recognize me.
Irene leaned against a pillar, eyes closed, bobbing to the music
from her oversized headphones. I still don’t know why I agreed to bring her
along. At times, it seemed like she didn’t even want to be along. But I knew how helpless she must feel. She wanted her mother back
as much as I wanted my wife.
A bald man in a business suit and overcoat wandered over, glancing
at me over his newspaper. I nervously checked my watch. The only thing I hated
more than flying was waiting to fly.
The bald man made up his mind and moved toward me. I sighed
internally. Here we go.
“You’re that guy, aren’t you ? ”
I pretended not to hear, positioning myself between the man and
Irene. Sometimes these guys turned out to be real headcases.
He edged closer and tapped my shoulder, ignoring all concepts of
personal space.
“Yeah, I’ve seen you on the news,” he said, jabbing his finger at
me. “You’re that photographer.”
“You must have me confused—”
“What do you call those pictures you take ? ” he asked. “Reclusive doors ? ”
I gritted my teeth. He obviously wasn’t going to leave me alone. Did
they ever ?
“Recursion doors,” I corrected, checking my watch again. Boarding
time was two minutes late.
“Yeah, that’s it. World within a world or something, right ? ”
“Now boarding first class,” the flight attendant announced.
Finally.
“Something like that,” I said, nudging Irene and eagerly pushing
forward to hand over our tickets. A few people glared at me, but I ignored
them.
The man persisted, grabbing my sleeve. I turned to say something,
but stopped. The man’s breathing was heavy, his eyes bulging. I’d seen that look
of fanaticism before.
“Is it true what they say ? ” the man
asked in a fierce whisper. “Did you really discover paradise ? ”
The color drained from my face. Had the idea already come so
far ? It was like a virus I never meant to
spread. I pulled my arm away and retreated down the ramp without answering.
How could I ?
I slept for two days after
returning home. The endless rounds of travel were definitely taking their toll,
but it didn’t matter—pure exhaustion was the only way I slept these days. On the
third day, Irene unceremoniously woke me.
“Jonny!”
She stood by my bed, snapping her fingers and pointing at the phone
in her hand. I stared at her in the confusion of the half-awake.
“It’s Nana.”
I let my head fall back to the pillow. Why now ?
Irene put the phone in my hand and I lifted it to my ear.
“Hello, Margaret.”
“It’s time to put an end to this nonsense, Jonathan,” my
mother-in-law said.
“Good morning to you too.”
“I’ve humored you long enough. It was one thing when your actions
affected only you. Now you’re bringing your teenage daughter along ? ”
“It’s her decision.”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “We’ve all accepted it. Why can’t
you ? ”
“Because I haven’t given up hope,” I said, sitting up. “I just have
to find the right door.”
“Damn it, Jonathan. The fire was two years ago,” she said. “You have
to let it go. The door is gone.”
I was silent.
“Your daughter needs you,” she said. “And she needs the chance to
move on.”
“You want me to tell Irene her mother is dead ? ”
“I want you to be her father.”
“What happened to you ? ”
Her voice softened. “I’m tired, Jonathan. For the longest time I
wanted to believe you were right. But I can’t anymore—it’s just too hard. I’m
too old for false hope.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “We’ll talk again soon. Goodbye,
Margaret.”
I hung up without waiting for an answer. My hands were trembling. I
balled them into tight fists and pressed them against my forehead. Everyone
thought I was crazy. What was so crazy about wanting to believe your wife was
still alive ?
The day I lost Marie, I’d come home to our little apartment over the
antique shop and found it ablaze. A
Irene leaned against a pillar, eyes closed, bobbing to the music
from her oversized headphones. I still don’t know why I agreed to bring her
along. At times, it seemed like she didn’t even want to be along. But I knew how helpless she must feel. She wanted her mother back
as much as I wanted my wife.
A bald man in a business suit and overcoat wandered over, glancing
at me over his newspaper. I nervously checked my watch. The only thing I hated
more than flying was waiting to fly.
The bald man made up his mind and moved toward me. I sighed
internally. Here we go.
“You’re that guy, aren’t you ? ”
I pretended not to hear, positioning myself between the man and
Irene. Sometimes these guys turned out to be real headcases.
He edged closer and tapped my shoulder, ignoring all concepts of
personal space.
“Yeah, I’ve seen you on the news,” he said, jabbing his finger at
me. “You’re that photographer.”
“You must have me confused—”
“What do you call those pictures you take ? ” he asked. “Reclusive doors ? ”
I gritted my teeth. He obviously wasn’t going to leave me alone. Did
they ever ?
“Recursion doors,” I corrected, checking my watch again. Boarding
time was two minutes late.
“Yeah, that’s it. World within a world or something, right ? ”
“Now boarding first class,” the flight attendant announced.
Finally.
“Something like that,” I said, nudging Irene and eagerly pushing
forward to hand over our tickets. A few people glared at me, but I ignored
them.
The man persisted, grabbing my sleeve. I turned to say something,
but stopped. The man’s breathing was heavy, his eyes bulging. I’d seen that look
of fanaticism before.
“Is it true what they say ? ” the man
asked in a fierce whisper. “Did you really discover paradise ? ”
The color drained from my face. Had the idea already come so
far ? It was like a virus I never meant to
spread. I pulled my arm away and retreated down the ramp without answering.
How could I ?
I slept for two days after
returning home. The endless rounds of travel were definitely taking their toll,
but it didn’t matter—pure exhaustion was the only way I slept these days. On the
third day, Irene unceremoniously woke me.
“Jonny!”
She stood by my bed, snapping her fingers and pointing at the phone
in her hand. I stared at her in the confusion of the half-awake.
“It’s Nana.”
I let my head fall back to the pillow. Why now ?
Irene put the phone in my hand and I lifted it to my ear.
“Hello, Margaret.”
“It’s time to put an end to this nonsense, Jonathan,” my
mother-in-law said.
“Good morning to you too.”
“I’ve humored you long enough. It was one thing when your actions
affected only you. Now you’re bringing your teenage daughter along ? ”
“It’s her decision.”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “We’ve all accepted it. Why can’t
you ? ”
“Because I haven’t given up hope,” I said, sitting up. “I just have
to find the right door.”
“Damn it, Jonathan. The fire was two years ago,” she said. “You have
to let it go. The door is gone.”
I was silent.
“Your daughter needs you,” she said. “And she needs the chance to
move on.”
“You want me to tell Irene her mother is dead ? ”
“I want you to be her father.”
“What happened to you ? ”
Her voice softened. “I’m tired, Jonathan. For the longest time I
wanted to believe you were right. But I can’t anymore—it’s just too hard. I’m
too old for false hope.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “We’ll talk again soon. Goodbye,
Margaret.”
I hung up without waiting for an answer. My hands were trembling. I
balled them into tight fists and pressed them against my forehead. Everyone
thought I was crazy. What was so crazy about wanting to believe your wife was
still alive ?
The day I lost Marie, I’d come home to our little apartment over the
antique shop and found it ablaze. A
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