I like to keep it classy and simple, I'll review something of who ever reviews my work. Greatly appreciated.
Grasp. Click. Rewind. I continued the process until my little digits grew tired and let go - the soft, dark lullaby sweeping quickly to my ears. The tune was almost melancholy but joyful in the same respect: high notes, low notes, beautiful ‘tings!’ every now and then. The white carousel horse resting inside the glass globe, it’s gold and pink pole turning with the music, chimed loudly in the empty space. I closed my eyes and leaned my back against the cold door frame, the warn down floorboards a familiar home to my feet.
When I was younger, this lullaby, this spot in this closet, these old floorboards - all were my own sanctuary. Whenever I wanted to hide away from the world, feel the pounding in my chest become faint, this closet was where I’d go. My moment in time when the claustrophobic thoughts would descend from importance and my warm, exultant day dreams took over. The place where the pounding in my chest faded away and I could relax, let my guard down.
In these day dreams, I was every synonym of ‘happy’. A tall lanky character like my foster parent, Lucifer, would show me a true, accurate meaning of love. The real Lucifer was eleven years older than me, but when I was eighteen, I stuck around. He was dark, secluded and mystical in almost an eerie way. This Lucifer surrounded himself with every positive feeling in the world, and in these dreams he’d let me be surrounded as well. I remember the smile tugging on my lips before I gave in and let them pull back beyond my teeth. My cyan eyes would squint with happiness, my grip on the lullaby horse tightening. And as always, right before the lullaby came to an end I’d feel myself drifting away into this make belief world. The dark walls in front of me would start to dissipate and I would be lost in a trance. But, as if on cue, I’d come crashing back to reality where the lullaby was just a recording in a porcelain carousel and I was all alone in a closet. The tears were always soon to follow by this point unless I rewound the white horse and fell back into my dreams.
I broke from the memory, the darkness in front of me cascading my eyes in black. I could hear my heavy breathing, the shuffle of my feet and the arching of my back on the door frame. I felt the salt water droplets crease in my narrow eyes and before the waterfalls came pouring, my boney fingers flung to my tear ducts. I was so lost in my childhood memories that I didn’t bother to hear the crashing of the ancient carousel. I cried and cried until I felt light headed, but soon enough I calmed down and crawled out of the closet. My wobbly knees cracked into something and a sharp pain whisked through me.
“Shit…”I scolded myself as I looked down below me where the once-beautiful horse now lay a strew in many pieces. I felt around the dark shadows of the closet for the base, thinking to myself, ‘Please be okay, please be okay!’ I begged as I searched and when found, I ducked underneath the old coats and trampled to the rusted bed. I dropped the base, my hands shaking, and looked around me at the moon lit room. Everything had layers of collected dust piled on it, untouched after these years of my absence. How many has it been…six? I thought what I should do next, anxiety crawling it’s way down my neck. I bit my lip as I picked up the base, my eyes clouding over at the thought of it being broken as I rewound. But, in the end I was only left with excessive clicks of disappointment. In an instant, I took my last bit of happy childhood and aimed it for the wall. It shattered like everything else around me has ever done and I collapsed against the ripped and tattered mattress.
I pushed back my thick, ebony locks. My knees curled to my chest and I stared at my toes. There were a few cuts on the bottom from the broken pieces of glass and porcelain, but I had more pain in my heart and mind than my feet. I couldn’t stop thinking how over reactive I was being, but I had never had something so meaningful stick around for so long, besides Lucifer. He was always there, like a door hinge was always there for a door. Lucifer was my door hinge. He was my support during my time of sickness, during my leave of absence. When I’d be too weak to walk, he was there to tell me I’d get through. I guess in life everyone needed a door hinge. As my mind wondered about door hinges, I rolled onto my stomach to squint at the door hinge a few feet away from me. It was brass and rusted. It had many years of support weighed down on it and it reminded me of Lucifer.
I got up to examine it closer, the pain in my feet a numbness by now. I traced it along the edges as I thought ‘Who the hell came up with such a thing?’ I probably would have thought to just making holes and tying ropes around, like a book of some sort. But this had to support so many times of use that it needed to be stronger than rope. Was Lucifer stronger than rope?
“Child?” Speaking of whom, I jumped in place at the sound of his hiss, “What are you doing?” He stared at me as I touched the door hinge. His red coat was out of place in this cold room. He outstretched his long, spider-like arms to my shoulder.
“I was just,” I looked around, “Just visiting some old times.” Could I explain to him the door hinge theory? He was a circus conductor after all, I’m sure a lousy door hinge resemblance wouldn’t be too far off. “How was the show?” I never joined the Lucifer’s circus. He had asked, of course, but I never was healthy enough to. Living with them was as close as I got to it.
“Excellent,” His smile played wide on his bony face. Dark circles could be seen through the powdered makeup, his hair matted from the hat he wore. “Visiting old times?” He looked around until his brown eyes found the broken pieces of my carousel. “Oh dear. Would you like me to fix that?” There he was, my door hinge.
“No. It can’t be fixed. The feeling won’t be the same.” My shoulders slouched as I walked towards the bed. Lucifer sat down next to me and the bed let out a loud, annoying screech. “That never gets old…” I chuckled at the faint memory.
“Sorry I never got around to fix it.” Door hinge. He bounced on the bed a little, playing with the sounds of the screech. I laughed and laid back, Lucifer following suit. “So, what else is on your mind?” He asked, reading me like a book. Might as well come out with it.
“Door hinges.” I responded casually, my fingers rubbing together as the heat spread over my cheeks. I felt Lucifer’s eyes whip to mine.
“Door hinges?” He questioned, “Why door hinges?” He leaned up on one elbow. I sat up, crossing my legs as I gathered my words.
“Well, I mean. A hinge in any matter is a type of support. It’s always there whether the door goes one way or the other. It still holds on,” my hands moved frantically as I explained, “and I guess in some areas, you’re my door hinge. You were there for me during those hard times and you’re still here for me when I come back. You know?” I looked at the crows feet near Lucifer’s eyes, taking in the aging of his skin and the turn downs in the corner of his lips.
“Sweetheart, that’s not just me,” He protested as he sat up, “that’s the whole circus! We’re all family!” One thing about Lucifer is that his circus was him, and if you didn’t join the circus then you didn’t really join him. Besides me, but now was a good example of him pinning that on me. “It’s not too late, we’re still your support and you can always start off easy and-”
“Lucifer, I’m not joining. That’s not even the point of this-”
“Child, look. Our family is a reliable source, we’re always here and all those dark stages?” He looked at me intently, “All those dark stages are expressed out with all our fun and laughter! Healthy release!” He used his catch phrase for when people applied. After all the years I spent with him, Lucifer’s circus words meant nothing. Pieces of air that just floated up like a toxic gas that I made clear to avoid.
“This isn’t healthy,” I got up to go gather the pieces of my carousel. “This wasn’t a good time for me to come back, I’m not ready for this.” I mumbled behind tears as I gathered the broken base in my hands. “A circus isn’t a cure, it’s a substitute.” I walked over to him, realizing how these past six years have really aged on him, “And I can’t substitute leukemia.” I bent over to hug his old, frail body for the last time, “And as much as you’re my door hinge, I need more than a substitute.” And then I left, leaving behind my old, brass door hinge. My old creaked bed and my closet sanctuary and I would never return. It was time for a new hinge to be screwed onto this door.
