"The Butterfly Through the Keyhole"

by Monica Petter


I just heard the door slam. It wasn’t thunderous or unnerving. It slowly creaked shut clicking into place nicely. I have been on alert now for sometime, aware that I would hear it. Poised, my ears cocked a notch higher. Hearing door slamming in my dreams. Dreams of death, voices and ghosts chasing me, tornadoes threatening me. Change the stalker, my fear making me hide. No more. I know the running is behind me. That door has closed.

What is on the other side? Is it refreshing or is it manic and needy? I know what was behind the door. I looked through the keyhole, tried to exit it. I don’t want to reopen it or go back and rehash. It was aggressive and emotionally draining, turning me into a hollow core. I am empty and ready for renewal. I am ready to move ahead. What lies ahead? I couldn’t tell you. I can only hope that it balances out the emptiness, replenishes the running spring to my soul with diamond like water.

The morning light shines in through the open blinds and dust particles dance off my feet. I take note of my breathing, rhythmic and even. My thoughts collected and corralled unlike last night. The midnight hour resurrecting the race, my thoughts lined up at the start line, one at a time sprinting to be heard first; My heart lumbering, a freight train steaming an endless track. I race until exhaustion
sends me back to sleep.

As I rise to a new day, I feel a strange force around me. I am not alone in my thoughts. I look over my shoulder as if I am being chased. Anticipation is watching me. I feel his brown eyes looking through the peephole of my soul. I shudder. I go through the motions, weary. In the haze of my own indecision, I hear it – click. Peace washes over me.
The stalker gone.

I sit on the patio and watch the sunset. It is a cool orange and it massages my face in its warmth. I don’t know what lies ahead and frankly, I am tired of caring. I am embracing this small millisecond, enjoying this moment of silence, marveling in my own humanity. Tomorrow is no guarantee. But I guarantee you this – I’ll be doing something different soon. I know in my soul, there is another version of me, another someone I forgot to be just waiting her turn. I am ready to unzip this face and toss it in the trash.

There’s an older, wiser woman with fresh eyes and new lines to her character. I’ve walked this road a hundred times. I am the moth right now, ugly and dormant. You just can’t see my inner workings. No, very soon, I’ll be free; The butterfly through the keyhole.

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