Just Knock Next Time

When I was four years old, on a road trip with my single family, we stopped at a gas station in central Missouri, and when I ran to the back of the gas station I walked in on someone in the bathroom, an older women. I screamed and slammed the door closed.

When she came out she greeted me with a big smile and said, “It’s okay sweetie, just knock next time,”

and she patted me on the top of my head.

I walked into the bathroom, and locked the door, then locked it again.

Nowadays I walk up to a bathroom door, and with my ear pressed against the door, I knock loud and hard.

I find myself wishing more people would knock, even when I leave the door unlocked. I let him enter worlds that no one had seen and he burst through and didn’t look back.

Surprised, I scream again, but when she screams in a room alone, does she really make a sound?

Nowadays I knock twice, without people bothering to have the same courtesy. Waiting to be respected is like waiting for a single drop of water in a drought.

You can wish all you want, but it’s not going to happen if you sit back.

I have found that even lying gets it. When kids ask me why I have scars on my body, I tell them I used to work with dogs, I worked in with tress, roses, anything that doesn’t allow them to see that at one point in my life I was in pain, maybe I can save them from the idea that pain even exists.

I hear the echo of a bathroom lock in my ear.

Lock, unlock, lock again.

When he looks me in the eyes and tells me I’m beautiful, I look right back at him and say, “Just knock next time,” and he kisses me, ignoring my request. He asks me a question, a personal question, one that feels like the older woman that one day, years ago.

Lock, unlock, lock again.

“I used to work with dogs,” I lie. He catches a glimpse of my fear, did he hear the locks, I worry.

Bursting through the door, calling me a liar, he’s more concerned with what his parents will think, does not concern himself with making sure I got away from the dogs.

“Not that you asked, but I don’t work with dogs anymore, and I am safe, five months safe, actually.”

He leaves and I’m not surprised

Lock, unlock, lock again.

The lock gets weaker as people burst through it selfishly, only thinking about their own desires. I’m tired of checking the lock. My knuckles are bruised from the knocking and my heart is tired from constantly being caught in a vulnerable place.

As the tears fall from my face, I say, “Just knock next time.”