Free Dark Doorways by Kristin Jones

after grad school
to have kids. “I–”
    “Sarah, there’s something you
need to know.”
    “Like why you’re here? Ha!”
The laugh that came out of me was meant as part of our repartee, but exposed
how truly nervous I felt. Moving down the corridor to the boxcar had reminded
me of where we were, and I soon began to distrust my own senses.
    I could smell her, feel her,
hear her, see her. But this was my mother , the same mother I buried in
Lakeside Cemetery, just a mile from her home.
    “You shouldn’t be here,
Sarah. Michael either.” Her face, entirely downcast now, revealed a tremendous
sadness that I was unprepared to experience while I had her in my presence.
This should have been glorious, reuniting with my mother.
    “Mom, I want to be wherever
you are. I’ve missed you so much. I... I need my mom.”
    Just as I tried to reach over
to clasp her hand, I noticed a beautiful maroon bridge outside the small
window, perched innocently on the raised edges of the Chicago River. Which
number it was, somewhere after four, and hopefully not yet to seven, was unclear.
We had lost count somewhere between our abduction and Mom’s return.
    Standing just outside that
bridge and waving was little Gabi, my angelic sister Gabi, with Swanson next to
her. He was absorbed in a phone conversation and ignored her as she jumped up
and down in excitement, still waving eagerly toward the boat. She knew ,
I thought. She knew this entire time that I would be on this boat .
    “She’s beautiful, that little
girl.”
    “She’s my sister, Mom. She’s
Swanson’s little girl.”
    Mom’s gentle hand found its way
to her heart, admiring Gabi in all her purity. “She lives in that house then?”
    “Oh, Swanson’s house? Well,
yeah, but he shares custody, so only like half the time.”
    It seemed natural for Mom to
nod, to connect all these convoluted parts of my life as if it was all so
ordinary. We could have been talking about the weather, the fog.
    “You should be there with
them.”
    “No... no! I want to
be with you, even if it’s on this boat.”
    “Sarah, you don’t
understand.”
    “So tell me!”
    My mother’s eyes moved toward
the doorway, where the corridor and the boxcar seats met. The darkness of the
corridor seeped into our little compartment despite the brightness left behind
the lifting fog.
    “Mom? Are you going to tell
me? Are you going to explain why you always said never enter a dark doorway ?”
I could have added the mysterious trips to Swanson’s house when I was little,
or the odd glances from Parker whenever I walked by his house, or the fact that
Mom was even able to have a conversation with me at that moment. But one thing at
a time.
    Outside the window, Gabi
continued to wave her chubby arm at me. It was the right amount of chubby, the
way little girls’ arms should look. It took effort to focus on Mom, when just
minutes ago I couldn’t pull my eyes off of her. It bothered me, the way Gabi
stole my attention, when these moments with Mom were so precious. It was
awfully ballsy of her to try to catch my eye when I was with my mom.
    “You’re going to have to make
a choice, Sarah. You can’t have both, me and them. This boat doesn’t make
return trips.”
    I was beginning to see things
clearly, just as she began to fade.
    “Sarah! We’re passing under
the bridge! You need to get off now!”
    She was being her typical
self, that caregiver who only thought of others. All I could do was stare at her,
wondering how I ever forgot that she had so many gray strands already. My
memory of her had dyed them back to their original dark brown.
    I slowly raised my eyes to
look out the window, only to confirm that we were indeed nearing the bridge.
Gabi ran along the river’s edge, Swanson chasing her this time. She was
shouting something to me, crying even. I would never know what she was trying
to say to me that day, but the message was pretty clear.
    “Mom, you have to explain
this to me. The boat