A Man, a Door, and a Window

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. Every so often when he came to check on her, he would forget to close the door to his room before he opened the door to hers, and in the space where they overlapped was the sight of everything she could only imagine. There were times when she was certain he was doing it on purpose, even if he would never admit it. It would have been cruel if not for how sad it all was.

Two knocks broke her silence before the door opened softly. There was no glimpse of the rest of the world this time, only the man bearing another meal and yesterday's newspaper.

"There's some funny stuff in the comics," he said as he set the tray down on the table next to her bed. "Not that you're all that interested, but still."

"Anything exciting in the news?" she asked through a gritted smile.

"Not really, no," he sighed back. "Something about green tea and lung cancer, more fighting in Europe, a dog graduated from some community college."

"They give degrees in newspaper cartooning now?"

"HA!" he shot back. "That's actually pretty funny. Bet you forgot you could even make jokes, huh?"

It took a second for what he said to register, but her smile faded as soon as it did.

"Oh, come on now," he said with a firm, exasperated tone. "We both know that I can't hurt feelings you don't have."

Her glare gave way to rolling eyes as she turned her head toward the food on the tray. Another picture-perfect turkey sandwich. Another day of dealing with a stubborn dad.

"I know," she said in a huff. "I'm just disappointed."

"Disappointed? Is that new?"

"Maybe disappointed isn't the right word. I'm just..." She struggled to think of the words to describe what she felt. "What do you call it when you're bored of something you've never done?"

He ruminated over her question, running his hand through the thick, coarse hairs on his cheek. It made him wonder if maybe there was some sense of humanity buried deep within her.

"That's a good question. Wish I had a good answer," he said. "You want to try and make one up together?"

She looked into his eyes while considering the prospect. They swelled ever so slightly as she did, which made her wonder whether he had asked merely out of reflex only to realize his mistake after the fact.

"Do you think spending any extra time together is really a good idea?" The words rolled off her tongue with a blunt tinge of awe.

"I... I just..." he stammered before preemptively wiping away any budding tears. "I guess I'm just kind of sick of it all, too. All the waiting. Because that's all this is, right? This is us just waiting."

"I guess," she muttered, turning back to the perfect turkey sandwich. She thought about trying it this time. "Why is it always turkey, anyway?"

He chuckled before looking back at her with a smile. "Because that's what I like. And I figure that if you're not going to eat at all, I might as well let you send back something I'm going to enjoy."

"BWAHA-HA-HA!" She couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

He laughed back, and soon enough it felt like the room was laughing with them. It took a couple of minutes for things to wind down, and in that time each of them reveled in the other's happiness.

"So," she said after catching her breath. "How many days of turkey sandwiches do we have ahead of us, then?"

His smile faded slightly at the thought. "I don't know. How many days of you being here do we have to look forward to?"

"Oh, Doug. You know you can't keep me here forever. Eventually, someone else is going to let me out," she reached for the perfect turkey sandwich as she spoke. "Even if you die first, someone will let me out. It's just a matter of time," she said, holding the sandwich out for him to take.

"You really want to talk about this?" he asked, staring at the food in her hand.

She nodded back with a sly smile.

"Alright," Doug said, taking the sandwich. He leaned back against the wall before taking a bite. "Let's talk about this. You are absolutely not leaving here until after I die. That gives us at least twenty or thirty years worth of turkey sandwiches to go."

"You really think you've got twenty or thirty years left?" she asked inquisitively.

"Oh, for sure. I'm pretty sure that if you could make that happen any faster I'd already be dead, so twenty or thirty seems super reasonable. I mean, at least as your brother doesn't make turkeys go extinct before then."

"HA!" She had almost forgotten about Famine. "How are they doing, by the way?"

He looked at her through a strained gaze. "Bad? I really don't know how to answer that. I mean, we still have turkey," he said as he took another bite of the picture-perfect sandwich.

"Yeah," she whispered. "I guess we do."