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The Screen Door–Story 4 of 31

By Ta'kom Ironhoof

I hate this house.

Every day, it's the same thing. Wake up, take a bath, eat my breakfast, then it's down to the library for “school", as my mother calls it. Usually consisting of her reading textbooks to me before explaining things in further detail with a chalkboard. The screech of the chalk almost drives me to tears, but I suppose I have no choice but to endure.

Now that I'm a bit older, we're starting to get into algebra. Why do I need to know anything about algebra? We both know that I'm never going to be anything special. I try to argue, but mom just won't listen to me. She insists I must learn these things. It's so tiresome.

After an hour of lunch and small talk, we're back at it for a few more hours. Hard to pay attention when sleeping is the only thing that's on your mind. If for no other reason than to please “mother", I try to keep focused, doing my best to answer her questions, but everyday it gets more and more difficult. She even accused me of falling asleep when I was answering her questions. If only she'd pay attention to me. I suppose that's always been the problem. At least dad never had that problem. He's never paid attention to me. Instead, he just pretends I don't exist.

We had a neighbor stop by one time. Guess that was a nice little treat. They even paid me a compliment, a rare thing indeed.

“Mr. Jensen, it sure seems that little Reginald's plumage is coming in nicely," they had said.

My father replied, “Who?" His face was as serious as the day was long.

The neighbor laughed, thinking he had made a joke in poor taste. “Your son! He's going to be a fine man one day."

I suppose they can't be blamed for being hopeful. However, instead of acknowledging me, he simply said, “Oh…" and changed the subject. Of course, mom tried to interject but her soft-spoken voice was drowned out by father. I won't lie. I cried that evening at bedtime. Or rather, tried to. That was when the reality of my situation began to sink in.

“Reginald, it's now 3pm. How would you like to get some fresh air?"

Seems it was the end of the “school day", my favorite time of day. She didn't even wait for me to reply before moving me to the oak front door and opening it wide. Before me was the last barrier between me and the outside world; a rickety screen door.

“You stay here for a while. Mommy will come get you when dinner is ready."

On most days, this was the only time when I was left alone. For at least a few hours, I didn't have to worry about anyone else pandering to me or worrying about my well being. It was the closest thing to freedom that I would ever know. Though, I suppose that “freedom" is exactly why I'm the way I am now.

I can't dwell on that now. It was time to have fun.

Looking at the screen door, I stared at each of the little squares made by the metal mesh. Each square was a distinct reality. Within them, I could see all the things that I wanted to be, all the ways my life could have been different.

In one, I was a rock star, dancing and singing on a stage in front of thousands of adoring fans!

In another, I was a scientist, helping to cure the very condition that I suffered from now.

I even occasionally saw a future where I was an astronaut, going to space and exploring the star, adding my name to the list of others who've done the same.

To the best of my ability, I breathed in deep and sighed quietly. I knew none of it would ever happen to me. I was stuck in this wheelchair. Not just stuck, chained to it by pure happenstance. I suppose this is what I get for not listening to my mother. She told me not to climb trees. She warned me I could get hurt. She shouldn't have let me explore the woods alone!

It…doesn't matter now. I've rehashed that day over and over and have come to terms with it. While there was some blame on my parents for not paying attention and some on me for not heeding their warnings, it was the sudden gust of wind that was truly to blame. And blaming the wind is futile.

That same wind brought in scents of another beautiful fall day. I really enjoyed that smell; a cool scent that helps to ease the fire in my soul. Getting frustrated helps nothing. It never has.

So I go back to those little squares, the metal wires intersecting to hold all of my dashed dreams. But then, a look beyond the screen, my eyes unfocusing so I can see the trees beyond. The red oaks are as beautiful as ever. But as I'm moving my eyes to this tree or that, something catches my eyes.

I refocus my eyes on the little squares and in the lower right corner of the screen door; I see…me. I can see another peacock but his plumage and face; they're mine. And he's smiling, a wide of a grin as any avian can make, but something was wrong. Instead of an imaginary scene where I see one of my potential futures, this…face…filled the entire square. And we stared at each other. My mind raced with questions and curiosity.

Why was it just my face?

Was it getting…larger? Several squares were now filled up.

What did “it" want?

Why was it smiling?

“Can I come in?" a voice said, quietly, from just beyond the door, yet the face's beak never moved, that smile holding steady the entire time.

For a few more silent moments, we stared at each other as a tear began to well up in the corner of my eye. It was the first time in a long time that I could remember being able to shed tears. Paralyzed from the neck down, only being able to move my eyes and breath, I couldn't even cry right. I'd give anything to be able to speak or walk or talk or…anything again.

The voice spoke again, this time sounding like it was next to me, speaking in a whisper with a lilt of excitement and hope.

“I can fix everything, Reginald. You just have to let me in."

Slowly, I blinked twice, my only way of speaking my answer.

With a feeling that I had not felt in many, many years, I called out in a voice I had no recollection of.

“Oh, mother…"

I heard a crash come from behind me, followed by a scream. Mother was obviously startled. My body then began to move, slowly standing up. I was…standing! On my own two feet! Then my mom rounded the corner, her face twisted with concern. Then she began screaming visceral wails of anguish as she fell to her knees. I couldn't tell if she was happy or distraught. I'd never seen her like this.

Again, I felt my throat vibrate; the air passing through it, making a voice that was not my own. Though I was talking and standing, I was not in control.

“You should get that cut looked at, mother. Would be a shame if you bled to death."

My mother looked down, seeing the cut on her arm. I guess it was from whatever crashed in the kitchen. Though she stared at it for only a moment, she then brought her hands up to her mouth.

“Reg…Reginald…you…"

My body breathed in deeply and sighed loudly, completely out of my control. I was simply a witness to what was happening.

“Do take care of yourself, mother. I've spent far too many days, years really, in that chair. Think I'm going to go outside for a bit. Might go climb a tree…"

My body then turned away from her and began walking toward the door. And even though my body was moving, talking, breathing, it was no different from all the hours I spent staring through that screen door; living my life through the control of someone else.