It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. That’s a good opening line for just about any story, so I thought I’d use it for: A Tale of Two Closets.
There are two closets in this studio apartment which is a fancy name for no-bedroom, stand-up only kitchen – apartment. This size apartment is mostly occupied by the 20- and 30- somethings that have popped into the big apple to make their fortune before moving out to the burbs or, if they really make it big, the multi-bedroom suites on Park or Central Park West. Or maybe waiting and hoping that a relative, or lost friend will kick the bucket and bequeath a multi-roomed apartment. Don’t laugh, it happens.
That’s the background for this story. In the foreground, I am wearing shorts, standing in front of a partial-length mirror which is glued to the closet at the end of the hallway, and banging all around it, either with my fists; or with my bare feet, my heels to be exact. When this futile exercise is finished, I turn the closet knob, first one way (clock-wise) then the other way (counter-clockwise) while pulling at the same time, either up or down. The closet hold a file cabinet which holds my medium format negatives from Paris, and while I pull and twist the knob, I feel a twinge in the lower back, which brings me back to the first paragraph where I mention that the apartments are mostly filled with 20- and 30-somethings, and that here I am, a 50-something that should have long ago found a place somewhere else where doors don’t swell up every summer, and where there are people around to fix that.
And how awful and pathetic to have to ask the super, or the super’s assistant if he can please open my closet for me. Have I become an old lady?
But I say a tale of two closets because while this closet, which holds a file cabinet with negatives from Paris that I was looking for, the other closet holds a stack of dirty laundry, and if you even touch the door lightly, the door will drop down, like the gate of a moat across an invisible river. The hinges are gone. I have two pieces of tape at the top to keep it from lowering itself onto the cat or onto my head.
Now it’s not that I don’t know how to fix it. I do. And I understand the laws of chaos enough to understand that at some point, these two closets are going to exchange attributes. It may take a few million years, but if I can wait long enough, the door that sticks will fall off it’s hinges, and the door that wants to drop on your head, will stick. And for a brief amount of time, possible 30 years, both doors will act as they were supposed to when they were installed that first day.
But at this point, I am afraid to get my laundry (though it must be done); and can’t get my medium format negatives (without help from the super) or the supernatural.
I’ll leave it at that, and send up a prayer to the Goddess of Doors (G-O-D) and await good door tidings. May the doors in your life only lead to perception, and not to dirty laundry or old negatives of Paris.
Wow….I so enjoyed this.
I don’t even know…”Goddess of Doors” to all… of it.
You are great.
Poet. Someone who writes. And clearly a talented photographer. A delight to have found you on twitter.
~annie
.-= annie q. syed´s last blog ..Still Sundays =-.
In order to fully appreciate the conundrum faced by Dave and his two damaged doors, we might do the following thought experiment:
Assume that after anywhere between zero and infinite attempts at turning the stuck door knob, the closet door actually swings open. Then assume that at that precise moment, the tape holding the other closet door in place, loses its stickiness and the door falls forward killing a cat (not Buddy, god forbid, but another theoretical cat whom we shall call Schrodinger).
Then assume that the long-lost Parisian negatives that Dave thought were in the closet with the defective door knob are, in fact, not in that closet. Dave has an epiphany and looks beneath the pile of laundry in the other closet and finds his negatives, where they’ve been hidden all the time. When Dave returns to the first closet, he finds an even greater surprise. Schrodinger, the cat, is alive and well and sitting there purring contentedly.
With great curiosity and some trepidation, Dave approaches the fallen closet door. He knows that he can’t possibly find a dead cat under the door because Schrodinger is very much alive. Dave lifts the door. What does he find underneath?
You’ve probably guessed. Yes, the assistant superintendent of his apartment building is lying there dead with a screwdriver still in his hand. This confirms two basic laws of the universe, the first being the Second Law of Thermodynamics and the second being Murphy’s Law.
A great story, followed by an equally great micro-novella by Lester!
.-= Steve Rosenbach´s last blog .. =-.
Dave … great read … what struck me is the possible connection between your psyche and the immediate physical environment you have created for yourself. Think about it … this is along standing situation that you have let develop. As you said you could have fixed it or got the super to fix it but you didn’t. Could it be an outward physical manifestation of your inner life? What does the closet with the Parisian negatives mean to you? What does the laundry mean to you? Why is one door stuck and the other needs barely a cats breath (sorry had to do it) to fall open?
Actually it isn’t a long standing situation though I don’t think that matters when diving into my psyche.
The door leading to the pile of laundry came off it’s hinges a few days ago.
The door leading to the medium format Paris negs wasn’t stuck until today; though that was first time in weeks I had tried to open that door.
Laundry = rules and domesticated behavior which was forced down my throat by my parents. To this day, and I could write a chapter on this I procrastinated laundry and washing dishes to an insane degree.
The medium format negs would be the first MF scans with the still new Mac setup. So I was waiting to get through the 35mm scans.
Managed to get the Mf door open tonight with a screwdriver in the lock mechanism.
And downloaded necessary drivers for the 4990 scanner and got my first scan done at 4880 dpi and 2.26 x 2.25.
There is one or two shots from French countryside I’m dying to scan.
DB
I was thinking if the doors were in fact metaphor … then you would be “stuck” or coming “unhinged” or both if thats actually possible.
May the content behind your doors be pleasantly cleansed, so it appears as infinitely smart. Funny story.