Personal Narrative: Behind The Doors

Step into the elevator, then wait. You are simply going up a couple of floors in the hospital, but time slows to a halt. 1 minute becomes an hour, and 2 becomes a day. Suddenly waiting for the doors to open, brings a change to you. You are anticipating what you will see. Will it be the fat cat you saw before? How about the little old lady in the santa hat who cracked the joke that made you laugh? Thoughts begin to go everywhere. Nothing is certain now. And, when those doors open, will you be surprised by what you see, or what you did not see? Whenever I step into an elevator, I claim the back corner, as if I am hiding in fear from something. The kind of dread that keeps you from looking at a lifeless body. It keeps you waiting for a miracle. …show more content…
I instantly turned around when I heard her. The first thing that came to mind was dangerous driving. She kept lifting a hand to wipe her face of the tears I suspected were falling. Not only was she crying, but she was pedaling like a crazy person. When she reached us, she nearly threw her bike down, and in that moment, I knew something was terribly wrong. Was there an accident at the end of the lane? Is she hurt? Questions flooded my head as I assessed the situation. My mother and I went over to her, attempting to find out the cause of this strange behavior. It took a couple of minutes to even try to decipher her words when they were not interrupted by …show more content…
I only saw her body from a distance, and that was before I got my glasses. When my mind wanders I wonder what she would be doing today- had it not been for that third vehicle. Imagine, a small dog running toward you on a gravel lane. She is whitish and grayish with black on her head. A sort of light brown circle is around one of her eyes. Her tongue hangs down because it is a summer day. It looks so low that you almost think she is tasting the rock as she runs. You pet her, tell her to go get a drink of water. After that, she runs up behind you and grabs the squeaky toy from your hand. Laughing, you pretend to chase her and she pretends to run away, but every once in a while, you get your opportunity and you snatch it off the ground and hold it at an arm length away and off to the side. And that little dog would jump and pick it right out of your hand again, jumping roughly four feet off the ground. But, when the games are done, she would climb onto your lap, and make a desperate attempt to lick your cheek. Just imagine. I see her in my new dog, Heidi. Though there is a huge difference in size, there is no difference in spirit. And, every day, I find myself looking out the lane, searching for my dog who could not possibly return