Fiction Fridays: The Constant Doorman

Day after bustling lonely day he stared out onto Park Avenue. His hands were clasped behind his back in a regal yet comfortable pose, legs slightly spread, shoulders back but not far enough to make him look menacing, just sturdy. Green suit with epaulettes, no hat because of the heat and probably the only item that made him uniquely dressed in any way, his gold watch that was half a size too big. The watched drooped like a bracelet and the face stared at the marble tile floor as it showed the steady passage of time.

He was not a man particularly inclined to deep thought, but this job and so much time to think made it almost impossible not to think about things. But generally thinking made him anxious.

He was originally from Long Island and his old mother still sat in the dark yet welcoming house that he grew up in. She was as proud as a double-blossom cherry tree in bloom of her son. She didnt know exactly what he did, but she liked the green uniform he wore, it made her feel like he was accomplished and she didnt need to investigate any further.

So many people came in and out of his building, so many people walked by. In this part of town, people were very distinct in attitude and appearance, there was nothing indecisive about the fashion of their lifestyle. People were extreme. Extremely thin, wealthy, rude, polite, generous, educated, well-traveled, intelligent and needy.

He wondered “since I am standing here watching and occasionally helping and talking to so many people during the day, does this mean that I have experienced a lot? Even though I stand in the same place every day am I watching the world go by or is it just a peaceful window to watch and reflect on the world, something everyone would like the opportunity to have?”

No resolution was to ever come of this question for The Doorman and he just continued helping and watching and thinking for minutes, days, and years. His mother passed away and the day of her funeral was the most eventful day he had had in a while, a few people who lived in the building that he worked in came. Their expensive clothes pulsed with out-of-place-ness in the deep burgundy and gold funeral home on Long Island. She was buried in Queens and he was surprised and touched that the folks from 788 Park were willing to get dirt on their shoes.