The Open Door

It took longer to climb the stairs than he thought. His sneakers clapping against the wet stone. The clapping ended with three loud thuds and a deep gasp as he reached the last step. He tried not to think about how hard that was. Trying to brush off the fact that his body has run entirely out of air. He bent and grabbed his knees and panted. He felt like he was standing over a brush fire and inhaling its smoke. “This is what happens when you decide to follow the trail of a map you found on an old piece of paper that looked like it was scrawled by an old man who had a stroke”.

He was almost certain the map was written by someone who had a stroke. His Great Grandfather Homer had one. He would write and draw in a notebook to speak to me. The map looked just like something he would write. For a moment he felt like crying. There had been plenty of that lately. Or not enough. But he had finally reached the last platform. Looking back down at the seemingly endless stairs that led down the hillside. The rain had been coming and going. It was one of those days when you wished it were coming more than it was going. He tapped his feet lightly into the small puddles on the stone slabs. He noticed that every stone of this pathway looked placed by hand in some way. Stones that had been formed by a river. It is hard to think that this stairway was made by human hands. Raw stones that led him all along the hills and up into the trees to the large flat slab he was standing on. It sat there stuck into the hillside. Leading way into larger rocks that looked like they had been pick axed into rough points. A row of jagged eggs rolling up and over the other side of the hill. The rocks rolled down until they came together at the end of the pathway to reveal a small opening.

Max was the type of person that would stand in front of this crack of what seems to be a doorway and think of some awkward situation he put himself into five years ago. The same embarrassment long ago invading his mind. “Why now?” Said his inward dialogue. Which now added a third thought in his head. Making his brain an awful waltz. A bad date you must sit through because you do not want to be rude. After a few moments he managed to excuse himself from this embarrassing dinner party he created in his mind.

Maybe it was the situation he put himself in. He had not stopped to absorb the fact that he was now standing in front of a crag cracked into an inverted V which began to resemble a doorway as he approached. Surrounded by larger stones in a circle. The Tops of them all came to a point. How did they form that way naturally? Then he thought of the stairs. He hiked all the way up to the top of this hill without ever questioning the stone stairs. He never wondered how they got there until now.

He walked back to the edge of the top to get a better view away from the splintered slithery trees that pushed up from the ground. This whole area began to resemble the location that some bizarre esoteric cult would congregate and perform some dark ritual intended on resurrecting terrifying ancient gods from an endless void.

The sound of the seventh seal splitting. Echoing through those ghastly trees. Followed by the rumbling of the ground giving way as ethereal hands stretch forth from the ground. Meeting his demise with his heart in his throat. Falling and bouncing off the rock walls on the way down into oblivion.

It was getting later, and fear struck him. He should not be here after dark. “Would it matter where you were if the ritual was successful”? He thought to himself. He hesitated to turn back around for fear that someone had been hiding, waiting for the right moment to sneak up on him. Kidnapping him and taking him back to their temple. He could already feel the flames of his demise licking his face. Max’s imagination has remained intact despite all he had been through. One thing about having a past

full of trauma and tragedy is you have a remarkably interesting sense of humor. And you definitely have a big imagination.

After his “episode” was over he began to reexamine his surroundings. Although the stones around him could be the ruins of a century’s old temple. They also are not nearly as eerie as he had envisioned before. Maybe the strange concoction the cult member had given him was wearing off. This was a beautiful place. The stones do almost look as if they were placed there. But the large ones were most certainly were done so by the hands of mother nature. The steps were all made of stone. There were plenty of rocks from the river that runs along the mountain. And it wasn’t out of the question to have someone spend time making those stairs. This was an incredibly special place. It was someone’s special place.

As Max ran his hands along one of the larger rocks along the edge of the platform, he noticed initials. They looked like they were done with a chisel. Which would explain why some of the rocks at the front were pointed. It gave them a gate like look. Some of the initials were deeper than others. They all looked similar. They all had the same shape and flow, the same cadence. Although he could not fully make them out. That was until he finally looked to the top of the inverted V that was a “the door” of this Altar for lack of a better word. Above the top you could read them clear as day. “M.S.M” He reeled back. Max’s Grandmother’s name was Mary Susan Montgomery. He was very familiar with the way she wrote. And even though she had used a chisel it was now undeniably apparent that it was her. The scrawled piece of paper in his pocket began to make a little more sense now. Her name was Mary Susan Mongmomery. But she will always be Grandma to him. He could feel a band of cold on his cheek. He needed to sit down.

Max lost his grandmother two weeks ago. She was the only member of family he had left. He never knew his father. His mother just left one day and never came back when he was twenty. She struggled with schizophrenia. The rest of his family doesn’t speak to one another for a variety of trivial issues. His Grandmother was all he had. He swears he can remember a time when he had a family. Even then he was closer to his Grandma than anyone else.

His Grandmother had hundreds of adventures that she went on throughout her life. She had a study full of journals all detailing them. He would read through them all the time when he was young. He would pick favorites. Like the time she went off roading in Tick Canyon and managed to split her RV in half driving up a dirt road. Sometimes the stories were so simple. But Max read them all, never tiring of them. Sometimes his Grandma would read them to him before bed. It was her voice that put him to sleep. It never mattered what she read.

Seeing these initials made him instantly drawn to the split stones ahead of him. He walked to the front of him to see that the opening is somewhat superficial. He was only able to put half a shoulder in to reach around. He put his fingers on the edge of something. It was too soft to be stone. He set another finger on the top of what he had touched. It moved forward, the way a book would if you were to pick it out of a shelf with your two fingers. He pulled down and it came out right along with his hand. It was a little black dusty book. Now that he had seen his Grandma’s initials in the rocks his mind was nowhere near some strange cult or dark gods bursting out of the ground. Though she always loved his imagination.

Max was served a lot of rough hands throughout his life. And he tended to bet too much on those rough hands. He had some serious heartbreak. He was just now starting to realize that he might be reflecting how he had it growing up into his present-day relationships. Realizing that just a little too late. His mother got into drugs when he was young. And Max had to tag along for the ride often times. He spent his sophomore year of high school on his Great Aunt’s couch while his mom sat in a tent in the back yard in an either catatonic or delusional state. But his Grandma took him in. He was more of a son than anything else. And she meant everything to him.

Grandma had cancer. Every day was sharp and cut through you like humid frost. The black notebook in the rock was the one that was missing from her collection. The one that they wrote in together. He unbound it, knowing that his tears would not improve upon opening this. He did so anyway and without second thought. The first page had a phrase she always told him. A phrase he never forgets. One that he thinks about every day. “Love is a door that is always open”. Though the last time she wrote it she could barely hold a pen.

Max had never met anyone with a greater capability to love than she had. And even though his family was scattered, he still had one. And the second that it came time to divide his Grandma’s things they arrived early. Earlier than Max did, early enough to take everything of hers. Except for her notebooks. And where this one should have been in their stack. This little map was there. At the end, she could barely write. That’s why the note was the way it was. But for the notebook to be there it would’ve had to have been placed months ago. He hated to think it. She always said she had a special place that she goes to and that one day, when I’m ready she would show me. I know she never wanted it like this. But this was her handing down her special place. He flipped through to the end while wiping his face. There was a final entry. Max took a deep breath. His tears felt like sap collecting on his face. He held the corner of the paper like he was holding her hand. It read,

“ My Max,

There’s just not enough time given to our hearts. They wear out long before we’d like it to be.

They definitely have lousy warrantees. I could never tell you how much I love you Max. You were the greatest adventure of all. I will always be there with you. This is the spot I’ve been going to since I was a little girl. And I kept it so secret from everyone but you. I wanted to adventure here with you. But in a way I am. Money doesn’t mean a thing to love. But this is for you. I will never leave your side.

Love,

Grandma”

There was twenty-five thousand dollars in the back. No matter what. She was always there for him. Even now. She had one last message for him. And that meant the world. He leaned against the rocks. He opened the notebook. He thought he’d stay there awhile.