Mason Yates

Love, a Girl, and a Doorway

By Mason Yates

            When I first found myself compelled to write this, I had the idea of writing a full-length novel, but after some time thinking about this, I thought a shorter piece would do just fine.  To be honest, I felt terrified about writing a novel -- not because the task is a daunting one to begin with -- because I wanted to get my memory on paper as fast as I could.  That way, I could get it over with and not have to relive it.  What should I call this?  Would a nonfiction tale work?  Or is it an autobiography of sorts?  An essay?  Maybe it’s best to call it a simple journal entry.  Whatever it is, it’s still a story -- a story about love, time, the universe, science, a girl, and of course, heartbreak has to be involved, too.  It’s a nostalgic story to write, for sure, and it’s kept a home in my heart for many years despite the hurt that it still brings me.  Nonetheless, I think it’s in my best interest to pursue this -- what I hope to be short -- recounting of the best and the worst day of my life.

            To save you and myself some unnecessary details, let me begin my story during my junior year because here is where everything really begins.  It opens on a sunny day on a Midwestern college campus, with the heat blanketing the world.  An awful humidity suffocated the students as they walked to classes, and everybody felt sticky like a bottleful of glue had been spread on their skins.  Outside, on campus grounds, college kids talked about their classes, while others ate at benches and drank water and admired the view: that grand, grassy knoll that sat at the center of campus.  Large oaks dotted the hill, and lots of people on break from classes sat in the shade under the trees, their textbooks open in their laps.  That is where I shall begin my story.  Here.

            I emerged from my psychology class without a single ounce of sweat on my body, but the second I stepped outside, the humidity swallowed me whole and spit me back out with drops of it streaming down my temples.  I lugged a heavy backpack on my shoulders, and inside, I felt I carried the world, except it was only a couple books and folders.  Because I had an hour until my next class, I hurried over to Study Hill (I bet you can guess why it was called that, but if for some reason you don’t know, everyone studied there) and found a shady spot underneath a knobby oak near the top of the hill.  From that spot, I could look down at pretty much everything, and there, I saw her: the slim, blonde girl that would take ahold of my heart for the whole day.  Yes, I haven’t misspoken.  Only a day, but it is one of the most important moments of my college career.

            She started up the hill at a brisk pace, probably for the same reason I had: to get to a nice, cool, shady spot underneath a tree.  I noticed two books under her arm, and there was a heavy bag hanging from her shoulders.  I should have been already digging into a textbook, but I took a bit of time to examine her.  She wore glasses, black sneakers, dark jeans, and a band tee -- The Rolling Stones, if my memory serves me right.  But the most important thing about her was, I think, the glasses.  She looked so dorky… but cute.  And she wowed me when she strode right up the hill and sat underneath the same tree I had picked -- but a few yards away from me.  Still, my college-ignorant mind thought Destiny had put her there for a reason, and despite my shyness, I managed to ask her: “What class did you come from?”

            She turned around, an expression of shock on her face as if I had been the first person in a lifetime to ask her a question or speak to her.  She raised an eyebrow and said, “I didn’t come out of a class.  I came from an on-campus job.  What class did you get out of?”

            “Psychology,” I told her and nodded in an awkward way.  “Where do you work?”

            “For the science research department,” she said with an awkward nod of her own.  I’m an honest person, and it would be a lie to say I did not like her in an instant.  Hell, infatuation is one powerful thing.  When she nodded in that awkward way, I think she swept me off my feet.  That’s the thing, though.  I had no good excuse to be knocked off my feet; I just felt like I had been.  Infatuation is tricky.  It comes out of nowhere and punches you in the gut, blinds you, and puts you in a place that is hard to get out of.  She finished, “I make doorways.”

            “Oh,” I said, interested.  “Are you like a carpenter for them or something?”

            “Or something,” she said with another nod, but also adding with a laugh: “I guess it’s a little like being a carpenter, but a scientific carpenter, if that makes any sense?”

            “Yeah,” I started.  “I guess so.”  Though, in all reality, I had no idea what she meant.  The idea sounded crazy, but I found myself too impressed with her looks and aura to ponder her job on campus.  “Are you waiting for a class?”     

            She shook her head.  “No.  I just came up here to think a little bit.”

            “Yeah,” I said.  “I bet it’s tough being down there in a research lab.”

            “Yeah, it is.  Too much sometimes.  How about you?”

            “Yeah,” I told her.  “I’m waiting for my creative writing class.  It’s in an hour.”

            “You like to write?” she asked me and turned her body towards me.  I glanced down a bit to look at her lips, then gazed into her sharp, green eyes.  They twinkled in the sunlight, and they expressed a keen awareness of the conversation.

            “Yeah,” I told her.  “I’m an author actually.  Well, self-published on Amazon.”  I gave an awkward shrug and an eyeroll.  “I’ve tried to go to real publishing houses, but they’re super hard.  You have to be already successful to get into one of those.”

            “Do you make any money on Amazon?”

            I shook my head.  “Not much.  A few dollars here and there, though.”

            “It’s at least something,” she told me.  “I don’t make any money in the research labs.  But I think I’m helping out society and on the way to discovering some really crazy things.  So, at the end of the day, it’s worth it.”

            “No,” I said and smiled.  “I completely get that.  Sometimes you have to sacrifice a bit.”

            “Yeah,” she said and looked down the hill at the students walking to classes and up the side of the hill.  As she looked, I looked, too.  At college, there are always those students who look super busy with life, and as I looked down, I thought that they all looked busy.  Some ran to class, fast-walked to class, held phones to their ears as if partaking in some important conversation, and there were a few who ate as they walked along the sidewalks.  On the hill, however, there were students who were deep into their books.  I felt like the only one there not up to their necks in work and business. 

            “What’s your name?” I asked.  “Sorry it took so long to ask.”

            “Maria,” she said and scooted over to me.  She held out her hand.  “Maria Donovan.”

            I shook her hand.  She possessed a firm grasp.  “My name’s Willard Obermann.  But you can call me Will.  Everyone else does.”

            “Nice to meet you, Will,” she said as she gazed into my eyes.  “What’s your major?”

            “Creative writing,” I told her.  “You?”

            “Astrophysics,” she told me.  “I love everything about the universe.”

            I nodded.  “Me too.  I’ve always found it really interesting.”

            “You should come see my lab sometime,” she said and got to her feet.  “You might like it if you think the universe is really interesting.  It might even give you a good idea for a story or an excellent novel idea.”  She shrugged.  “Just a thought, but I have to get going.  I gotta get back to the lab.  I just had to get some fresh air for a bit.” 

            A pang of sadness erupted when she said she had to go, but before she left, I asked, “Can you grab dinner later tonight?”

“Yeah!” she exclaimed, and before I knew it, she had given me her number and run down the hill.  I watched her as she left.  I smiled at the way her blonde hair bounced behind her as she ran, and I kept smiling after I saw her disappear into a building.  My heart thudded in my chest.  I felt it.  Then, I took my psychology book out of my backpack.  I had to get some work done.

###

            Maria and I (through text) made plans to meet up on campus at a pizza place called Mario and Luigi Pizza Parlor (how original, right?), and I told her not to worry about money because of course I would take care of it, being the gentleman I was in my youth.  I arrived before her, and I did so by like twenty minutes.  I was early.  I wanted to be early.  I was so nervous that I couldn’t think of anything else but the date, so in an attempt to calm my nerves I sat down at a table, took a deep breath, and waited for Maria.  She arrived five minutes early with a big smile on her face.  Gosh, I must have fallen straight in love with her, because when I saw that smile, I drifted away.  It felt a little like being a soaring kite high above the world.  I blushed, then smiled back at her.  And that moment I got to my feet, I found her hugging me, pressing her body against mine.  Her chest to my chest, her neck on my neck, and her feet touching my feet.  I could feel her breath.  I also felt a little rush of blood to my undercarriage.  Thankfully, I pulled away before it could become too much of a problem.

            “I have to be honest, Will,” she said to me before I could get out the first word.  “I’m way too shy to go on dates with someone I just met, but for some reason I feel comfortable with you.”

            I blushed again.  “I feel the same way,” I told her.  “When we talked today, I felt like that.  Usually, I’m really shy.”

            “You don’t seem shy,” she said.  “You seem more extroverted than introverted.”

            “I’m definitely an introvert,” I told her.

            She shook her head.  “I don’t think so.”  She stared up at me, and I stared down at her.  A couple inches separated us from being eye-to-eye, and I liked that I was taller than she was.  Her eyes sparkled in the pale-yellow lights of the Memorial Union dining hall, where the pizza parlor was also located, and the people crowding in around us became nothing but blurs.  I examined her green eyes, then looked at her pale jawline, which I found adorable (and, frankly, kissable).  Her lips were full, wet, and begging me to just lower my head and kiss them.  Yet, I remained upright and smiled down at her.  It felt a little like a movie scene, to tell you the truth.  And just as I began to wonder if she wanted me to lower my head and press my lips against hers, she opened her mouth and said, “What’s your fave type of pizza?”

            “Fave?” I asked, chuckling.

            “Yeah,” she giggled.  “It means favorite.”

            I laughed.  “Umm,” I started.  “You may not like me after saying this, but I really like the pineapple pizza they have here.  It’s so good.”

            “I think you just might be my favorite person ever,” she said and jumped a little bit.  “I’m not gonna lie: I freaking love pineapple pizza!  It’s the only good kind of pizza.”

            “Are you sure I’m not your fave person?” I chortled.

            “Smartass,” she giggled.  “Yeah.  You’re my fave person.  Now, let’s eat.”

            I ordered the classic Hawaiian pizza that Mario and Luigi Pizza Parlor had on their menu, and when it came out, it steamed and smelled like pure heaven.  Throughout the meal, Maria and I did not talk much.  We were too focused on the pizza, and to be honest, I never felt awkward at all about the silence.  It reminded me of the scene in Pulp Fiction, the one where the guy and the girl are at that retro-looking diner in the car-like booths.  After a period of silence, the girl says a thing she hates is how people are always expected to talk, but sometimes it’s nice to enjoy quiet.  That’s how I felt in that situation all those years ago, sitting there with Maria Donovan.  I never forgot how peaceful it had been that night -- well, at least how peaceful it was in that spot in the Memorial Union.  Like I said before, with her sitting in front of me, everyone else became an unrecognized blur.  Call it a trance or whatnot, but damn, she caught me in her grip and threw me into a wonderful, euphoric high that I never wanted to come down from.  Maybe I’m a romantic.

            “So, what all did you do at work today?” I asked her after I finished eating three slices.  It filled me, and all I wanted to do was sit there for a while.  I put one hand on my stomach, and the other I put on my lap.  “Did you work on those doorways you were talking about?”

            “That’s all I really did,” she said.  “It takes up most of my days to be honest.  Sometimes, I do a lot of math equations, though, but it all pertains to the doorways.”

            “I never knew doorways involved such hard math,” I said and chuckled.  “I thought all a carpenter had to do is measure, cut, and fit the doorway into a certain place.”

            “I still do that,” she told me with a grin.  “I just do a little more math than normal people to make doorways.  They’re a bit more special than normal ones.”

            “Some sort of futuristic doorway?” I asked.  “Kind of like that Isaac Asimov short story -- the one where the people go through doorways that teleport you to certain destinations?”

            Maria shrugged.  “I mean… that’s a little farfetched, but in a way, I guess it’s sort of like that if you want to get technical.”  She looked down at the half-eaten pizza and smiled.  “I love a good pineapple pizza, and that was great.”

            “It was really good,” I admitted.  “Did you want to box it up and take it home?”

            “I’m fine,” she said.  “You can have it.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “I’m sure.”

            I almost stood up to go get a box from the pizza parlor counter, but before I could, she asked a question: “What do your parents do for a living, Will?”

            I settled back in my seat.  “My dad is in the military, and my mom is a stay-at-home mom for the most part.  She also paints and makes a little money on the side, but it’s not very much.”

            “Interesting.”

            “What do your parents do?” I asked.

            “My mom died when I was really little,” she started, “so she’s not around anymore, but in Seattle, my dad works for a pretty big law firm.  That’s how I’m able to come here.”

            “He pays for everything?” I asked her.  I felt a little jealous if I have to be honest with the readers of this short piece and myself.  Because of my father and his military career, I was able to get a scholarship for a couple semesters of college, but for the most part, I had to pay my way through college.  Shit, I’ll never pay off my loans.  Well, that’s not true.  Someday I will, but it feels like it’s not happening anytime soon.

            “Yeah,” she said.  “I’m very fortunate.  I thank him every day.”

            “Yeah,” I agreed.  “If my dad paid off my college, I’d be thanking him every day, too.”

            “Is paying for college tough on you?” she asked.

            I shrugged.  “Not tough right now, but in the future, I’m going to have to slave to pay off a bunch of loans.”

            “You aren’t the only one, though,” she told me with a sad smile.  “There’s a lot of people I know that are in the same predicament you are.  If you want to know the truth, I wish that I had a chance to pay for my own college.  I feel like a mooch.  But I guess my dad is helping me with my future, and I’m making a great future for myself with those doorways.”

            “I still have to see these doorways,” I told her and grinned.  “You seem like these doorways are the only thing going on in your life.”

            “They pretty much are,” she agreed with me.  “They’re magnificent.  I haven’t opened one yet.  I want to, though.  Maybe, if you want, you can come down to the lab tonight.  I can show you one of them.  I don’t think anyone is down there.  We’ll be the only ones.”

            The reader of this recount might be a little confused by what she said to me, and yes, I’ve found myself a little confused by what she said, too.  However, at that very moment, I didn’t put a lot of thought into what she had said.  I brushed off the talk about opening doorways and going into a science lab.  I didn’t question why she had not opened a doorway yet.  All I thought about was going into a place she and I would be alone.  We’ll be the only ones.  To me, that had a nice ring to it. 

            My smile spread from ear to ear.  “I’m down to go with you tonight.  You said earlier that I might even get a story idea from this place?”

            “If you don’t get a story idea, then you have something wrong with your creativity.”

            I laughed.  “Let’s go to it, then.”

###

            We walked through campus to a building at the edge of Study Hill, and before we went in to explore the laboratory where she worked, she stopped and told me to prepare myself.  Prepare for what exactly?  Well, I didn’t ask her at that moment, just nodded and stiffened my back a tiny bit in case something was to jump out at us.  Hell, I had no clue what she talked about.  There’s a number of things men care about: women, booze, videogames, books (in some cases), movies, an act of sex, etc.  But going into a laboratory to see a carpenter’s doorway did not seem enticing.  It sounded rather boring to tell you the truth, but I went inside the building with her anyway.  I have to admit, I could not keep my eyes off her the whole time.

            Except for when it got dark.  When we first stepped into the building, there were five, six, or maybe seven fluorescent lights turned on in the first large room, which was filled to the brim with computers, desks, bookshelves, cabinets, and portable, dry-erase boards that moved on wheels.  Maria guided me through this room and into a dark hallway at the other end of the building.  She took my hand to help us not get separated.  I felt how soft it was against my skin.  By the time we reached the other end of the hallway and went through a door to a brightened stairway, I felt comfortable with her grip.  I think she liked to hold it, for as we walked down the stairs hand in hand, she smiled.

            “Do you work in the basement?” I asked over the sound of our echoing footfalls.  “Isn’t it a bit creepy down here?”  The pale fluorescent lights bathed the blank stairway in a strange glow.  Not to mention, the lights above us hummed. 

            “Yeah,” she said as we continued to descend.  “There’s a pretty big research laboratory in the basement.  It has everything I need.  As for your question about it being creepy: all the time.  I’ll get a little spooked from time to time, especially if I’m by myself.  And the amount of energy for doorways is a lot, so sometimes the lights go off.  When that happens, I’m left in the dark.”

            “Energy for doorways?” I asked with a raise of an eyebrow.  “I don’t -- ”

            “You’ll see what I mean,” she interrupted.  “It’s best if I show you.”

            For the first time since she started talking to me earlier that day, I felt an extreme interest.  It was sort of like a light switch in my body flicked itself on.  I found myself no longer interested in my sexual desires.  Instead, I wanted to see the doorways.  It started to sound cool when she mentioned it took energy.  I began to wonder if she really created a teleporting doorway, like in that Isaac Asimov story I mentioned earlier.

            “It isn’t dangerous, right?” I asked.

            She shrugged.  “Not unless you go inside of it.”

            “I’m confused,” I said.  “So, it has the potential to kill one of us.”

            “Oh, I don’t know.  I’m not sure where it leads.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You’ll see,” she said and squeezed my hand.  “You’re getting too far ahead of yourself.”

            “I’m just curious,” I told her.

            “Well, I hope I can abate that curiosity,” she said and stopped at the lowest level.  She put a key into the thick, metal door in front of us and twisted it.  The door opened, and she pushed it a bit more.  She strode in first.  I followed.  Inside, she flicked on a light and shut the door behind me.  I found myself in a large room that looked more like a cavern than a room.  The metal walls were dented, burned tar black, and there were spots of green slime, too.  I raised the other eyebrow at where this new girl had taken me.  I felt like I had just stepped into a horror movie.  It looked like a place an evil scientist took victims to torture and perform odd experiments on them.  To our left, there was another door that appeared to lead into a smaller room where a glass wall let occupants look into the large room we stood in.  I assumed experiments were performed here.  I also assumed scientists had completed lots of odd ones.

            “What do you guys do down here?” I asked with a nervous laugh.  “Blow up shit?”

            “There’s been a few minor explosions in here,” Maria told me.  “But follow me.  I know this room is a little odd, but there’s this other room over here where scientists can observe behind bulletproof glass.  See?”

            She led me to the second room.  We stepped inside, and she closed the door behind me.  I did not think much of her shutting the door, but when she walked over to a huge, bulky machine, I began to wonder the purpose of my being here.  In the glass wall, she opened a little slit where something could peek through.  She pushed the tip of the machine -- a little nipple-like piece -- into the slit in the bulletproof glass wall so that it protruded into the room we had just come from.  It was an odd machine, to tell you the truth.  It looked futuristic, like science fiction.

            “Want to see something cool?” she asked me. 

            Unsure of what to say, I said, “Yeah.”

            “Are you nervous?” she asked.  “If so, there’s no reason to be.  You’re safe behind this.”  She tapped the glass with her knuckles, then flipped a switch on the massive machine.  It roared, and a weird beeping emanated from it.  The whistling sound of wind was heard next.  I felt every particle inside my body vibrate with anticipation.  Something -- though in that very moment I had no clue what -- was about to happen.  I stood on tiptoes and waited.

            “I’m just a little confused,” I told her.  “That’s all.”

            “Your questions are about to be answered.”  Then, she punched the glowing red button at the base of the machine, and a jet of orange, blue, yellow, and red shot out of the nipple.  The big room we had just left exploded like multiple fireworks had been set off in there.  That, I know, was the craziest thing I had ever seen, because as a result of the explosion, a weird cut appeared.  Yes, a cut.  It looked as if the fabric of existence split in two like a piece of skin ripping apart.  A red chemical dripped to the floor from the cut.  The center of the cut was all red, cloudy and murky.  I could not help but gasp and take a step back.  My eyes grew wide in terror.

            “What is it?” I asked.  My eyes were focused on the massive gap that had torn reality.  In my mind, nothing else existed in that moment, but I knew someone would answer if I asked, so I blurted out the question as fast as I could.  I wanted answers.  No, I needed answers.  I backed up to the wall behind me, pressed myself against it, and waited for someone to answer.

            “It’s a doorway,” Maria answered.  “I have no idea where it leads, though.”

            “It looks more like a bloody cut in the skin,” I blurted out.

            “It does,” she said.  “It’s because I tore a hole through our dimension.”

            “Close it,” I said.  “Close it now.”

            She shook her head.  “We’re safe in here, Will.  Nothing can get to us.”

            “You don’t know that, Maria.”

            “Will,” she started in a calm, know-it-all tone, “I’ve been researching this stuff forever.  It is completely okay.  This is an experiment.  This is the longest I’ve had the portal open, though.”

            “I don’t want to be here for an experiment,” I told her.  “Please turn it off, Maria.  That thing is giving me the creeps.”

            “Will,” she started again, “don’t you trust -- ”

            An alien screech deafened us, and before I could comprehend what was happening in front of me, the bulletproof glass shattered.  Maria lurched back into the room away from the place where the bulletproof glass had been.  Something -- it looked like a squid’s tentacle, if I had to detail it -- had come out of the doorway, and it took Maria in its grasp.  Her body flew through the air like a ragdoll, her arms and legs flinging around.  I heard her scream and cry out.  Like I said, my mind did not comprehend it at first, but all the sudden, my limbs told me what to do.  I flung myself at the machine and punched the red button.  The room grew quiet. 

            When I looked up, I found myself alone.  The cut in the fabric of reality had disappeared as fast as it had been created.  There were no monsters anymore, no bright colors, and there sure as hell was not anyone else in the room.  Maria had disappeared, pulled into the doorway that she herself had created.  I took a few deep breaths and gazed at the machine.  It looked like a beast.  I wanted nothing to do with it.  So, I destroyed it.  Afterward, I ran out of the small room, out the door, up the stairs.  It felt odd running outside into the darkness of night.  It felt even weirder running up Study Hill.  A whole other world had been created in the basement of the building Maria had taken me.  Every -- and I mean every -- part of my body shook.  I collapsed next to an oak tree on top of the hill.  I have no difficulty in admitting I cried.  I sobbed.  Thankfully, no one saw me do so.

###

            Well, I guess I can say that’s where my story ends, but I’d be lying if I said it really came to an end there.  Sure, Maria disappeared, I survived.  I understood what she meant by saying that she built doorways, and I ran away from one of them forever.  But, the days following were hard to handle.  I saw a bunch of missing person reports with Maria’s face on them.  They were glued on walls, stapled on telephone poles, even put on milk cartons and soda cups distributed in the cafeteria.  I heard whispers about her.  I heard questions asked about her.  I heard rumors that weren’t true about her.  There were so many times that I could have said something, but I chose not to.  I remained as silent as a mouse.  This, actually, is my first time speaking about her…

            The reason behind my silence is understandable if you think about it.  People would think I had lost my mind, and even if I somehow managed to show people the dimension portal, what would they think?  It is something that no man needs to know.  No one should have that capability.  That, I think, should be put in God’s hands, not ours.  Maria Donovan was ahead on a bunch of scientific feats.  She was special, but she was also unaware.  For that reason, she died… or at least I think she died.  For all I know, she might be still alive, residing in some hellish place.  For her sake, though, I hope she’s dead.  God, I hope she’s dead.  Because, well, she’s not able to get back.  Never.  Like I said, I destroyed the machine that night.  Whatever it produced does not need to come back into our dimension.  To you, the reader: you can thank me for destroying it.  I just might have saved the world.  

The End

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