Open the Door

FICTION

by Mary Grimm

          It was dark in the closet and it seemed as if they’d been in there a long time, so long that maybe their names had changed. Jeanie said this to Mark and he said don’t be silly. Not said, but whispered, because of the glumps, which was what they called their grownups when they were “on the warpath,” as their grandmother had once said. She was dead now. Jeanie didn’t know what a warpath was but she thought it was a kind of drug because that made sense, right? It wasn’t totally dark because they had a flashlight. It was dim because the battery was going. Its light was a dim greenish circle that Mark aimed at the walls, the clothes hanging on the rod over them, their feet. The light floated to glow on the ceiling and Jeanie imagined that it was a fairy who was their friend. Or maybe just her friend because sometimes Mark was mean about things like fairies. Was it time to come out yet? Mark said no. Whispered it. They were sitting on shoes. The dresses hung down smelling like dead flowers. My new name is Karla, Jeanie said. You don’t look like a Karla, Mark whispered, so she rearranged her face to make it better. Karla would be smart and a little taller. Karla would know when to open the door.