The Door Shut

By Christopher DelMonaco

Eulie:

"My grandma has lifted me high always. Yes, she's taught me how to keep myself up, but I will tell you that it is difficult. Still, I have her friends holding me, and I feel her touch because it's overwhelming. Yes, it overwhelms because I know that she hates seeing me labor as she labored, yet I know that she is happy seeing me with her friends. 

Do you see me Grandma?

-

Well, she's silent at the moment because you don't know our story. Yes, if you continue reading, you'll see that doors shut, and others open. A door has even opened for her. As for me in this moment, I'm standing before another door, and I can tell you only that I am hoping that it opens to the world that she imagined for me. And if it doesn't, I hope that I am in the world that she imagined me living in when the door shuts over my life."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher DelMonaco
• Release date: Jun 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393795131

Christopher DelMonaco

Once reading my words, you'll know me. I hope that you enjoy reading my words; I would love reading yours in review as they will guide me when writing. Thank you for reading. Best, Christopher

Book preview

The Door Shut       

A door shut. It wasn’t a startling slam, rather, a dull thud that sounded of money. Well, I shouldn’t be surprised because everything surrounding me is made from money. Even the exhaust from the air conditioners is tainted with the scent of it.    

-

The rain striking the hot street plays with my mind because it sizzles as my grandmother’s black iron skillet when it spits. I see her standing before the gas stove within our shabby little apartment; I am blocks north of here watching her frying chicken.  

-

No! I don’t want to be there: I want to be here! I want to live here; I would do anything to live here, but that image is pulling me down the street because I have to leave here.

No, I do not live here! 

-

The stink of the gutter is pushed down from the rain, but the humidity is holding the stale stench of urine. It dwells in the corners that I’m passing, and within the subway station that I am stepping into, and the humidity is giving it life.

-

A heavy wind is beginning to push it away from me as the scream from metals fills my ears.

-

I love the speed of the train despite it sweeping me towards the shabbiness of my life. Yes, I was pushed towards precious life filthied from my mother: she is an addict, and I am evidence of a purchase. Yes, she sold her body to finance her addiction, and I am the receipt, but she didn’t make the mistake twice as she hates holding the proof of that mistake.  

-

Grandma, I’m home.

Come into the kitchen child. I’m makin’ us a treat!

Now, you know that I smell your chicken. Why, I heard that skillet spitting as I was stepping towards the train.

Yes, well, the day was dull, so I decided, as I was walkin’ home, to make a little of summer’s sunshine. Was your day at school good?

Of course it was! Every day living is ‘good’ because you’re holding me.

Well, when I’m old, it will be a comfort havin’ you, the nurse, holdin’ me.

Oh, Grandma, you’re going to be old never!

Yes, well, tell my bones that when they are crackin’ from my bendin’. I tell you that I can barely make it home after cleanin’ those rooms. And child, people can be filthy!

Grandma, I’ll be working in a few years; then, you won’t have to go to that hotel anymore!

Well, now, I’m not givin’ up my pension! No, I want every dime that hotel owes me. Why, I have watched their mouths flappin’ when orderin’ me to do their dirty work, so I ain’t lettin’ them off easy! No, I am goin’ to get what is comin’ to me, and I am goin’ to laugh while takin’ it!

You are shootin’ sparks Grandma.

"Yes, well, you keep talkin’ as me, and I will be ‘shootin’’ somethin’! Now, go, and change honey while this skillet is spittin’ because I don’t want my labor turnin’ cold upon that platter. 

Mm, I love that spittin’ sound, and I am anticipatin’ that crunch to chillin’ the sweat that is drippin’ from my brow!"

-

I don’t think that my life could be better if my mother had been straight. No, that woman is joy to me, and she works hard to lift me high, and she did the same for my mother. I cannot imagine my mother’s reasons for throwing all of this away: drugs, and sex, I just don’t understand!

-

Can I help you with anything Grandma?

No, child, I want to eat that’s all.

The labor of her days fills every dish. Yes, she works tirelessly to lift me.

Well, child, what’s that for?

Can’t I give my grannie a kiss without havin’ a reason.

Now, again, you are soundin’ as me with your protestin’; I don’t want to hear you fallin’!

Oh, Grandma, I would be climbing if I was attempting to be you!

Well, now, tell me about your day honey. Are you learnin’ a lot?

You know that I am. I just cannot tell you, but the body is amazing!

Now, I don’t know if I can agree with that; after all, I am cleanin’ up some messes that I cannot describe, and my body is screamin’ while doin’ it!

You should have worked for the people living within those beautiful townhouses that I walk past. I was walking one of those streets on my way to the subway this evening when I heard a door shut, and that sound rang of money, and I was fixed upon the beauty surrounding those doors. They must cover beautiful lives.

Well, I don’t think that you know, but I worked within one of those houses before your grandfather died.

Oh, what was it like?

Well, they have many pretty thins to look at, but they are just as dirty as anybody. Why, we are cleaner, and we ain’t got nothin’ to compare!

Did you leave because of that?

"No, I was raisin’ our daughter alone; the job wasn’t payin’ enough money, and I needed to consider some security for my old age. Well, the long hours laborin’ was a struggle, but it wasn’t bad because I had my daughter. Yes, I was happy that she was a girl because I did not want a boy: no, when the moss starts growin’ around that stick of theirs, you have nothin’, but trouble!

Now, isn’t life spiteful when lookin’ at what your momma became!"

-

Eulie, she looks very peaceful.

What a stupid thing to say.

We appreciate life’s view while sittin’ upon our perch and swingin’; then, we are pushed from our seat. Yes, your grannie has been pushed from her seat as each of us will be, but you must live despite bein’ angry from this honey. Yes, you must go on because she is, now, watchin’ you from her seat in God’s kingdom.

Words, flood my ears; I feel my mind floundering amidst them as they are received from those without the sense that God gave a goose. I want to laugh from hearing those words as my grandmother is speaking to me. Yes, her lips have been glued shut, but she is speaking to me.

I just cannot bear you being gone. I cannot understand as we were just sitting together; now, you are lying at the end of this room. This room filled with people whispering while smiling and laughing. Can’t they see that you are dead?

-

Eulie, I’m so very sorry.

Momma, what are you doing here?

Eulie, I know that I’ve failed in my life, but she was my mother.

She did everything for you; you threw all of it away! You left her questioning her mistakes! You left her to die without answers! You have no rights here!

-

Yes, lower your head in shame as you walk away from us!

She slithers from this room, and I feel my breath being pulled from me.

I hope to see her again never; I hope to feel this again never. I want to leave this room; I want to walk away from those pitying me. I need this to be over!

-

That skillet spit at her as it cooked our pleasures; still, it stands upon the trivet where she left it always. Yes, it’s here, and she’s gone. I want to break it as it has broken us, but I’ll leave it beside the stove because she loved it.... We loved it for the pleasures that it provided.

God’s breath seems to have been chilled from a taste of sweet tea. 

I hear you Grandma! The breeze flowing through this room isn’t refreshing though.

No, this room is cold and hard. I have to go to my bedroom, and turn on every light to stifle the blackness that is wrapping around me.

-

That kitchen’s door striking its frame, sounded as the casket’s lid shutting; its echo stifles the strikes of my feet against the bare wooden floor. I want to tear the flesh from my bones. I want to die to be with her. I want to leave this grave, and slip into the color and warmth making hers.

I need to sleep.

-

The image of her lying upon the floor of that hotel room is burning my eyelids. The sheets are hot, and my body aches. I have to stand; I have to walk. I have to get out of this apartment, and walk.

-

She wanted her pension. She wanted to take from them as they had taken from her. All the years of struggle tolerating their abusive tones while cleaning the rooms of those too smug to even smile to her, and she fell before them: lying at their feet, she was dead upon the very floor that she had cleaned hundreds of times!

I look to those buildings lighting