A door. Just a door. Set in a secluded brick structure mostly hidden by shrubs and trees and other foliage of that same green nature.
I stare at the solid black gateway to some unseeable space. Somewhere on the other side of that door is something. I don’t know what, but there is something. Anything. Everything. But certainly not nothing.
As I gaze at the lonely door, I find myself wondering. It’s subtle at first: How long has that been here? But from there, Curiosity demands more of me: Whose door is it? Or maybe it’s nobody’s?
I give Curiosity the proverbial inch, but it wants more. It reaches for the mile: Why is it here? I’m in the middle of nowhere. There is no need to keep someone out because no one is here. But that raises more questions: What is inside? And where does it go?
And then the voice of Curiosity asks its most direct question yet: Is it locked? I ponder these questions obsessively until I wonder if I should try my hand on the handle.
I check myself. This door is not mine to open and close as I please. My whimsy and wonderment give me the desire to see the other side, but they don’t grant me the right. If Curiosity murders cats, it cannot be construed to be a judge worthy of bestowing warrants upon intrigued civilians, no matter their ultimate intentions. Even so, I confess, I waver in my commitment to boundaries.
But what’s this? A small, warm lamp hanging above the door awakens. A soft glow radiates from it and gives the door an even more inviting appearance.
Could it be that this light is a sign? Could this justify Curiosity’s call to action? What if whoever exists beyond the door can sense my hesitation and flipped the light switch to let me know I am welcome? It seems imprudent, nay, even impolite, not to at least try the handle. What’s the worst that could happen?
But now I really start to wonder, what is the worst that could happen? I could try the handle and find an aggressor awaiting me on the other side. I could discover a cursed relic and have misfortune befall me for the rest of my days. I could find the light was a trap and a monster awaits patiently within, salivating while its prey decides whether or not to take the bait.
But I have to know, right? Good or bad, I need to know what’s behind this door. I consider knocking, but what if I do that and then lose all resolve when no one responds. No. That will not do.
I build up my nerve and carefully wrap my fingers around the handle. It’s cold to the touch, but has a sturdy, reassuring feel to it. I sense that secrets have been shared behind this door, that this handle has heard them all, but will never utter a word to anyone.
That faithfulness, that trustworthiness, it has to be the door’s invitation. My courage soars. Convinced of my mandate, I twist the handle to open the door with enthusiastic confidence.
Locked. I no longer feel curious. I just feel betrayed.