I slipped on the new terry cloth robe Mom had brought me over my cotton pajamas, which were also new. Everything around me was new. Considering how soft they both were against my skin, I felt kind of weird for missing my old clothes, but I did sometimes.
Before leaving my room, I stopped in my bathroom to relieve my bladder. I avoided looking in the mirror as I washed my hands, following the same thorough regimen that had been pressed upon me for years. I squirted extra soap on my hands, scrubbing them a second time. Freedom from the room was within my reach, but I was stalling. I should have been excited, ecstatic even. Instead I was terrified at what lay beyond the door. My hand reached for the soap nozzle a third time, but I forced myself to step away from the sink and leave the bathroom.
The hallway was busy when I finally worked up the nerve to pull my door open. I stood in the doorway filled with uncertainty, wondering if someone would stop me. It would only take one step to leave the doorway, but everything outside the confines of the room was unknown territory. Scanning the hallways for an authority figure that might object, I tentatively stepped across the threshold, waiting for an order to be barked at me.
No one even looked my way.
With sweaty hands I took one more step away from the door. I was now in the hallway, and yet still no acknowledgment. Peering to the left, which was normally the direction I was taken for testing, I abruptly turned right, stepping slowly but steadily as I passed other rooms. I couldn’t help peeking inside the rooms as I passed, curious about the other patients and the ailments that brought them here. Most of the rooms held two beds, making me wonder why my room had my bed alone. I was thankful, but curious nonetheless. It would have felt awkward to share with someone anyway.
I continued to shuffle down the hall, making a left turn when I hit a junction. I didn’t know where I was headed, but it was the furthest I had walked in years. My legs were starting to burn from exertion, but I ignored them and pressed on.
A nurse pushing an IV stand approached. I stiffened, expecting her to ask me where I needed to be, but she merely flashed a smile as she passed.
Picking up my pace before she could change her mind, I made a right turn and spotted a sign I didn’t even know I was looking for. Smiling, I followed the directions, making another right turn where the hallway opened up into a huge reception area banked with a wall of windows and two sets of double doors.
I expected strange looks from the various people scattered about since I was decked out in a robe and pajamas, but again, no one seemed to care. I paused at the doors. Thinking about what was beyond them made my heart jump erratically in my chest. My hands trembled as I reached for the door handle. I glanced back over my shoulder at the safety of the hallway I had just come from. If I turned around I could be back in my bed within a few minutes with my television remote in hand. I could pull the blankets up to my chin and hide.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I’d been hiding long enough. It was time to be brave, to face the world. Exhaling with determination, I pushed on the handle—only the door didn’t budge. Disappointment coursed through me. I had been denied once again. Sudden tears filled my eyes. I felt like an emotional roller coaster, going from fear and wanting to hide back in my room to acute disappointment and genuine heartache. All because a door wouldn’t open. It felt symbolic. I could literally see the outside, brilliant sunshine, perfect green grass, and yet once again it was just beyond my grasp. It wasn’t fair. I was forever destined to be locked away.
My disappointment turned to anger as I pounded my fist on the door.
“It sticks sometimes,” a raspy voice said behind me. An elderly, wrinkled hand reached past me and pushed hard on the door. It made a grinding noise, but popped open.
“Thank you,” I squeaked as the older man walked around me and held the door open. I stood paralyzed, unsure of what to say or do next. Human interaction wasn’t my strong suit. Most of what I had to say to strangers was parroted from what I had seen on television. I envied the characters in the shows and the ease they displayed while interacting with others like it was nothing. I realized it was all make-believe. I just hoped to be able to one day feel that comfortable.
“You coming?” The older gentleman gave me an odd look and I realized I’d screwed up another interaction by standing there gaping at him.
“Oh, yes, thank you again,” I said, walking through the open door. I tried to smile to show him I was normal and capable of acting like a real person.
“It’s my pleasure, young lady,” he acknowledged, returning my smile before shuffling off.
My shoulders sagged
as I watched him walk away. I wasn’t ready for this. I couldn’t smile at people and hold conversations. The process somehow got screwed up in my head. I reached back for the door, ready to admit defeat.
“Was that you banging on the door?”
“What?” I asked, spinning around toward a bench off the sidewalk behind me.
“I can’t believe an old man totally out-Hulked you.”
A younger guy, relatively close to my age, sat at the bench that was positioned near the entrance, but with full access to the sun.
I looked around to see who he was talking to, but could only assume his comment was meant for me because no one else was within close proximity. “Excuse me?” I asked, not understanding his meaning. I stepped closer to him and the bench, unable to resist the pull of the sun’s warm rays. “Are you talking to me?”
“Do you see anyone else around?”
“Well, no,” I answered. Although his tone was playful, his bluntness confused me. My pulse began to quicken. What was I supposed to say next? I was about to screw this up just like I had with the old man. I looked back at the doors, wishing I were behind them.
“Neither do I,” the boy said, cackling loudly as he held up the walking stick I had missed.
“Oh, so you’re blin—I mean, you can’t see,” I said, stumbling over my words.
He laughed harder. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. Sometimes I just can’t resist a little blind humor. Here, as a peace offering, I’ll share my Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups,” he offered, holding up an orange package.
I hesitated. I wasn’t exactly sure what they were, but I had the feeling they were some kind of chocolate candy.
“Come on. I won’t bite,” he said, wiggling the package out at me. “You know you want to.”