The Writer's Block: August 2015

Click

by Starr Jiang

When Emma told her second grade class during show and tell that her favorite sound was the click of her front door opening, everyone laughed at her sincerity. The teacher herself had to force away a smile, for she thought that the girl was joking.

Emma left the front of the room politely after that incident, all at once understanding that those around her would never be able to comprehend the presence of that click. There was a certain rhythm and musicality in the sound that only she could perceive. Always, it was preceded by two muffled thumps, a squeak of the doorknob, a chime of the keys. A murmured sigh. But the click was most crucial, because it was the moment when the door actually opened, revealing the one person she longed to reach but never could.

Today, as she sat in her living room after school, she awaited the click as she had hundreds of times before. Her eyes darted from her math homework to the old clock against the wall. Tick…tick…tick. She willed the minute hand to inch closer to the six, the broken hour hand to twitch toward the seven. When the black arms finally reached their destinations, she heard the thumps that marked her song.

Tick…tick…tick…

Click.

The room became very quiet for a moment, and then the door heaved itself forward. It faltered against the wall as a man walked in, his dark coat shrouding his large figure. His eyes were bloodshot, and when he glared into the room, the door halted, as if it had recognized its fear.

“Papa,” Emma spoke, attempting to suppress the eagerness in her small voice, “it’s so good to see you.”

The man glanced away from the voice and instead turned his head toward the dining table. He contemplated the various glass bottles that lay haphazardly across its surface, his eyes squinting as he scanned the hoard. Emma tried to comprehend their glassy luster.

Then nodding suggestively, the man turned towards the gaping doorway and slipped into the darkness. He turned once more and shut the door with finality.

Click.

Emma looked at the numbers scrawled on her paper. She watched the equations fade in and out of clarity as waves flooded her eyes. So much depended on the numbers that balanced her figures. So much depended on the clock that held the time.

So much depended on the simple click.

The clock struggled toward nine when the thumps came again. The squeak of the doorknob. The chime of the keys. A murmured sigh.

But no click.

Emma felt her heart flutter. “Papa?” She cried into the void. She closed the space between her and the door. Her hand was on the knob and she turned. It would not open.

“Papa!” She screamed desperately. “Papa, where are you?”

“Emma,” a voice trespassed the emptiness, “Emma, I’m here.”

“Papa…I’ve missed you.”

“I’m here,” her father said, “I’m sorry.”

Emma listened to his breath against the door. She fell into it, and lost herself in its tremor.

11:54 AM
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Daffodils

Daughter

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Click by Starr Jiang

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Click

by Starr Jiang