Red Door

There is a bungalow around the block from us. The backyard, manicured for weddings, backs onto a green space with a playground, where Laurèn and Yohannes used to play when they were small, and where a two-hundred pound log fell on Fraser when he was 11. At the front of the house there’s a red door and a welcome sign. I want to move into that house. 

When my niece Kierla was entering kindergarten, I went with her to her first morning, a “welcome to kindergarten” debriefing. We stayed for two hours. She was four, I was nineteen. Yeah—a couple of years ago. 

The children sat in a circle on the floor while parents, grandparents and caregivers stood in the periphery, smiling and wiping away tears. Each child had a turn to say their name and tell a bit about their family. Kierla sat quietly, and listened. And then when her turn came, she spoke about living with her mother, father and brother, and she said that they had a dog. I was shocked. She had made up a family. In listening to the other children speak of their nuclear families, she knew at some level that she needed to fit in. Kierla lived with my mom, her mom (my sister), me, and my brother. We had a dog, but she had made up a different name for her dog. 

After the kindergarten class, Kierla and I likely held hands as we walked through the school yard, and hopped over the fence and into our backyard. I’m not sure what I said to her after class, if anything. But, I can imagine what she might have answered, what she might have been thinking. 

I took Ward to the house with the red door and the happily-ever-after backyard. He patiently walked through with me. Two adjoining bedrooms could serve as his and her’s offices. How sweet. Outside the jack-and-jill bedrooms, a fireplace beckoned, and two chairs sat facing the hearth and invited one to sit and rest. I wanted to sit down. But then I remembered, I don’t have space in my life for rest.

We walked out, and Ward said, “A real fixer-upper.” I wondered if he knew how badly I needed fixing up. I wondered if he knew how tough life felt for me. I wondered, but never asked. 

In the end, I know that no matter how badly I want to go through that red door, the life that I am supposed to live is not in there.