The first time I see our new front door I am unimpressed. The wood is a brown color that’s not dark enough to be anything sturdy or valuable, and as if in support of this theory I see chips and splinters in the door’s edges, revealing a much brighter tan color underneath.
“We should paint it,” I think. Red or maybe a nice royal blue, but since we haven’t even technically moved in yet I think it’s probably best not to already suggest changing things. To the right of the door is a plaque with a vaguely concerning warning about the effects of asbestos on pregnant women. My brother reads it and is reasonably concerned.
“They probably wouldn’t put that here unless there was merit, huh?” I shrug, smiling at the uptick in his voice. We’re never anxious about the same things.
“That’s probably true,” I say, “but we’re all dying anyways. Besides, you don’t look particularly pregnant to me.” He grumbles something unintelligible and slides the key, conveniently labeled “front door,” into the lock.
I remember Wayne handing us the ring the day before, close to 10 keys, each with a label in a plastic casing. “All of these are for one apartment?” I asked.
Hello Good People,
Posting my second story of the 826 Valencia Series, which I’ll maybe find a way to keep track of once we start meeting up again. We only met twice before quarantine set in though so I probably won’t be posting more about this series for a while. Who knows though, this time is reminding me how resourceful we can be. Like the first piece this story was written during the free write period of our meeting time. Our prompt was to imagine our front door and then write about it. I hope you’re all holding together out there.
Love & light,