February 10th, 2012

She kissed me goodbye, a peck on the lips as the bus stopped by the curve. I put one leg on the step, and turned my head, as I remembered how to, and glimpsed. Her mouth was moving, her hands were to her side, one on her camera and satchel, her head leaning towards a friend, but I was too far to pick up on the exchange. On the bus, in my seat, I looked out, waved with my right hand through the pane to my left. They both looked to me, found my face behind the filter, and smiled. The bus drove along Symonds Street, across Grafton Bridge, then past the Auckland Hospital and the Domain to Newmarket. Further away I got, or maybe her bus was just behind mine.

She'd closed the door behind her as she left. I heard a clinkle, then footprints meeting the floor, being etched, and then I couldn't hear them anymore. I was smiling with an inner smile, an inner knowing. The light by the door was still on. I opened it inwards and looked outside to see nothing beyond but the doormat, "Always Welcome". And I stepped upon it, knowing that it felt me, for I was a familiar visitor here, and it knew the weight of my shoes and the shape of my soles. On the wall, to the left of the doorway, was a hook. Rooted in the surface on the floor, I looked for a moment at the hook. Simple. No cobwebs. I knew that she'd taken what hung upon it, probably put it around her neck. I felt a chill, another familiar sensation, the cold breeze of being outside a window, looking in on a fireplace. I realised, once more, that it was cold to be outside my own heart. I turned my head towards the way she left, but knew she would get home before the chill set in upon her. Another inner smile. I walked back into the chamber I'd left and shut the door behind. I felt my pocket and pulled out my own key and inserted it into the hole under the handle. I turned it in my hand, heard a click. Then I turned it back again, unhearing the click, unlocking the door. I pulled out the metal and back it went into my pocket. I'd have to dispose of it later, I thought to myself. I wouldn't need it anymore.

She'd convinced me. She wouldn't need the key either, though she had it with her, around her neck. The door would always be open, and not only for her, but for others, who'd but need to knock - or maybe not even that. I did not need the lock, for I did not want another to feel the chill of looking in at something beautiful, something warm, but not be able to reach it. The doormat is for them, for her, and for me too, when I stray outside and forget why I left.

She kissed me goodbye at the bus stop. I might take the hook down, or leave it there as a reminder of why it's unused. A memento, for when I need to remember. I find it hard to imagine now though, how I could forget. But winters are harsh sometimes, and doors need to be closed or the snow will pile in the doorway. But the logs will still be burning, and I think I will invest in a shovel. Maybe I'll hang it up on the hook.