Smithy was about to kick a door down.
“Drew, I’m about to kick this door down!” he shouted at his brother on the other end.
“Dude, don’t kick me! That hurts.” said the door.
“Drew, give me back my…wait…what?”
In that one moment, Smithy’s mind was almost completely emptied. He no longer remembered what he wanted his brother to give back, or what his brother’s name was. Every piece of homework, every test, every math question that he had to do yesterday in school disappeared from his mind. A single question remained.
“Did the door just…talk?”
“Listen man,” said the door. “You know what it’s like being the bedroom door of a sixteen year old boy? Every time he gets into some stupid fight with your stupid parents, who does he slam into the wall frame? Me.”
Smithy wasn’t sure if the door could hear him if he spoke. He looked the door up and down but couldn’t find any trace of an ear or any other sort of hearing apparatus, so he decided not to waste his energy to talk to him. Then, he noticed that the door was also able to talk to him without a mouth, so he supposed there must be some new form of biology, previously unseen by him, that this door functioned on, and it was worth a shot.
“Um, I’m sorry, Mister…Door…sir…”
“Yeah, you better be!” It was shrieking now. Smithy jumped back. “Do you have any idea how much this dude smokes in here every night? It’s like being the door of a gas chamber, man.”
It suddenly returned to Smithy’s mind that his brother’s name was Drew. Drew was a year older than Smithy, and a grade behind. His school did not allow him to move past Grade 9, so they held him back. The other students who were held back hated Drew, because he reinforced the stereotype that everybody who are held back a grade are oafish, uneducated bullies. They also hated Drew because he beat them up a lot.
It then occurred to Smithy that he was thinking about what he already knew about his brother when he was talking to a talking door. Perhaps his brain was trying to distract itself from thinking too much about this new discovery.
“Listen,” Smithy said slightly louder. There was no way he was going to get defeated by his brain once again. “I’m kinda new to talking to doors. How exactly are you talking to me?”
Although the door didn’t have a face, Smithy couldn’t help but feel like if it was looking at him like he was an idiot.
“How? Man, what do they teach you kids these days? I’m communicating you through our spirits.”
“Sooo…you’re haunted? By a ghost?”
“What are you, retarded? There’s no such thing as ghosts, kid,” the door clearly did not care for Smithy’s feelings. “No, you see, I’m actually talking to you through the spirits of dozens of bugs, birds and squirrels that have died and been absorbed through my roots.”
Smithy didn’t say anything. He assumed the door wasn’t finished, and did not need him to ask the obvious questions he was going to ask. The door noticed this, and groaned.
“Look kid, I’m made of wood, right? And wood comes from trees. I used to be a couple of trees. When those morons chopped us down and made a door out of us, our personalities merged into this one.”
After another moment of silence, Smithy said something.
“Trees have personalities?”
“Yeah.” The door almost sounded offended. “Trees have more personality than anyone. You see, when an animal or a plant’s physical body dies, their spirit remains trapped. Then, their body rots and their spirits disintegrate into bits and get mixed into the soil. Trees grow from that soil, with a brand new spirit made from the spirits of many, many previous living things. Then, one day, they decide to chop you down and liquefy you into artificial wood, and build shit like this out of it.”
Somehow, this made perfect sense to Smithy. “So nothing ever dies?” he asked.
“Not really, no. You might not remember it, but a small part of your personality was once a chicken that your mom ate when she was pregnant with you.”
“But why can I talk to you?” Smithy’s mom was a vegetarian, but he didn’t bring it up. “Is communicating with spirits something that everybody has the potential to do, but we never knew it because of how distracted humanity has become?”
“Nah man,” The door was laughing now. “You’re just weird, or something. Anyways, I suppose your brother still has that notebook of yours.”
“Oh right. My notebook. Thing. I don’t suppose you could…”
The lock built into the doorknob clicked, and the door swung itself open. Drew was fast asleep with half his body on his bed, and the other on the floor. The notebook was on the table next to the bed, surprisingly untouched.
"Well, what are you waiting? Get your stuff."
Smithy speed walked to the table, grabbed the notebook, and speed walked out, so he didn’t have to inhale the tobacco smell. Then, very gently, he closed the door, and walked away.
