October 1st, 1990
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been staring at those doors. What’s behind them? The big bright lights, the crowds, and all the merry-making and jubilee. I’ve always wanted to be there. I can’t say for sure that it’s all that appealing because I really don’t know, but everything on this side has pushed me away. It all continues to push me further and further until I’m pressed right up against those double doors with the porthole windows.
Some might say I belong here, on this side. Maybe they think I’ve got stuff to do over here. I don’t care about that. I’ve never cared about that. I don’t want to do it. I want to be with everyone else, behind those doors. The way that they dress, the way that they talk. I can’t explain why I feel the way that I do, but I’m drawn to it. It makes sense. I don’t know if I’d ever fit in over there, but I know that sure as day follows night that I don’t fit in over here. I don’t.
And so I have to take a ride back to my room. It’s quaint, if you like that sort of thing. Warm tones and white sheets. I’m just a visitor. I suppose that’s life on the road. I’m a bit of a wandering spirit; I go wherever doesn’t kick me out at the sight of me, and I overstay my welcome just enough that it leaves a bad taste in everyone’s mouth, even mine.
I switch on the lamp, and I draw the curtain. I peek out the window at all the people going by. There’s a couple walking with their arms linked, sharing a joke that I’ll never be in on. There’s a man sitting on the sidewalk, hoping someone will drop change into his cup. There’s a group of young adolescents experiencing their first taste of the night, marveling at what the world looks like when they go to sleep. None of them will be me; none of them will ever know me. I won’t be in this town for long.
I’ll hit the road sometime soon. Those doors; they wouldn’t let me in, but I’ve heard there are doors just like that somewhere else. That’s what I’ve been chasing.
I sit on the bed, and I look at the light blinking on the phone. You didn’t leave a message for me, but I’ll still tell you where to reach me when I get to the next place. It’s getting colder—I mean, it’s still pretty warm; I don’t need my jacket, but it’s getting colder.
I can’t stand sitting around, and I know there’s no way that I’m falling asleep, so I make a move to leave my room. It doesn’t matter; I’m not particularly wanted there. I keep moving; I keep walking. I mean, my legs don’t stop. But it’s—it’s quiet. It’s something that I noticed; whenever I go out, it’s always quiet. I look out the window, and it’s sort of like I’m looking through those double doors; there’s a whole celebration outside. But when I go out there, the streets become abandoned. I don’t have any reason to wait on the escalator, but I still do because I have nowhere to be.
There goes another pair of those doors right down that alleyway. Believe it or not, if I went over to them, they still wouldn’t let me in. I’ve been trying to get in there since I was just a little kid. Can you believe that? I can’t even get in on accident; I’ve had some close calls but no dice.
I tuck in by this one place that stays open late, and I put my hand on the receiver of the payphone outside. I don’t know if I should call. I mean, I don’t want to disturb you, but you should be glad to hear from me. Right? Maybe I’m overstating myself; I know that I’m not important.
But what the hell? I mean, where are you anyway? Can’t I come home? Maybe this is my fault, I don’t know. I…
If I did something wrong, I’m sorry. I don’t want to leave a bad impression. Not on you. Anyone else, but not you. I, uh…
Look, this is probably the hundredth voicemail I’ve left for you; you must’ve heard the others.
Maybe I’m just imagining things. I’ve lost all credibility, so I can’t really believe what I say or what I feel or what I think. I just believe that you’re on the other side of that phone; that’s all I believe. I don’t know…
I don’t know.
Maybe you’re fine without me. Maybe you’re better off. Maybe you’re serving dinner to your family right now because maybe you have a family. Maybe he’s a nice guy too, a real man. I don’t…
I mean, I don’t want to ruin what you’ve got going on. But you’d tell me, right? I mean, the kids, the house, the whole thing, you’d tell me if you had all that?
I don’t know; I’m gonna get out of here. You—you’ve got stuff to do; I don’t really wanna keep anybody up. Just…
Just give me a call—a sign. Anything.
I mean, if I was gone—if they let me through those doors…
…you’d miss me, right?
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