Stateway's Garden by Jasmon Drain

Author:Jasmon Drain
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2020-01-20T16:00:00+00:00

SHIFTS

There was a knock at the door. It initially came softly, a mere tap, almost unheard by anyone. She knew she’d eventually hear something from him, somehow, at some point. So yes, it was expected. That tap on the hard wood of Stephanie’s apartment door echoed in her mind as though someone were hitting it with a hammer. She sat on the couch in the living room, facing the door, with her bright forehead sweating slightly. She was biting her thin bottom lip. Stephanie decided to pretend she hadn’t heard anything. She repositioned herself while sitting, crossing her legs and locking them tightly. That didn’t help much. She couldn’t get comfortable, couldn’t get her mind to rest. She opened her palms, both as moist as her forehead, and began rubbing them into her jeans. She went back and forth, up and down along her legs to the knees. Then there was another knock. This time it was a bit louder, clearer, and Stephanie knew she’d have to answer or do something to quiet it. Someone else might hear.

“Stephie, can you please answer the door?”

She didn’t give a response to her sister in the background, only a muffled “humph.” She hoped the lack of reply would make the door-knocker go away as well.

“Stephie!” Solane’s voice came down the hall again. “Can you please see who’s at the door? You’re sitting right in there.”

Stephanie lifted her small and thin body from the couch, extending her legs fully. She lowered her head and stared at the floor another moment, analyzing the squared and concrete sections. The knocking came again, with a bit more force.

“Stephanie, please!” Solane called to her again. “I’m really tired. I gotta get these kids ready for school then to sleep. It’s late!”

Stephanie still didn’t reply. She turned her back and faced the couch, realizing that her print was still along the black sheet used as a cover. The knocking again. She inched to the open window, looking down the ten stories as though this were equivalent to peering through the peephole. Although it was rather late in the evening, with her imagination she clearly saw kids running around the building, jumping on swings, or possibly bathing in the sections of a sandbox, giggling, laughing. She blinked a few times. The image was gone. There was only a large dry spot where she remembered very little grass growing that summer. It reminded her of pictures displaying the huge craters left after bomb tests, which her science teacher secretly showed in school. The knock on the door continued echoing in her mind, although in reality it had stopped. It banged and banged away at her right arm, which was closest, like that hammer driving a nail. She slid a bit closer and placed her hand on the doorknob, running the back of her hand along its outer shell, then opened her palm, which was still sweaty, and pressed it to the door. The door felt cold enough to freeze the hand’s moisture.

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