Just Outside the Door

It was around nine in the morning and I had taken up my usual post by the window, staring out at the little white flakes that fell gingerly from a bleak gray sky, frosting the grass in our backyard, covering everything around in a crisp layer of white. I exhaled slowly and let my breath obscure the glass in front of me. It was a very typical morning in the Fitzpatrick household. Mom was sitting roughly on the edge of her seat at the kitchen counter, smacking her lips as she sipped from a steaming cup of warm liquid. Dad sat across from her, his face buried behind the morning paper, studying closely. The two sat in silence, paying little attention to my whereabouts. This was exactly the manner in which most of my mornings took place and I stared more fixedly outside as the wind began to pick up, gusting an assortment of dry brown leaves into the air and dispersing them in every direction. Cars roared audibly through the winding streets of our neighborhood, the cherry floorboards beneath my feet creaked, and a state of calm rolled over my surroundings, as everyone sat and watched the seconds tick by soundly on the clock. I enjoyed my routine, and I was perfectly happy absorbed in my own thoughts, but as the morning rolled on, the once peaceful silence gave way to a hectic afternoon.

Footsteps paced hastily across the kitchen tile as the house slowly came alive. By now, Mom and Dad had moved into the front room, where they were discussing in sharp whispers over a stiflingly large heap of ominous-looking documents. Heat emanated from the stove in the kitchen as a grey pot of water bubbled above a dancing blue flame. We were finally up, as was the rest of the world beyond the threshold of our home. Cars beeped and engines rumbled more impatiently amongst the afternoon bustle, birds sang shrill tunes from their bare perches on wintry treetops and the snow continued to fall more decidedly. During this time, I had scoured fruitlessly around the entire house, searching for something to do. For some time, I had been occupied by a spider, climbing its way up a cracked and forgotten cement wall in the basement, but I had made up my mind that the snow was a much more favorable view in comparison. I often wondered why I found such solace in the world beyond the glass paned windows. Normally, I would blame it on my natural sense of curiosity, which drew me to the mysterious and unknown. For me, the outside world was both - I rarely went out, especially in such harsh weather. Mom and Dad have spoken incessantly of the dangers outside and I had wondered how a world that seemed so beautiful to me, could be so terrifying to them. Sometimes I wondered if we were even seeing the same world. A few times, I had even begged them to let me out, but my unwanted pleas were always met with blank stares. Even dogs get to go on walks, I thought annoyedly, as I stretched out on the couch and stared once more into a world that I feared I would never truly experience.

My eyes opened to an image of chaos. I sat up as sharp cries sounded from the kitchen and I peered cautiously over the side of the couch. An alarm began to blare around the house and I could see thick grey smoke curling up from the stove. Mom was yelling unintelligible orders at Dad who was using his hands and waving helplessly away at the smog. I immediately took off up the small staircase to the left of the living room, where I surveyed the scene from a distance. I could find no salvation on the second floor; I could sense the tension in the air, as the alarm continued to scream, and my parents continued to shout. It was situations like these where I could truly appreciate how utterly defenseless I really was. No matter how hard I tried, I would always be voiceless to my family downstairs. I waited for calm as a smell of burning wafted up towards me. Then I heard something, something so subtle that I was surprised I had managed to identify the sound between the ever-present alarms and ever-growing yells. It was the sound of the front door's hinges squeaking open.

Almost instantly, I forgot about the disaster taking place just before me and I ignored my panicky parents. My mind was wrapped tightly around one singular thought. I thought of the feeling of wind on my face as I stepped into the crisp air of a cold and damp day. I thought of boundless banks of snow and endless winding paths; of trees filled with songbirds and streets bustling with people. I crept slowly back down the steps and looked to my left. The door lay ajar, letting in a biting wind and revealing a startling wintry scene right in my driveway. It was an offer too tempting to refuse and I made my way right to the divide where the familiar wooden floors of the Fitzpatrick home ended and were replaced by uneven, icy steps. Still, I hesitated. I knew what I was about to do was dangerous and wrong. I felt a pulling feeling in my gut, that kept me rooted to the spot with an overwhelming sense of fear. However, there was an even stronger pull, emanating from my chest, that hardened my resolve and pushed me forward. I placed one foot tentatively on the frosted cement just outside of the door. I felt an instant cold on my bare sole, and shrunk back instinctively. But I furrowed my brow and concentrating only on the few feet in front of me, stepped out onto my porch. It was a beautiful day, and I realized with a touch of sadness and anger that my view from the window did no justice to the true feeling of absolute freedom. I inhaled the smoke-free air and took in the overcast sky, which complemented the slushy snow that had fallen across the pavement. But almost as quickly as my luck had appeared, it was rescinded and I was yanked brutally back into my reality. I had been lifted from the ground and found myself staring at my mom's pale and surprised face just inches before mine. She had scooped me up into a rough embrace and my tail wacked furiously against her shirt as she spoke to me in a high-pitched chiding voice. "What was Mr. Whiskers doin' outside? Huh?" She placed me down on the plush white fabric of the living room couch, where I continued to stare longingly at the missed adventure just outside the door until it was shut back up once again.