Closed Door

The building looked impressive at dusk. The setting sun’s rays hit the structure at the angle so the front face of the property was bathed in a golden light; diffused, and as beautiful as any building could look given the time. It proudly stood as it had for centuries beckoning us over so that we could not resist and did just that. We walked to the bottom of the steps that lead up to the front door, pausing, to take in its’ magnificence, wondering what was behind the door? A Museum? A Church? A grand home? Three of us stood staring at the door, the light fading as the setting sun was disappearing fast this winter night. The other two in the group were embracing twenty feet from us, their arms entwined around their bodies as new lovers are apt to do.

We whistled out to them, gesticulating that we were about to head in. John and Jo gave us a thumbs up sign to say they understood and would follow-

We reached out to open the doors and failed—it felt heavy. Much heavier then it looked. I guessed it was about three feet thick. We tried the doors again, this time we thrust our body weight against the wood turning the handle at the same time so that it finally gave way. We stumbled into an ante chamber, smoke filled, an air of palpable excitement permeated the room. We could barely see; the smoke was dense and heavy. It took us seconds to see a silhouette of a man with a saxophone raised to his mouth, his beard scraping the pipe of the instrument. As the water cleared from our eyes the opening bars of “the closer I get to you” filled the room. We shivered, goose bumps popping up and our knees buckled as we sat down on the stools and listened to the most sensual, evocative music that we had ever heard. I ordered a beer as did the others-mesmerized by the music, not wanting the moment to end.

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