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As a door, I didn’t know when I fell in love with Tana, only that I most assuredly was.
She wasn’t like my previous tenants, a gruff pair of male roommates that shouldered me too hard, and let me slam even when they didn’t have to. No, they hadn’t been civilized enough to lay out a beautiful welcome mat like Tana did, or sweep the pitted concrete square that faced the thickly-wooded forest beyond my front.
I couldn’t hold back my deadbolt, which slid free with excitement at the touch of her soft cheek. Tana, my sweet, puzzled little Tana, gently twisted the bolt back into place, opening the unlocked door to nervously chuckle with the waiting delivery man on the other side.
Even though I was, architecturally-speaking, obligated to support her, I still felt like I was actively providing her comfort. The thought of that warmed me down to my threshold.
My Tana was in danger, and even as sturdy as I was, I’d never felt more helpless.
Tana was in danger, and I was more than a door.
How is a piece of wood so poetic??
She wore a lopsided grin, clearly not taking me seriously. “A favor, huh? So, what, do you want me to oil your hinges?” It was my turn to blush at the obvious flirtation
What is happening??????
When she popped back into view with a clean rag and a bottle of disinfectant spray cleaner, I could hardly believe my luck.
Something about being called a good door made my human legs feel weak and shaky.
