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Anxiety Opens a Door

Her fingers slowly curled around the knob. An ever-tightening grip caused her knuckles to flush red and her veins to bulge. She clenched her frail jaw, gritting her tobacco stained teeth in dread of what was to come. Slowly, fearfully, yet deliberately, Betty's thin pasty hands turned the knob. It was 12 years ago to the day that Betty had to face this same horrible fear. The knob came to the end of its turning. Betty paused.

Twelve years ago today, Betty shut this very door tight. "Never again! Never ever again!" she screamed on that day as she bolted the door. And here she was, ready to open the door she swore never to even touch again. It was out of absolute necessity that she had even considered opening it last time. The death of her husband, the prodding of her family and the help of police, were what it took for her to open and pass through this portal to hell 12 years ago.

Her hands began to shake as she prepared her arm for pulling. The shaking spread quickly to her entire body. Her tiny frame rattled like a skeleton in a hurricane. She kept thinking of that time 12 years ago.

It had been two weeks after her husband had passed away when she was convinced to open the door, with a hefty dose of trepidation. Of course, at that time, she didn't have to walk through the door. She had only to open it. This time, however, she would have to actually step through the doorway into a place of misery and torment.

The shaking became more and more violent. She quickly let go of the knob, and the shaking abruptly stopped. This was not something she could do slowly. It was only out of necessity that she would even consider attempting this feat, and today it was without any shadow of doubt a necessity. Betty fixed her yellowed eyes on the knob. Her glare continued for minutes with nary a blink. She jutted out her hand, and abruptly twisted the knob. She thrust her fragile body against the door and stumbled through the door. Not able to stop her momentum, Betty fell flat on her face. Blood began to trickle from her lip. Her knees had been scraped and she could feel blood seeping out. Her eyelids were clenched closed. She dared not open them. Betty slowly positioned her hands to lift herself up. As she began to rise, a sudden rush of air made her stop. The strangest feeling came over her. This sudden rush of air, though foreign to her senses, gave her a bit of courage. And the warmth she felt on her head did not scare her. Betty loosened her eyelids a bit. She was still too afraid to open them. She continued to rise and struggled to sit up on her bloodied knees.

When she had opened this door twelve years ago, she had quickly turned her head, shut her eyes, and let her family and the police pass through the portal. No amount of pleading would get her to go through the doorway.

Betty managed to stand up. She slowly allowed a crack in her eyelids. Through the crack, a bright light poured in and hurt her eyes. Yet, she continued to open her eyes further. This bright light was emanating from the sun. Another rush of air made the blood feel cold on her knees. "What was I afraid of?," she asked herself. This sunlight felt invigorating on her pale wrinkled skin. This was the same sun that inflicted her husband with skin cancer three years before he died. Betty was outside for the first time in 15 years. And yet the reason for doing so completely escaped her.

Learn more about this author, Reed Daigle.
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