The knob comes out in my hand when I turn it. I know it does, but I forget and remind myself each time, over. I wonder whether I will ever remember it by heart. The glass door opens when I turn the broken knob, but I am only half way out. In front of me there is still the wooden door, posing a subtle barrier between me and my view. I can already smell what’s out there, I can feel the warmth of the air passing through the slit along with these beams of light that stain the wall above my bed. In the afternoon the sun beam hits Michelangelo’s picture of man and God near-touching fingers on top of my headboard. I can hear a child’s laughter, a dog barking, a car approaching and leaving. I see the pear tree that never bears fruits, trimmed in a V-shape so as to allow space for high power cables. I find it hard to understand why people choose man made over nature made, but I have come to terms with it. I see the scar line dividing my front neighbor’s face in two – her old and her new self – since the time of the accident. On my left, I see Pedro, sitting down on his window sill, playing the guitar – your lips are like labyrinths… he sings, and I still think he is singing it to me. On my right, there is what my brother and I call ‘the castle’, a four-storey house, reminding us kids, born in the 80s, size really mattered. I entered the castle once, and was as eager to leave, after using the lavatory. Red walls, red tiles, red sink, red floor, red toilet and soap, and thank God there was a spark of golden from the tap. I can’t stop thinking that, like a castle, they too have a slaughter room, and one where blood is untraced, at least by color. To my left and front there are these plots of land, empty spaces, I desperately want filled with houses. These bare territories frighten me, they show a lack of civilization that affects me personally. I am ashamed of them when my friends come and visit, afterall I am a girl of my time, a city girl.
I hear my mother’s voice, dinner is ready, and the wooden door remains closed.