“DO IT”
I swim one more lap, trying my best to let go of the strange feeling I’d had since I found the small cubby hole, hidden inside my closet. When I’d been transferred to New York I hadn’t considered living in Brooklyn until I found out that the cost of living was slightly less than the city, and even better, the apartment was only a few blocks from the subway system.
The place I’d rented the month before was small, but it had an extra bedroom that I could use as an office, which made the two flights of stairs I had to walk up less important. While moving in, stupid me had stacked too many books on the top shelf, causing it to sag with the weight, which in turn made four of them fall on the floor below. When I bent down to pick them up I found the little door but thought it was just an access to the plumbing for the bathroom.
I finally force myself to stop thinking about it. Instead, I towel dry my hair, slip on the jeans and tee shirt I’d brought with me, and walk out of the gym I’d joined, ready to head back to my new home.
Immediately, I find myself heading for that closet, and for a few minutes I stand and stare at the little door that had been painted over so many times I would never have found it if those books hadn’t fallen. Bending down once again, I see the latch I’d missed; a latch that seemed as if it had been waiting for someone to open it.
Back from the kitchen, I kneel down with the only tool I could think of; a butter knife. Working my way around the edges until all the paint is loose, I take a deep breath as the small hairs at the nape of my neck stand on end. And then I open the little door.
It’s pitch black inside and I reach for the tiny flashlight attached to my keys, turn it on, and then smile at the few things I find inside. An old metal toy made to look like a knight on his charger is the first thing I find. The paint is almost gone but at one time he wore a red cloak. A small package of guitar strings comes out next. It had been opened at some point in time, because there were only two left in the little box.
The final item is a single folded piece of paper, yellowed over time. I open it and smile at the boyish handwriting, while I wonder who he was and why he hid it.
“Feel it…while your soul is searching
Don’t let the moment go by…
Don’t allow time to fly….”
I smile again as the hairs at the back of my neck stand at attention once again. The words aren’t familiar to me but for some reason the cadence is. I let it go as I stand, walk into my little bedroom, and then place each item on my nightstand.
Sleep won’t come that night and I find myself looking at that folded piece of paper, trying to wrap my head around why it seems to want me to stare at it. When I do drift off an hour or so later, I toss and turn until I finally wake with a start.
And suddenly I know the song. Even more, I know who wrote it. I can see him in my head huddled over the paper, writing while he tries to find the right lyrics.
I wonder as I smile how long it took before he knew that ‘feel’ needed to be replaced with ‘do’ and if the words that came next just flowed from him after he found that first stanza. A single star shines through my window and I close my eyes as a tear trickles down my cheek while I whisper the words to a song from long ago.
