Standing Before a Door

I’m standing in front of a door…with the only key. I built this door, carved a place for it in the wall I raised to protect me from what’s on the other side. And to protect what’s on the other side from me. What’s on the other side is thirty years in the past.


I’ve kept many things from that other side, bones I bury and dig up, bury and dig up. My own personal graveyard with angry ghosts that scream and weep and demand retaliation, and weary spirits who plead for release from the too-frequent resurrections.

None of them whisper, “forgive… forget.” To forget would invalidate who I am, because the past created the person I am today. The person whose rage and pain gave her strength to fight back, to make different choices, to refuse to accept still more pain. To forgive would dissolve their guilt, tell them that their actions were acceptable, and they do not deserve that.

They deserve to burn in Hell. And in this life, to know no peace, no joy, no happiness.

Yes, my past has given me interesting hobbies. Such as the Hunt. When the ghosts scream too loudly for retribution, I can quiet them with the Hunt. When the Hunt is done, they are appeased, all I hear is the soft pleadings of the weary, and I am as tired as they are. My mind can rest for a while; the bones return to the earth.

What is the Hunt? The search for those who made my life a torment. A search driven by my need to know what they have made of their own lives, and the hope that those lives have been scarred, wasted, marked by loss and failure. I do nothing with the information.

How does this work? In a brief pause in writing this, I picked a name out of the past, and began the Hunt. Within five minutes, I had her married name, the name of her husband, the names and ages of her children, how long she’d been married, and the names of several of the friends she’s maintained contact with since those halcyon days. Fifteen minutes more, and I will have her address, phone number, and other personal information. And it won’t cost a thing.

I am not a nice person. I never pretended to be.

But this recent Hunt has snared more than the previous, and laid out before me is the proof of their freedom from divine punishment. Spouses, children, successful careers, stature in the community, beautiful homes… happiness. And this has caused the ghosts of rage and revenge to tear at their cerements, demanding … something more. Demanding explanation for the deeds of the past, and acknowledgement of the pain they caused.

So I am driven to build this door.

And the key is heavy in my hand.
 
Do I open the door?  What would that accomplish?  Would there be explanation, apology, acknowledgement?
 
Or blank stares?