“This was his ‘door to nowhere’.”
“Wow. What did it mean to him?”
“Nothing, really. No meaning. It was just fun.”
“Not everything needs a deeper meaning.” She said with a faint smile.
The sun was setting and the air was cold. They were in her father’s backyard. A few feet from the hedges that divided his lawn and his neighbor’s, a door frame stood with some stairs leading up to the door and other than that there was nothing. The door was white, but had some blue paint marks on it, as if a couple brushstrokes into changing its color the painter changed their mind. White is a good color, clean, barren, familiar. Good if you’re into that kind of thing. He enjoyed it.
He stood there, very aware of his breathing, staring at the door, and then walked up to it, felt the dry splintered surface.
“You don’t have to think everything to death, you know?” She said, having possibly mistook his silence for offense to the previous statement.
“Maybe you’re right. But it is fun.”
She showed him around the house. There were pictures on the walls, pictures of her and her father, and pictures of her father and her sisters. There were posters of famous jazz musicians that he had worked with, back in the day.
“He was a good man.” She said.