Intimacy of Doorknobs
The doorknob to my room holds the residues of so many people. It’s a simple doorknob. It’s silver and shiny. It’s smooth and feels cold. I think it’s made of steel. It’s filled with so many circles it reminds me of the moon. At night, when the light shines through from the bathroom across the hall, the doorknob reflects light and glows like the moon. The doorknob only opens the door if you twist it all the way to the right. The doorknob bears scrapes all over from the many things that have touched it. Staring at this object for so long, I realize the doorknob doesn’t have a lock on it. I have never needed to lock it. Why make a doorknob without a lock, I’ll never be able to hide anything in here!
A silky red Chinese stuffed mouse dangles from it, and I am almost positive is meant for a car mirror. It has a lot of detail sewn into it, like someone spent awhile trying to perfect it. It has a long tassel hanging from the mouse, which is an odd addition. At first this mouse had no real significance to me. In fact, I don’t even know why it’s on my door. However, I don’t want to remove it, it is a part of the doorknob now, and I may even leave it behind if we ever move.
The doorknob holds more than being just a physical object. The doorknob holds the feelings of forgiveness when my mother turns it to open the door to my room and apologize for yelling. It holds the emptiness of the people who closed that door for the last time when they moved out and we moved in. It holds the anger I feel when I accidentally bump my hip into the doorknob, which leaves an enormous bruise that lasts for weeks. It holds my hand every day when I open and close it, or am I hold it? Every day I have to touch the doorknob and so do you. To go into a house, to walk into work, and to get into a car. Doorknobs are so intimate yet so far overlooked.
It holds much more than just the tiny mouse hanging from it. It holds the ability to allow me to go into my room, where I feel safe. It holds the ability for me to close the door and shut others out. Objects like doorknobs were once so beautiful to me. Now they gross me out. As I write this, I realize I have never cleaned my bedroom doorknob. During the pandemic my feelings about doorknobs have changed. There are probably more germs living on doorknobs than people living in the middle of Manhattan. I constantly stare at a doorknob whenever I am out of the house. Who’s touched it? Who has not washed their hands and touched it? Do other people look at a doorknob like I do?
Until now, I never realized how many doorknobs I must touch each day. As the pandemic ebbs, or at least I think it is, my fascination with doorknobs has started to slowly return. I don’t think it will ever be the same. After writing this, I am going to go disinfect my doorknob and every other one in the house.
