From the white tent: an imaginary continuation of a story

     Today is Saturday.  I don't have work, so I finally got to sleep in.  It felt so good.  When at last I woke around 11, I plugged in my ipod and turned The Avett Brothers up loud.  The noise filled my apartment.  It filled the cracks in the room--it got under the armchair and the sofa, down the drain, and in the light fixtures--everywhere.  It reached down into me; I felt myself swelling up like a balloon as the music filled me up and pushed my ribs out as if to burst.  It was quite a feeling.  I washed my hair in the sink and toweled it off, dripping water all over.  Tiny little droplets of water blitzing through the air, plummeting to the earth, and smashing to wood flooring.  What to wear.  On my days off, this question is the supreme question on my mind.  And today most of all.  Today, I'm going to open my door.  I'm going to follow his lead and open the door--the gaping entrance to the outside world.  It's so vulnerable.

     I decide to go with the blue striped dress.  It accentuates my shoulders and is just the right length to show off my legs up til they start to get jiggly.  After carefully--more carefully than normal--applying makeup to my face, I walk to the door.  It's an odd feeling of expectation.  My socks slide across the floor--snagging a bit on the wooden floor--as I get closer and closer.  One more thing.  I back track quickly and bump up the volume on my ipod.  Go big or go home.  I set the song.  Still the Avett Brother.  Laundry Room.  Soothing.  Just right for opening the door.  The door.  I walk forward.  The guitar steps in anticipation; the voices on the ipod like friends.  The doorknob.  With a rush, I turn the doorknob, jerk my arm, and open the door wide.  Directly across from me is the gaping hole into the man's room.  So it's around 11 that he opens his door, I guess...

     The sound of the door opening draws his attention, and there we are.  Suspended in time.  He smiles at me.  I smile and shove the triangle wedge of wood under the door.  The door is open.  The guitar on my ipod picks up.  It's excited for me.  The Fiddle.  It's as if my ipod and  the song have been waiting for this.  I smile at the man and turn around and walk back farther into my apartment.  It felt less lonely now.  I was a part of something.  It was breakfast time.