Memories flooded back as I approached the door. It had been nearly six years since I had last walked through, but I could still picture in my mind what I would find on the other side: a grassy, brilliant green meadow speckled with lavender, a warm breeze carrying the slightest hint of sulfur mixed with the scent of mountain spring water and fresh juniper, and the sound of birds chirping and the breeze shuffling through the grass and the leaves.
I smiled at the memory as I grasped the handle of the door and ran my fingers over the fading blue-painted wood. It had been far too long since I had last been here. My grandmother was the one who had shown me how to step through the door. My fingers faltered, hovering over the foggy glass window in the center of the door. A lump formed in my throat at the thought of my grandmother. It still didn't seem real. Even now, standing here on the steps, I expected to hear her voice calling out to me from the other side of the meadow. I wasn't sure I wanted to open the door now if opening it would just remind me that she was gone.
It was too late now. I was here--I might as well go through. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and focused my energy on the door. Slowly I turned the handle, feeling the lock slide out of the bolt with a clunk. I pushed the door in, listening to the creak of the wood as it opened.
There was no breeze. No smell of sulfur. I opened my eyes--there was no meadow. No lavender. No mountain air, no birds chirping, no warm sun. Instead, there was an old, musty room, with a careworn wooden table in the center of the room, a solitary three-legged stool tucked underneath. The dust that hung in the air was so thick that the light from the window barely made it to the floor, and the swirling dust danced around in the sunbeam.
My heart dropped into my stomach. What had gone wrong? There was no doubt that this was the right door--my grandmother had purposely painted it a cheery blue color to distinguish it from the other doors along the street. Was I the problem? It may have been six years since I had last been here, but I had opened a new door in my bedroom closet only two months ago and had used that door as recently as last week.
I stepped inside the room, nearly choking on the dusty air. It was clear that my grandmother hadn't used the actual room for a long time, despite the fact that she had been using it as a bakery the last time I had been here. Perhaps, like this room, the door had been used so infrequently that it had fallen into disrepair. Her health had been failing for the last several years. It didn't seem far-fetched that she might not have had the energy to maintain the door.
The thought of such a wonderful door vanishing made my throat clench. I did an about-face and marched outside, slamming the door behind me before turning to face it. I pressed my forehead against the window glass and my palm against the wood and listened. I listened, not only with my ears but with my heart and mind as well. I listened for the faint heartbeat within the door, the spark of life that remembered its time as a tree.
It took much longer than usual, and when I finally did hear it, it was faint, almost tired. I filled my lungs with air and my heart with energy before carefully reaching in to grasp the faint spark. Once I had hold of it, I hesitated. It was one thing to open a new door of my own--it was quite another to reopen someone else's. Carefully, I pulled that spark in closer, filling my mind with my grandmother's memory. I remembered how she had almost always smelled slightly of sulfur--the telltale sign that she was frequently using doors. I thought of her warm smile and her wrinkled hands that somehow managed to make careful, delicate stitches even as they shook. I remembered her warm hugs, and how she always called me her little magpie.
As I thought of my grandmother, the heartbeat I held in my hands grew stronger. Encouraged, I continued, feeding it my memories of her. When it felt strong enough to hold its own, I flooded it with my own energy the way I always did when I opened a door. Then I felt it. A connection. I opened my eyes, and I was still standing outside the door with my forehead against the glass and my palm pressed against the wood. Slightly dizzy from dealing with both the old and new energies mixing together, I stepped backward and almost fell down the stairs. I grabbed the doorknob and steadied myself.
This was it. I took another deep breath, licked my lips, and pushed the door inward. I felt a warm breeze tickle my nose and play with my hair, and I smiled, a tear in the corner of my eye. "Hello, grandma," I whispered to the breeze, knowing she would not be there to answer me. "I've come back."