Dark Doors

When I was six or seven. Maybe eight or nine. (Before eighteen it's all a little blurry...)

When I was a child, my sister was chasing me around the house. She was teasing me and hitting me so I went to tell my mom who was already in bed down the hall. The hallway was painted white with dark wood doors. The hallway was dark and so was my parents' bedroom but I knew right where to turn. I ran as fast as I could, not bothering to slow down for the turn into the bedroom and WHAM! I ran right into my parents' bedroom door. They had decided to close their door that night (probably to drown out the noise of my sister and I screaming in the living room) and I couldn't tell the difference between a shut dark-colored door and an open passageway between two dark rooms.

And just tonight, as I tiptoed past my slumbering mother in my dark bedroom I decided to shut myself in the bathroom before turning on the light to be sure not to wake her. But I once again failed at telling the difference between a shut dark-colored door and an open passageway between two dark rooms because it happened again. I ran into the door.

Lucky for me, I was walking this time. Lucky for my mom, she could sleep through a dump truck running into a nitroglycerine plant.