Pining

I drive my shoulder into the wardrobe and march forward. All four corners scraping along the floor boards, luckily I haven’t lacquered them up.

If I‘d listened to my wife, I’d be scraping back inches of thick, perfectly coated floor varnish into candy canes.

            With one final shove, I throw my weight forward, stand up, take a deep breath and see some spots… I feel light headed.

I prop myself against the dresser for a moment, inspecting the damage to the floor boards.

            Great, more work for the slave driver to dictate, ‘Sand it back! Now lacquer it!’

Fun times…

I follow the tracks along the ground like a giant looking down on some miniscule highway, until they’re blurred by reflecting light.

I look up and around, do a pirouette, and land, gob-smacked.

            In front of me stands a green door, straight out of Pride and Prejudice with its old ornamental handle and big empty keyhole.

            ‘A door to nowhere?’ I ask…Nobody.

            I lunge at the door and grab the handle; I try to turn it, no luck.

I grab hold of the knob with both hands; twisting and shaking it violently, it stands firm.

Exerted, I let the handle go and drop to my knees, peering through the keyhole… I see snooty people laughing, drinking and having the time of their lives, and the women… Are beautiful!

The slave driver’s not interested or interesting.

            I grab a metal coat hanger from the dresser, uncurl it and start to fish around the lock, hoping I latch a lever to pry open this mystery.

I kick the door, yank out the hanger and throw it across the room.

            I look through the keyhole… The scene remains, with even more laughter than before.

I’m being mocked!

            I back up; and charge at the door with my sturdy shoulder leading the way.

            I collide, catapulting back to my point of origin, wincing in pain.

What about the slave driver?

Do I tell her when she gets back?

No, she doesn’t deserve to be happy, and whoever’s in there doesn’t deserve to be that miserable.

I need re-enforcements…

When I re-enter the room, I half expect the door to be gone, and then to promptly ring a therapist.

            It remains, mocking me, but I’m certain to have the last laugh. A brand new Chainsaw! Two stroke, one hundred and fifty horsepower… I’m certain of victory and, then surely, some happiness.

            I yank on the cord. The chainsaw shutters violently, vibrations engulf my body, itching my ears.

            I pull again, this time; I put the chainsaw down and rub my ears.

            Should I of gotten ear protection?

            I grab the chainsaw, willing the engine to kick over and fire up. I grip the leaver and yank the cord with my biceps maximum force.            

            The cord snaps, I fly across the room falling backwards. The chainsaw’s weight throws me off balance; I panic and drop the chainsaw on the floor.

            Not the floor!

My lower back takes the brunt of the impact, the inertia sends my head into the wooden skirting board that I am again, yet to ‘get around to.’

            I lie on the floor dejected, wincing in pain.

Every physical object in the room mocks me.

            My eyes water, blurring my vision, I feel disorientated.

This is what it must be like to be a new born – pain, tears and confusion!

             ‘I’m back!’ the sound of her voice jolts through my body.

            ‘Yay.’ I mutter, jump up and throw a rug over the chainsaw, and wipe my eyes clear. I push against the dresser, thrusting with all my might, willing my discovery to remain secret.

            ‘What’s that noise?’

            I have the dresser in place as Marie opens the door, and looks at me with that, ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Face of disapproval.

‘I thought we said you’d work on the nursery first, and then, we’d get to your study!’ she says.

            I simply nod; it’s all I can be bothered to do now.

            ‘Come on; help me get some bags out of the car!’ She turns and waddles out, I gingerly stride across the room, rubbing the back of my head, turning to close the door,

I stare at the dresser and smile.

I have something that is mine now, not hers.