When The Door Creaks Open

Like the leaves that waft down from the branches of the maples in spring by Golden Gate park, speckled with the Tabasco hot sauce you find in the pizza joints downtown. Or like the warm flames of the bonfires down on the beach at Fourth of July, spotted with the still-fiery hot coals left over the next morning. Rimmed by the bright displays of emotion were a deep pools of nothingness. Vast, round, never-ending; as if the universe could fall down inside and be forgotten for an eternity. Martin was locked in a stare with the eyes of the Voiceless Man, and for a moment, it seemed he would fall down into them too.

It was just a minute ago, Martin remembered. Just a minute ago that I was there. Yet it felt as long ago as the Voiceless Man’s eyes were eternal. Martin had volunteered today at the soup kitchen, spooning a stew of celery root, beets, and bright orange carrots into the empty stomachs of dozens of wandering souls. He’d covered his shift. Walking out the side exit, Martin held open the door for the building janitor behind him. “Thanks son,” Martin remembered. He’d hurried up the cracked sidewalk, his wrists chafed by the cuffs of his black shirt, making his way out of the Tenderloin to his apartment off of Van Ness, when he’d bent over to pick something up.

A twenty. That’s what it was, Martin thought to himself. Martin had picked up a twenty dollar bill, and put it in his back pocket, not just a second ago. But why was he thinking of this?

Martin’s pupils dilated. He saw me pick it up. The deep orange irises of the Voiceless Man peered into his soul. Sitting on the pale concrete, he stared up at Martin from his lowered position. Martin knew his face, but he couldn’t place it.

Martin’s pocket grew heavy with the weight of the world, as if all of the guilt of thousands of generations, of a million men banished from their homes, robbed of their lives was shifting from his well adjusted shoulders into the loose fabric compartment of his jeans. All of the moments that had transpired in Martin’s life- the winding of the clock and the ticking away, the filling of the other end of the hourglass and the grains of sand slipping away, never enough at the top to make a difference by the time they fall to the bottom. And yet here he was, a starfish in his hand, the ocean spray on his right shoulder, poised to throw. The eyes of the Voiceless Man hungered for recognition, for justice. He spoke to Martin, with no words, but only through the orange walled portals of darkness. Gravity pulled on Martin heavier still.

He reached to his back pocket, and the eyes of the Voiceless Man glowed like liquid steel, hope pouring out from the depths where once was only despair. Martin’s hand slipped in to feel the stiff paper, when his shirt chafed his wrist. Black. Martin remembered his wardrobe choice that morning. Black, so nobody will see if I spill the soup. The weight lifted from his back pocket. His hand pulled away, his head turned, and he broke his stare with the man sitting below him on the concrete.

Martin walked home.

    *     *       *  *     *     *

The door to Martin’s apartment creaked open like it always did. He would replace that, it would only cost him a little less than twenty to fix it.

Martin’s roommate called to him from the shower,

“Hey Ralph- you do good today?”

Martin unbuttoned his black overshirt, with the intention of showering after his roommate had finished.

“Whaddaya mean?”

“You know, at that kitchen thing you’ve been talkin’ about nonstop for the last two weeks”.

Martin looked down at his white v-neck. There was a bright orange stain on the right shoulder. It looked like the Tabasco sauce you find in the pizza joints downtown. Martin was frustrated- despite his best efforts to cover it up, Martin always seemed to stain his shirt. He’d have to take it to the cleaners downstairs tomorrow.

“Yeah, I did good.”

    *     *       *  *     *     *

Cable news transcript; 0400 hours, 02-02-14

“Today, San Francisco local Ralph Martin was found dead on the street below his apartment. Glass was shattered around him and the window was cracked. The authorities have found the cause of death to be suicidal.

“The corpse was found at 2:00 AM, clutching a newly packaged door hinge, wearing an orange-stained white v-neck.”