I wonder often, how he ended up and if he will ever return. When he left he’d seemed alright, as alright as anyone his age can seem. During these wonderings, that quickly lead into wanderings, I often end up recounting his visit beginning to end. Why his appearance lingers in my subconscious is a mystery to me. He was a most agreeable boy, for the most part. His manners were very well polished and he could likely form into a handsome young man some day. But what caught my attention most was his maturity, the way he understood, and questioned intellectually if he did not. But it was deeper than intellect as well, it was… Perhaps I ought to revisit his appearance again, maybe this time I will understand a little more.
It was a rather usual day, usual for me that is. I was in my Hallway, reading a book. For the life of me I cannot seem to conjure up the name of the title I was reading. It mustn’t have been all that good. Although I suppose that with what happened next it is only natural that I forget trivial details, one often does when witnessing an anomaly.
I was sitting in my armchair, where I always sit, when I heard three gentle raps at the front of my Hallway. I waited a moment, just to be sure I wasn’t imagining things. I know it is rude not to answer the door in a timely fashion, but it was all so very strange that I couldn’t help but question my senses. No one ever came from that door. Why, it is so old and covered in cobwebs that I’m amazed the boy dared to knock at all! If it had been most any other door, I’d have rushed to it, presented myself with whatever attire was acceptable for what lay across the threshold, and left my Hallway. But that door swings inward not out.
Once I reached the door, my hand tingled ever so slightly. I felt several different emotions all at once, fear, excitement, curiosity, caution. I tried looking through the eye-hole but it was covered in dust and muck (I hadn’t cleaned it in quite some time). I suppose it wouldn’t have helped had I been able to see through it anyway, he was too short.
“Hello?” I said, swinging the door open. I’m usually much more welcoming and creative with my words towards strangers, but in that instance I had quite forgotten myself.
I was most definitely surprised and a little bit confused when I was greeted by a young boy dressed in, for lack of better term, normal clothes. He on the other hand didn’t seem surprised or confused by my presence. He looked earnest, but also somewhat anxious.
“Excuse me sir, can you help me with something? I’ve been knocking on doors all around the neighborhood and no one’s answered.” He was soft-spoken, gentle, like the whispering of grass when a breeze sifts through it. After I recovered from my shock, I answered him promptly.
“Of course, dear boy!” I remember feeling a sudden anger towards my neighbors. What could they possibly be doing that would prevent them from helping this child? Despicable! I said to myself. But, reflecting on it now, I am glad they weren’t home or had chosen not to answer their doors. If they had opened up to the boy, I’d have missed this memory I continue to replay.
“Come in,” I said as I ushered him into my Hallway. I realized then that I had only the one armchair and not very much space for company. So I had him sit while I stood awkwardly looking down on him. I suppose a good host would have offered him something to drink, and perhaps a light snack. I did not keep these things in my Hallway, as food crumbs attracted cockroaches. “What is it you need?”
The boy was silent for a moment, either he didn’t know what he needed or perhaps he was unsure how to say it.
“I need advice,” was his first way of wording it.
“Advice?”
“Well, sort of. I need someone to show me something,” was his second attempt.
“Show you what?” I was thoroughly confused but mostly curious at this point.
“Oh, I don’t know.” He was exasperated, his shoulders carried much too weight for his frame. My heart melted for the boy, like ice cream on blacktop in summer.
“I can show you something if you’d like,” I said in my proudest and most cheerful tone. The boy looked up at me and slowly his anxiety faded and was replaced by curiosity. What a conniving emotion. “I can’t promise it’s what you’re looking for, but it is something.” I think I understood, at this point, that he was special. Or at least that his need was special. Because he came from the front of my Hallway, what I had to show might be helpful to him. Just a hunch I suppose.
“Yes please,” he was so polite. What a favorable young man.
“Excellent! Follow me then, my boy.”
“Thomas, my name is Thomas, sir.”
“Very well then, Thomas, right this way.” I led Thomas down my Hallway till we reached the first door. It was a beautiful door, the most glamorous in the entire Hallway. I remember the delight that stirred within me as I watched the young boy’s expression light up.
“Surely this is what I need to see,” he whispered.
“Turn the handle Thomas,” I instructed him, “and we shall see.”
He did so, his small hand twisting the studded handle and pushing the shimmering door open. The bright lights of the other side startled the dear boy, and he froze momentarily.
“It is quite safe, Thomas,” I assured him, putting my hand gently on his shoulder. He continued through the door, and I followed him, anxiously watching for his satisfaction.
I remember that he did not immediately understand what the room was, it took a moment for him to grasp his surroundings. Such was natural in this door, I myself was often quite bedazzled and could only stay in it for so long.
The details of the room change every time it is entered, but there are several reoccurring elements. For one, the room was always bright and glittered as if it was filled with stars. Accompanying the beautiful energy the light provided was a wonderful tune that inspired happiness, love, and all things good. The subject this time was a girl in her late teenage years sitting on a rigid armchair. The chair was not as comfortable looking as mine, but she seemed to be quite content on it. Around her, rotating in a human circle, were people of all ages. They each carried gifts, beautifully adorned and wrapped.
“That chair does not look very comfortable,” Thomas whispered. I had not thought much on it, and was mildly confused that he had chosen to fixate on such a minute detail. Did he not see the the awe and respect that pushed the human circle round and round? “Well, she seems happy, doesn’t she? Pay attention to what is going on, this may be what you need to see,” I said, pointing toward the spectacle.
The circle shifted, allowing each member to come before the young woman. When they did, no matter their age or gender, they bowed low and placed their gifts in her hands after which they bent even lower and kissed her bare feet. They seemed so joyous when they did it, nearly weeping with gratitude at being able to perform this gesture of love and worship.
“Oh what fun!” I whispered to Thomas. “Doesn’t that look fun?”
“I’m not sure,” Thomas answered softly. I looked down at him in confusion. How could anyone, especially one so young, not want to be on that chair? “I don’t think I would be very comfortable on such a rigid chair.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” I countered. No one had ever not enjoyed this room, what made young Thomas so different? “Surely having people adore you so much would make up for any discomfort you could receive from the chair.”
“I don’t think this is what I need to see,” he concluded, and his gentle yet mature eyes turned from the glittering scene. I was quite astounded, and lingered at the scene a moment more before following him. When we returned from the room he gazed down my Hallway at the other doors. “Where do the rest lead?” he asked.
“To different rooms,” I answered. I am afraid that I was mildly upset at his disrespect toward my most prized room and had answered somewhat blandly.
“Are they all the same as this one?”
“No, they are all different.” I smiled and tried to lighten myself, realizing that I may redeem myself with another door. “But they are all wonderful in different ways.”
“Could I please see another one?” he asked. I could not refuse such politeness, nor such an earnest desire for understanding.
“Of course young Thomas,” I replied instantly. I looked down the hall, thinking through my options and which of them he might enjoy. I finally settled on one that was quite different than the previous one. “I think this one might be more to your liking,” I concluded and led him over to it.
The door was a clean white, its decorations consisted of certifications and very useful information. I watched him as he looked over it. He seemed curious, but not instantly certain that the door would satisfy his need. I opened the door this time, and held it for him as he entered.
Within the room was a laboratory of sorts. It was decorated by plants, graphs, machines, test tubes, specimens, and every other sort of object worth studying. I love this room, it always seems to teach me something new whenever I enter. Although I must confess that I never retain the information very well. This may be a good thing I suppose, as even if I am presented with the same information, I have already forgotten it and it is therefore new to me once again.
“Look!” I whispered and pointed to a man seated at a table. Thomas followed my finger and watched as the man eagerly scribbled on paper. Walking closer, we could see that a series of complex formulas were being constructed. The man worked fast, never doubting his intellect. When he had finished on paper, he began to work with a series of machines and chemicals. Neither I nor Thomas knew in the least what he was doing but I was certain the young boy would be entertained by this. The man finished with his machine very quickly, leaving nothing unattended to.
I glanced over at Thomas and was disappointed to see that he was not as amazed as I was. His eyes had the same forlorn look of emptiness as when he had arrived at my door.
There was a sudden click as the man flipped the switch on his machine. I gasped as an object was created from thin air. The man took several tools and began to mold it, shaping it first into a cup, then a book, and finally a frog.
“How on earth did he—” I turned to Thomas but saw that he had already turned away. “Thomas?”
“This isn’t what I need to see either,” he answered. I detected a bit of melancholy in his voice and decided to stay my curiosity in the man’s invention and return to the Hallway with him.
“You cannot tell me that this room did not astound you,” I said excitedly, still awed at the man’s ability to create matter. “Not even a little?”
“It was impressive,” he answered. “But not what I needed.”
“Young Thomas,” I leaned over and sighed. “You must help me. I am trying to find what you want to see, but if you yourself do not know what you want, then how am I to satisfy you?” The boy did not answer, but averted his gaze to the many remaining doors. I felt pity for the boy and a bit of shame for showing my impatience with him. “Come, let us try another door.”
“Thank you sir,” he answered politely.
“This door might suit you,” I said as we came to the next one. It was solid gold, cleaned so well that we could see our reflections in it. I was quite proud of the hours I spent cleaning it and hoped he noticed my hard work. He did not. Instead he twisted the handle and pushed. “Let me help you,” I offered as he struggled with the heavy door. We both pushed, and the door swung open.
This room was always the largest of all the rooms, and the most finely furnished by far. Regal wood and gold linings were on every object. I gazed across the room and my heart began to grow light as I saw large golden objects in between which were smaller golden objects, so that no space was not filled with gold.
“How wonderful this is!” I said to myself as I observed a golden statue. I see similar scenes whenever I enter this room, but I suppose one does not tire easily of the sight of gold.
“Who is he?” Thomas asked as he walked past the golden treasures and toward a desk where a man was seated.
“I suppose he is the one who owns all of this,” I answered as I joined him. The man was busy at his desk, counting what appeared to be large piles of wealth. He was writing it all down, his hand moving almost mechanically as he moved each coin and slip of paper. Drawing closer, my breath all but stopped as I observed the numbers. I had never seen so many zeroes in my entire lifetime.
“Thomas—” I could hardly finish my sentence. “Look at how much he owns!” I whispered.
Thomas simply ran his finger along one of the statues, wiping dust off his finger after he had finished.
“I don’t think this is what I need either,” he said as he looked back at the man. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”
I lowered my brows. Never before had this room been brushed off in such a way. How could any refute the masses of wealth acquired here? I am still perplexed as I recall him leaving the room. I hurried after him, taking several last glimpses of the room before shutting the door.
“I must admit that I am most perplexed by you,” I said as I crossed my arms and stared down at the boy. His emotional state had not changed between any of the doors, he was still as anxious and confused as when he’d arrived. “Surely now you must have some idea of what you need to see.”
“Maybe—” he paused, looking at the doors we had not yet opened. “Maybe I need to feel something, not see something.”
“Feel something?”
“I don’t know, sir.” He drooped his head and let his shoulders sag. I could tell that the dear boy was embarrassed of his uncertainty. I immediately regretted treating him as if he was older than he was. After all, it is not uncommon for young children to not know what they want. I suppose the maturity with which he spoke and carried himself had covered the fact that he was still just a boy.
“I will see what I can do,” I said. “Come with me Thomas.”
We moved toward the end of my Hallway, where I had been sitting when he’d knocked. We arrived before a door, this one is much simpler and slimmer than the others. Nothing to look at.
“What is behind this door?” he asked.
“This is just a closet, Thomas,” I answered. “I keep brooms, books, and an assortment of other things here.”
“Oh.”
I opened it and flicked on the light switch. I surveyed the shelves quickly, thinking of something that might feel right and put an end to his searching. It was an interesting concept, that this boy needed to feel something and that I could supply it with an object. But his whole being here was strange, so I simply went along with his request.
“Here,” I reached to one of the shelves and removed a feather. I still have the feather, it is a large white one. I cannot recall where I got it or what sort of bird it belongs to, only that it is the softest thing I own. I placed it in his small hands.
He felt it, brushing his hands along it.
“Isn’t it soft?”
“Yes, it is.” I could tell that he was not satisfied with this either. He seemed lost in thought despite holding my softest most comforting possession. He handed it back to me. “Do you have anything else?” He was still very polite, so I obliged him.
I thought carefully, recalling the different objects I had within my small closet. Perhaps if he did not want a soft object he would like something coarse and sharp. I removed a stone, jagged and covered by rough edges.
“Be careful,” I said as I handed it to him.
He took it gently, running his hands dangerously close to its sharp edges. He then put his hands on the coarse bevels and holes, feeling the rough uneasiness of the stone. This seemed to interest him more than the feather, but was not what he needed either. His hand caught on a sharp edge and he quickly drew his hand away. I could see that he felt something then, and his eyes came alive much more than they had at any of the other doors or objects. He looked at the mark left by the stone and studied it. I quickly took the stone from him for fear he might repeat the scenario.
“That is not what you need either, is it?”
He shook his head.
“Would you like me to fetch another object?” I asked, doing my very best to remain patient with him.
“Maybe if I wait in the Hallway I will eventually know what I want,” he said.
“No,” I quickly said. I did not like the idea of having to share my Hallway. “I am afraid you cannot do that.”
“Why not?”
“Well—because it is my Hallway. We cannot both stay in it.”
He was silent for a moment.
“Why do you stay in the Hallway?” he then asked. I did not answer immediately. No one had ever asked me that and I myself had never considered it. I knew there was a good logical reason but for the life of me I could not come upon it at the moment. I offered an answer, but looking back I see that it was a very shallow one.
“Because I live here, I suppose.”
“It is a very small space to live in,” he commented.
“That is a very rude thing to say,” I replied. I had put up with the boy for quite some time now, and I was growing tired of his constant pestering and indecisiveness.
“I did not mean to be rude,” he apologized. “I just—I know that there is something I need.”
“I have shown you the most important things I have, Thomas. Perhaps you are thinking too much.” I did not like turning down the boy’s concern in this way, but I could see no end to his searching. I wanted to return to my book and armchair.
“What about the far end of the Hallway?” He pointed to a door past my armchair. It was a door I still do not like very much. It is black and seems to darken the space around it. I purposefully placed my armchair facing away from it so I would not have to look at it. On top of that, I had bolted it and acquired several locks to keep it shut. I did not fear that anything would come through. Nothing could ever come through from the other side. What I did and still do fear is that I in my curiosity or after having exhausted all of the doors, might open it. I believe that by putting several locks on it I will have to think much harder as I unlock them each. I would never allow Thomas to open this door.
“That door is not to be opened.” I stepped in front of him, covering his view of it. “In fact, it is better if you do not think about it at all.”
He peaked around me.
“It might be the end of my searching,” he suggested. I looked back toward the door. No, I concluded, not yet at least.
“Maybe one day you can open that door.” I bent down to put my head level with his. “Surely your parents are growing anxious. Why don’t you return home?”
His eyes fell to the floor, and he said nothing.
“Where do you live, Thomas? I can take you there.”
“I don’t know,” he answered.
“You don’t know?” He looked up at me and I could see that he was serious. Either he had forgotten, or he truly did not know his address. “I suppose I could call the Police, they may be able to locate your parents.” This was a comforting notion to me, but he did not seem to be eased by it.
“I need something,” he persisted.
“Perhaps your parents can help you find it, I have tried my best.”
“They can’t!” he said, raising his voice.
“Well then perhaps it is something you need to find yourself!” I replied, my voice also raised. To this day I still do not understand why his desperate need for something seemed to interest me as well as cause me to grow uncomfortable. I sighed heavily, regretting my outburst. “I am sorry Thomas, but I fear there is nothing left that I can do.”
“You can let me stay in the Hallway,” he insisted. His expression was one of anger, most opposite the polite boy I had first met.
“No, I have told you that—”
“It is as much my Hallway as it is yours!”
“Where on earth did you draw such a conclusion from?” I asked, straightening and growing serious. “This is my Hallway. I have lived in it since I was young. You do not own it, and are gradually becoming an unwelcome guest.”
“You are like me,” he said. “You don’t know what you want.”
“I know exactly what I want,” I scoffed. “I want you to leave my Hallway.”
“Why do you love the other doors so much even though you won’t stay in them?” he asked. He had begun to grow quite emotional, and I saw the beginning signs of tears begin to form.
“Well—” I thought for a moment. “I suppose I like to be where I can see all of the possibilities. It would be boring to stay in one room only.”
“But you do stay in one room. And it is the most boring and pointless room of them all!”
“The Hallway is not a room,” I insisted. “Now I must ask you to leave, you are intruding on my privacy.”
“I have nowhere to go!” he pleaded.
“That is not something I can solve. Luckily, I know who can.” I moved toward the phone on the wall. I quickly dialed 911 and waited for them to pick up. I told them of my predicament, how there was a child here who could not get home and did not know where he belonged. They confirmed that they would send someone along shortly. I thanked them and hung up. “Thomas?” I did not see him standing where he had been. I whirled around to see him at the black door, fidgeting with the locks. “Thomas!” I shouted as I ran toward him.
He was like a mad child, I do not know how else to describe him. Lock upon lock he tried to turn. I am grateful for my careful precaution, otherwise he would have likely been long gone through whatever was across the threshold of the black door. I quickly reached him and pulled him away.
“Let me go!” he shouted, squirming and kicking as he did so.
“I have called the Police, Thomas. They will take you to where you belong,” I said as I struggled to control him. I pulled him over to my armchair and sat him down. “Now behave while we wait!”
Thomas was distraught, but he was silent and calm now. His head was in his hands, as if he knew not whether to try another door or surrender.
“Would you like to read my book while we wait?” I offered. He nodded, and I handed it to him. He read in silence while waiting on the Police, several tears wetting the page. I felt quite miserable for him, but knew I could do no better thing than hand him over to someone who could find what he needed. It did not give me pleasure to sit and watch over him, knowing that he now hated me. I had taken an instant liking to the boy, but his despair had made him unruly and dangerous. I hoped dearly that he would find what he was looking for. Although he did seem to fit quite well in my armchair, and he seemed to enjoy reading as much as I.
When the Police arrived, the situation was cleared up. They agreed to take him and find him a home.
“I hope you find what you are looking for,” I said to Thomas before he left. He simply looked at me and my Hallway. “If you can become calm, I would welcome another visit,” I offered.
The Police opened the door to their blue and white car. Reluctantly, but with no other options, Thomas stepped in and the door shut firmly behind him.
I watched them drive off, Thomas’ head against the window, drearily watching the front doors of houses go by.
What a sad and misguided boy, I said to myself. As I reentered my Hallway, I found myself confused by the doors. I had the strangest feeling that I should open one and step inside. But then again, I had just recently visited them. I chose not to, seeing that my book was waiting for me on my armchair.
Each time I recall these events I feel that this Hallway has changed. I find myself less interested in the doors, as if the boy’s lack of interest had silenced mine. There is one door, however, a very simple one, that I do find myself nearing when this mood takes over. It is white, and very old, older even than the front door. I had entered it before, but never felt the instant satisfaction that I get from the other rooms. Instead, I always felt a sort of guilt. I cannot fully remember the contents of the room the last time I entered, but I remember that they made me feel ashamed. I do not like feeling ashamed, I don’t believe anyone does, which is likely why I do not enter the room anymore.
But I wonder now if beyond that initial shame and guilt there is something else. Perhaps if I were to linger in the room, study it a little more, I might understand it better. I wonder if Thomas would feel the same things I do concerning the room. Perhaps it is something a child would not feel. Perhaps this room was what he had needed. This makes me regret the way I had ended his visit. I hope for his sake, as well as my own curiosity, that he may come again and we may both explore this simple door.
But for now I suppose I shall read in my armchair. There is no hurry, after all. These doors have been here all of my life and likely will be forever. I will wait for Thomas. If he returns, I will show him the white door. If not, I shall remain in my armchair. I am quite content here after all.
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