small child should, I adored her dog Twist.

At night we colored in together, played with jigsaws and made windchimes out of shells and driftwood. Big bowels of porridge with honey every morning and as the day ended Aunty would make delicious veggie soup, with a thin slice of homemade bread. I was tucked up into bed with Twist beside me the small fire casting shadows on the walls, bedtime stories were read to me, sometimes we made up stories. I once told her about my love of doors. Aunty cautioned me saying ‘some doors are not meant to be opened” I other words mind your own business. I was living every child’s dream, I was loved wholeheartedly, my creative mind encouraged and a warm place to call home. Everyday rain or shine Aunty Ruby smiled her way through every day, always ready to open her arms for a loving hug, she encouraged me to explore the door inside my mind. “there are no doors closed to you, if you daydream of your future”.

The next door that opened was unwelcome, she had gone for an early morning fossick on the beach leaving me tucked up in my warm bed. Once home she felt unwell, taking to her bed with tummy pains, I knew about women’s problems, so I was not worried, I warmed up a hot water bottle for her and made her a cup of sweet black tea, I quietly played with my new windchime beside her bed, her hand often reaching out to stroke my head, I saw her face growing grey as the pain worsened, “run over next-door darlin’ I need some help”. Run I did, calling out. The neighbor and his wife listening to me burble about how sick she was. An ambulance arrived and my Aunty was placed in inside. Two days later I was told she had passed away, my minds door closed with a sharp bang.  When they bought her body back to the beach batch we lived in, the community gathered to give her a funeral.

As we waited for the local priest to give his blessing, I was given a note, it was from my aunty, I tucked it way to read when I was alone. Her body dressed in black lay there inert, pale faced and peaceful, Twist her dog lay beside her coffin. His brown eyes locked into mine. I clicked my fingers, his tail wagged, we left the one roomed cottage, leaving the door open, letting my aunties spirit fly free in the wind. I found a Sand hill high in the dunes, where my tears were swept away by the sea wind, I read the note.

One sentence was all there was ‘Never be frightened of being you, one day you will find the door that’s meant just for you’.  A few years later Twist slipped through the same door as my Auntie, I knew by then there will always be doors to open.  Some have welcomed me to enter, standing wide open. Some I have pushed open and some I have slammed shut.  Now I open doors for those that want to explore being a creative in the arts, I’ve learnt a door is not always physical. It’s learning about who you are, what you can create and building doors of your own.