Doorknob

I approach the door and reach for the brass knob mounted on the dark brown wood. I have turned this knob before, walked across this threshold before. But today is different, and I hesitate to act, cringe as I reach for that seemingly innocent metal ball that, when turned, will open the creaking door and place me in a position to which I loathe to return.

How many other hands have gripped this hunk of forged metal that serves as both totem and gatekeeper? How many others have hesitated just as I am doing now, wondering about the consequences of turning around, resisting the pull of emotion and history, and eschewing the experience that waits beyond this mahogany portal?

(c) 2008 NurseKeith