OPENED
by Carmen Hoang
She began on the floor, at the side of the bed, peering over it like a curious lioness. But in truth she wasn't a lioness, more a cat, cautious and afraid. Her hands balled blanket in her fists, they didn't feel like her own. They felt like they had their own minds. Touch the blanket. It was stale and had been for some time. She'd been alone, and had been for some time. That was her world: loneliness.
And she'd been good at it. Her mother had told her it was time to move. Time to move on. She'd begun on the floor, but now she sat on the wooden chair, its spindly legs grounded on the soft purple carpet. A fine layer of dust sat and gathered. Her head moved as if she was taking it all in, the sights of the room she felt like she hadn't left in years, the trinkets she'd collected and loved and stored, the imaginary confrontations in every corner and surface of the room. But she wasn't, she surveyed nothing, she glanced emptily at everything.... It was time for her to move on. She'd realised and had known this for a while now. She glanced and wondered what it'd be like to burn this place to the ground.
But loneliness was what she knew and she was good at it. Her mother had not been a kind woman- most mothers aren't. Hers was difficult and abrasive. She was a forward woman, never one to not say what she thought. Unlike her daughter, who kept everything in so that she would implode with her thoughts or just turn invisible. There were no men in her life. Just like her mother, they did not feel the need for any. So loneliness was her world and loneliness was what she knew and she was good at it. She'd spent days with her books and her crafts and decoding the secret language of flowers. Roses for love. Fennel for strength. Cyprus for death.
She'd never wanted to change the world. She'd never had an impulse to explore. She was fine where she was. But her mother was right - it was time to move. Time to move on. She'd started on the floor, made her way to the chair, found herself peering from those heavy dark drapes. Velvet. Dust. She looked outside but saw nothing. She'd forget there even was an outside. She'd become so insular that everything beyond the curtains was nothing. Not darkness or brightness, just nothing. It was hard to explain. She had tried, nobody understood it. Not even her. Today, she thought, today I will move on.
Her hands were sweating. She couldn't get them to stop. She marched across the room, every step she took the whole structure wept. It called to her, don't do this, don't do this, stay stay, you're not going to make it out there. But she kept going. It felt like forever, towards the door, towards the door, but she clasped her hand on the door knob and made to turn it but stopped.
It felt like she was stuck in time. Almost turning the handle. Almost not. Halfway there, more than that, so close, she could taste it. Her fear pricked at her back tauntingly. The hairs on her back stood. You won't do it. You can't do it. You're too afraid. Go back to bed. No. No. She put her hand on the wall to steady her. Her arm was solid, her hands were wholly her own. She'd been alone for such a long time. It was time to move on. Time to move. Move.
The hand on the door knob had gone numb with the coldness, but it was still her own hand. It was there, she could feel it. It was time to move, now, or she'd go back to the floor and cover herself in loneliness forever. Time to move. Time to move on. Her hand turned the knob. The mechanisms clicked and clicked and clicked and clicked in place. Opened.