Clarence's Closet Door

CLARENCE’S CLOSET DOOR

I had the wide awake, staring at the ceiling blues again. Regrets, I’d had a few, but then again…a lot, really. I knew that my problem was success—I found it boring. New ventures were exciting until I rose through the ranks to the level where I was about to be promoted to a position where I would be managing underlings. At that point I would always quit rather than be required to show others how to do the thing instead of doing the thing myself. This problem had ended my career in civil engineering, my career in graphic design, and most recently, my career in landscape architecture.

           The problem with relationships was analogous. I enjoyed the progression from friendship to romance to sex. The next step of starting a family had always struck fear in my heart. This would be yet another managerial position where I would be instructing small children and domestic animals. They would surely be even more ornery than entry level employees of a company.

           My avoidance of family life and expensive hobbies had left me with a nice pot of savings. I was thinking of trying something low key and stress free for a change. I would relax and ruminate for a while. See the world. Tomorrow I would look into acquiring a position as a shuffleboard instructor on a cruise ship—if there was such a thing.

           I reminded himself that morning sunlight usually evaporated nighttime anxieties and set about trying to get to sleep. I knew that if I just followed my breathing for a minute or two I could lose consciousness. Doubts and fears stayed away until I entered the interesting in-between state where my thoughts became a nonsense stream of consciousness rant. I listened, watched, and waited until I noticed that the closet door was open. Odd…. I always kept it closed. I walked cautiously toward the door.

           “Come in Clarence. I’ve been looking forward to our visit.”

           I recognized the voice at once. “Reverend Hampshire!” I hadn’t seen him since I was a small boy living across the street from the parsonage. The home for the pastor of our church was a perk of the job that attracted a high class of preachers. It was the classiest house in the small farm town and had been willed to the church by a rich landowner. All the ministers of our church had been elderly and highly educated and had gone into semi-retirement after leading a city congregation of thousands. We had become friends because we both liked birds. We would sit in his living room facing the fireplace and pour over his ponderous copy of Birds of America. Looking back, I realize it was a classic scenario for child abuse. Luckily that was not one of the reverend’s hobbies. He just liked birds and children. I had forgotten I got here by walking into my closet.

           “I understand you’ve been troubled lately Clarence.”

           “I have a problem with success. I find it boring.”

           “Didn’t your high school class vote you most likely to succeed?”

           “That makes it even worse. I think every one of my classmates has been more successful than me.”

           The dapper old reverend stroked his chin. “There are many ways to gauge success. By some measures you have been quite successful. If you are troubled though, why don’t you ask what Jesus would do?”

           “I have to be honest, Reverend, I don’t actually pray any more.”

           ‘No, no, I mean just ask him.”

           I turned to see Jesus sitting by the fireplace. He looked like a stereotypical Hollywood version of Christ.

           “Are you…?”

           “The One and Only.” he replied. He spoke as if about to burst into laughter. “Follow me, Clarence.”

           I followed the Savior across the broad, immaculate parsonage lawn and into the strip of forest to the creek that marked the property boundary.

           “This is called ‘Little Lost Creek,’ but kids call it Shit Crick. It’s polluted because septic tanks overflow into it.”

           “This is also the River Styx, and it’s polluted too, as you might expect.”

           “Can’t you fix that?”

           “Let the Greeks fix it. I’ve got other fish to multiply.”

           As The Son of Man hopped across the narrow stream he said, “Be careful not to get the water on your skin.”

           I stepped across and asked, “Where are we now?”

           “Your subconscious.”

           “Subconscious, really? What do you think of western psychology? What did you think of Freud? You knew him right? I suppose you knew everyone.”

           “Funny guy. A lot of his pronouncements were tongue in cheek. I liked him, but the cigar smoke made my eyes water.”

           The soil here was dark and moist. Small reptiles, amphibians, and slugs crawled slowly across the muddy plain.

           “Those are your fears and doubts. If you try to pick one up, you will see they are imaginary.”

           As he said that, fears and doubts arose in my mind. “Why haven’t I been successful?”

           “You have been successful beyond your wildest dreams. Success and failure are both in your mind and only in your mind. If fact, everything is only in your mind.”

           “How do I know you aren’t the Antichrist? That sounds like something the Antichrist would say.” As I spoke, I saw that I had stepped on a small toad, which immediately disappeared. Now it was getting lighter and drier, and we were walking across a vast sandy desert. “And what about the Beast?” I asked. “Does the Beast live in this desert?”

           “The scriptures have scared you because you find life frightening. The Word holds only good tidings. Let it comfort you. Don’t worry about the Beast. He—or maybe she—can be fun if your thoughts are pure. She can even be amorous.”

           In the distance now I saw a figure approaching. A wind had come up that caught the figure’s flowing garments and wrapped them around her revealing that it was a tall slender woman. As the distance between us narrowed, she stretched out her arms in a welcoming gesture. Now we were looking in each other’s eyes, and I recognized Naomi, my first high school sweetheart. My first crush. The girl who taught me how to kiss. With the long, black wavy hair. The green eyes.

           “Why did you leave?” she asked. “You could have married me.”

           Her face slowly began to change as she transformed into something else. Her mouth became larger; her eyes changed from green to red. The mouth lined with sharp teeth widened and I saw a long dark tunnel with a pinpoint of light at the end. I felt myself drawn helplessly into the maw. The last thing I heard was, “Now we will have sex!”

           Several minutes passed while my breathing and heart rate returned to normal. I glanced cautiously around the room. Finally I looked at the closet door and was relieved to see that it was closed.

           Then slowly, silently the door swung open.