Doorways - Anita Marie Moscoso

I love airplanes; I love the feeling of breaking free from the earth. As for that feeling of weightlessness? Bliss, it's like music to my ears.

This time the flight didn't feel the same, I didn't feel the same.

I kept reaching into my backpack and touching my books, my pens, my Kat and even my stupid socks (why oh why are those things in there?). I put my hair into a ponytail and even had a drink.

I looked out at the Earth below and blew it a customary raspberry, my little way of saying, " ha, thought you had me in your clutches did you? " but I got no joy from that defiant little act, my little take-off ritual.

Well, after over 35 years of flying I guess the joke was bound to wear off sometime.

Now I was just a 40-year-old woman making faces out of a small window and the Earth didn't give a rip if I were walking on it or flying above it because in the end I was all her’s.

We all are.

When the plane landed I was the last off and the stewardess wished me a pleasant visit. She stepped back a little and tried very hard to smile. " Are you alright? " she asked.

" I'm hoping to be. " I said and then I heard the sound of running water and smelled dust and milkweeds and dandelions.

The plane was gone the airport was gone and I was at my doorways.



They were in a ruinous state. The entranceways were choked with weeds, the paths leading through the grounds were in disrepair. The marble and granite and masonry were crumbling to dust and the iron works were in bad shape too.

I'd been away from this place for too long and the silence here was loud and angry.

Finding the doorway wasn't easy. I had to crawl over some deadfall and wade through a small reflection pond, drained of water now but full of a dark foul liquid to get to the right doorway.

I can't say I was proud of myself when I did find it. My hands were bruised, my thumbnail was gone and my knees were skinned. Wonderful, my place had bit me. Some welcome home this was.

I pushed the door open with my foot and I looked inside.

It was pitch dark and I didn't have a flashlight or even a match.

Well, it wasn't the scariest thing I'd ever seen; I went through and behind me the iron door closed with a click and I heard ancient tumblers drop into place.

Somebody had locked it from the outside.

I was trapped.