Daily Sketches. #12 Doorknob

12

Write about a door knob. Any door knob – maybe it’s in your room, maybe in a fancy concert hall, or in an antique shop. Is it made of glass, metal, ceramic? What color is it? Is it attached to a door that you are afraid to open, curious to open, eager to open, or are you indifferent? If you never paid any attention to door knobs, write about how stupid it is to even think of door knobs. If nothing comes to mind, invent!

“Hello,” I say and shake your ragged hand.

All right, all right, maybe “shake” is not the right word, maybe “squeeze” is more like it. Wait a minute, not squeeze either. Technically, I suppose, I turn it, but it does not sound well at all, so I’ll stick with “shake”.

“Hello,” you say, coughing and sneezing, and groaning like an old man.

“Thanks for letting me in,” I hurry in.

“You’re welcome, dear.”

“Thanks!” I hurry out.

“Don’t mention.”

Cough, cough. Achoo!

When grandpa was here, he took good care of you.

“He did, he did,” you say, creaking.

You’re probably about the same age as grandpa, aren’t you? And just like grandpa, you’re still not ready to retire and still want to do your job properly. No wonder he treated you with such a respect. You’re a good guy.

“I just do what’s right,” you say.

Cough, cough. Achoo!

How many couple’s privacy you protected over the years, being there as a faithful watchdog. I feel thankful on behalf of all of us.

“Don’t mention it,” you say humbly.

And what about those cats? So naughty! Sometimes both you and I aren’t fast enough, and they sneak in when they feel like it.

“We do the best we can,” you say.

Cough. Cough, cough.

I’ll try to help you. I’ll see what tools I need to keep you in a good shape.

“Well, don’t get too ambitious. Better shape, maybe. Not so much good shape,” you say.

I don’t want other guys here doing the job you do. It’s your lifetime job, and you’ve been doing it well.

“No problem.”

Achoo!

You feel like you’re losing your grip. But it’s just a moment, it’ll pass. I’ll fix you, I promise.

“I appreciate,” you say.

I’m bringing my tools – a screwdriver and such – to tighten your loose joints. I’m not especially experienced at it. But I try. Grandpa too has joint pains – he knows.

Cough, cough. Achoo!

Oh hello there! I did not think of you in that way before, but you’re also grandpa’s age, aren’t you?

“We’re in this together.”

You’re right! You are all connected. The doorknob to the door. The door to the wall. You’re all a part of one whole team, one organism that is our old house. I know, I know, I better say “vintage” – it’s more fashionable that way, more upbeat, funky even, more polite and more political correct. But at the core, you know, it means old.

“You, young folks,” you say smiling at my straightforwardness.

I am young compared to you. I am not as thoughtful, I don’t take as good care of you as you deserve. Grandpa did a better job, really. Let me talk to him. We need to get you guys in a better shape. What he’ll suggest, I wonder?

Rise and Write 8-14

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