A Knock at The Door by Melinda Cochrane ( complete story) April 06th, 2020

It was five in the morning. I was wide awake in my bed. I stared out at the quietness of the room wondering if I should get up or keep sleeping until at least eight. It wasn't like I was going anywhere, I had nothing to do, and I was stuck inside during the pandemic or should I say safe inside. Either way, I’d cleaned every closet in the house, cleaned out the pantry as well and read three books in a week. I didn’t want to watch any more television. I felt like my brain was going to self combust.

I should stay in bed another hour, at least I can get some rest during this time.

It was too early to walk outside, which involved the fun game of staying two meters away from anyone you met. I always smiled at whoever I passed but most people turned their heads to avoid any chance of catching COVID-19 from anyone. I planned on logging in to work just after nine as my job had moved all operations to online work only. I turned over to go back to sleep for just a little while longer and then I heard it.

A knock at the door. 

I froze in my bed. It was not possible. Everyone I knew was also in isolation. I hadn’t made an order for food, and if I had it would not arrive at five am in the morning.  I got out of bed slowly. I put on my slippers and crept to the front of the house. My curtains were closed so I couldn’t really see who it was. I heard it again. 

A knock at the door. 

There was a small vertical window that ran by the door. I peered out of it. Nothing. I went to the front window and again I saw no one. I slowly walked back into the bedroom to get more sleep.

It must of been the wind outside.

I grabbed my blanket, covered myself up and rolled over,  but as if it was an echo of the last one, I heard it again. 

A knock at the door. 

I didn't move from the bed. I listened intently for the sound. I sat up in bed and pulled on a sweater. Sitting up again was an effort after a sleepless night, which was the result of staying up too late to read. I opened my bedroom curtains to see if anyone was outside, nobody. Nobody seemed to be awake in their homes. I sat back down on my bed. Maybe the isolation was getting to me. I felt a certain level of anxiety as I was used to controlling the things around me. I could not control the course of COVID-19, but what bothered me the most was I could not control the way it was affecting me. Being off from work as a receptionist at a small furniture company left me applying for my first unemployment check.  At fifty-five I was never in this position. I was also worried about my two children, married and living in Toronto. Video chatting with them didn't relieve this worry. 

I made my bed. The floral bedspread seemed to cheer me up with its small delicate trace of purple and blue hues. After making the bed I got dressed. I needed a coffee. I caught a glimpse of a photo of a trip we'd taken as a family, and suddenly as if waking me from my memories, I heard it again. 

A knock at the door. 

I listened again and this time it grew louder. I was frozen between wanting to go forward and the fear that held me back. I imagined it was important. A trepidation set in that something was wrong with a family member. I walked toward the door as if the path in front of me marked the beginning of things that would change my life forever. Each step I took forward led me to think about the life I had before. Would it ever go back to normal? I heard it again as I walked closer to the front door. A sound that seemed to define my very existence in the silence. 

A knock at the door.

Walking slowly as if in a black and white film with no sound. I recalled the last conversations I had with my children. Did they know I loved them? I fell back on the memories of events passed to give me the strength to move toward what was unknown, to what I feared and to what I wanted to go away. The walls with paintings rained over me as I walked from the shadows of my early morning sleep. It felt as if the steps I took were through a history of wars our generation had never taken before. I imagined families hearing about soldiers this way. The paint began to chip off the walls in my home and with each imagined peeling I saw nothing but the answers ahead of me. 

I reached the front door and without thinking I pulled the door open. 

I opened the door. I searched the outside from within the frame of my home, I saw no one. Nothing. I didn't go outside but stood waiting, waiting for something to tell me about the secrete, which filled my morning. It was cool outside with slight drops of rain watering the day in preparation for the arrival of flowers popping up out of gardens and pots adorning balconies.  Then as if it was taunting me, I heard it. Was he or she knocking on the neighbour's door too? What kind of person scared people like this during a pandemic? I leaned out to catch a glimpse of the intruder. But, as if it was looking for a quiet shelter, in full flight a little sparrow hit the front window of my home. I knew the source of my morning awakening. Then it turned around as if to mock me and flew pass me to the inside. I chased the sparrow trying to guide it toward the outside again. It refused to give in. It refused to stop flying. I stopped and watched it sitting on the top of a decorative moulding in my living room. Its small eyes gazing at me reminding me that it was never going to give up. We looked at one another for some time. Standing in the COVID-19 silence, it sitting about to take flight, both of us determined not to give in to the fear of never being free of this moment in both our lives. Walking toward the front door, it followed me. Then as if it wanted to say goodbye, it fluttered about in front of me.

Then as if it never knocked on my door, it flew away. Just like that it flew away. 

---