Rooms

This was the place of doors: a long hallway, stretching far to either side. Fluorescent lights left a dull humming as they hung from the ceilings. Doors of every color lined the walls, of every make, of every age, of murals and memories and lives gone by. Some of them had holes or pockmarks, and some were smoothed over like a once-upon accident, only noticeable by the gap in the pattern. Nearby was one in particular, broken and twisted around its hinges, where soft flickering light spilled out.

I pried the twisted door open. The wood was old and shattered, yet soaked and bloated like driftwood. The room inside was lit by covered candles, twinkling light illuminating behind droves of white sheet curtains. The sheets swept out from the middle of the ceiling like a circus tent, covering the walls and sweeping over the floor. Urns holding bouquets were dotted about, all of the flowers puffy with fading colors, bleached pastel. There was no scent to the air save a metallic bitterness.

In the center, the curtains draped downward where a hole fell deep into the floor. A wreath of brown tangled vines and the same sickly flowers stood next to the hole, with a small index card resting in a wooden slot. Scrawled in an elegant script was a single word:

Help

At the bottom of the hole, past the ends of falling sheets and where the light just barely reached, was a massive metal bear trap. It was cocked and sprung, rusted teeth sharp and starving.

The broken door moaned and snapped as I scrambled backward to slam it shut. The fluorescent lights were still humming out in the hallway, and further down was a glass door that caught my eye, the inside plastered with flattened cardboard boxes. Pressed between the cardboard and the glass was a sign with cursive, delicate lettering: Sorry, we're closed.

A bell jingled loudly as the door opened, echoing from within. There were counters inside, covered with gears, cogs, rebar, screws and bolts, coated with dust and grime. The air was stale, and the dust fell back into my throat and left grit on my tongue. A solitary lamp hung from the ceiling, throwing shadows from everything. A lone cash register sat at a counter near the door, where a couple dollar bills were laid out. The counters stretched further and further back, where a door opened into a warehouse full of shelves.

The warehouse led further and further back, The shelves going higher and higher past ceilings that kept moving upward, where metal scraps were stacked as high as buildings and the path weaved about them. Giant piles of cars, rusted bulldozers, split-open planes, a half-rotten skyscraper and the burst-open hull of an old nuclear submarine. Detail faded as the ground itself twisted up and fell, like great sand dunes polished off into smooth steel.

An hour's walk or more, and the dunes fell off into an ocean. The ceiling rose until it was gone, a blue sky with wiry clouds warped off towards a flat shimmering horizon. The ground had been polished flat before, but here it broke into fine bits, until the ground was white with sand that puffed out with your footsteps. Down by the water, a board hung by chains from a wooden frame, with yellow words inset by a handful of painted golden flowers:

Welcome to California

In a flat expanse at the edge of the water, a little red Camaro faced the open sea. Dozens of tools were strewn in the sand around the open hood; the engine was idling softly. It was yawning, like a tired old dog waiting patiently for its master.

Through the rest of that world, I found my way back to the hallway, closing the glass door behind me gently as the little bell rang out. Down the hallway, more doors, continuing forever. I wandered.

A stained dark wooden door, with a little bulbous metal doorknob, stood underneath a large white box with red lettering glowing out into the hallway. Exit. A metal eight was nailed into the door, and the wood was covered with old scratches and signs of misuse. The door caught on the frame as it opened, and had to be shoved.

The light inside was stark white, brighter than the hallway outside. Exhibits were all around the room, more corridors opening into larger areas with larger exhibits. Red velvet tubes hung from poles around each stage, every stage an exhibit of photos, items, clothing, and memoirs. This was a museum.

The first exhibit was full of old photographs, black and white family members with holes cut into certain photos. Oriental buildings and temples could be made out in the backgrounds, but their forms were changing, fading like old memories. Coins, toys, little shirts and pants were laid out organized on a table.

As my focus turned to the other exhibits, their places had changed. Corridors rearranged, tables shifted, and the entrance had moved to another wall. I closed my eyes, rubbing them in disbelief, to find yet another new arrangement.

The stage that was now closest to the first was covered in photos of sunsets and beaches, orange neon fire poking through palm trees. Classrooms full of children, an old cliff at the edge of a yard. Handfuls of leaves, seeds, and fruit were laid out on the table.

I wandered through rooms and corridors now, having lost focus of the surroundings so often that returning to the entrance was unlikely. I had labored over each exhibit, full of photos of the world, of roads, places, people and things not ever like the rest. I wandered for hours, until nothing new to me would appear. My feet grew tired, and I remembered the hallway, wanting desperately now to find something static, something to anchor myself on. Nothing stayed in focus, nothing was ever the same here. I shut my eyes, laid down in defeat, face pressed against the cold, smooth floor.

Something clicked loudly. The lights had shut off, and only a dim glow remained. Before me rose a small podium, supporting a jade carving of a shoe. The shoe was worn, the tongue splayed out with the laces untied. It was dirty, muddy and misused, yet all of these qualities were masterfully carved out in jade. A sign hung from the stand, plain white with black letters:

DO NOT TOUCH.

The little statue crumbled at the touch, starting at the ends of the shoelaces, all of it falling apart into motes of dust. It floated up into the air, winding along the coiled lace as the body of the shoe went up too, like a wisp of sand tugged along a strong wind. It sparkled in the dim light, and vanished. The sign had changed, it was black with white letters:

THANK YOU.

Behind me was the door back into the hallway. I yearned fiercely now to look through more worlds, but became so tired I stayed to rest. I laid down there in that place, dozing against the podium, in the room of battered, ephemeral jade.