Wayne Batson - The Door Within

“Yes, that much is true. There are dozens of different versions. Shame of it is, there are millions of folk all over who have The Story collectin’ dust right on their shelves-and not the slightest guess that it’s all real.”

“But, Grampin, how can it be real? I mean, castles and drag-”

“Aidan, listen. Your father said that believing in something doesn’t make it real. But what he don’t understand is that there are things-incredible things!-that are real whether we want to believe in them or not. The Story is real, all right, but he won’t see it until he’s willing to believe.”

Aidan squinted, wanting to understand but still questioning.

“Believing in something or someone is a very special thing, my boy. It can be risky ’cause if you believe in something, you stand up for it. You fight for it sometimes. If what you believe turns out to be a lie, you could end up humiliated or… worse. My own son thinks I’m a kook for believin’ The Story, and he’s not the only one, heh, heh.”

“So, Grampin, you’re serious-you believe it all, what the scrolls say?”

“I do, Aidan. The big question is, do you believe?”

“Well, I don’t know… Dad said-”

“I know what yer father says, but ye need to decide for yerself. Now, you go to the scrolls, ye hear? The key is there. The Door Within is closer than you think.”

“But-”

“Son, you best git! It’s time for my nap!”

Aidan had never seen Grampin so stirred up before. He certainly didn’t look ready for a nap. Aidan half expected the old guy to get up out of his wheelchair and boot him a good one in the rear if he didn’t get moving. So Aidan flew up the stairs, threw the covers off the bed, and scooped up the scrolls.

A key? Aidan thought as he spread the first scroll. I don’t see a key in here.

In turn, he examined every page of the scrolls, shook them, even waved them around like magic wands, but nothing fell out.

Outside Aidan’s window, a catbird chirped angrily. The pines in the front yard were a playground for many wild creatures, but the birds took over around ten every morning. Squawking, twirping, and peeping, dozens of them hopped from branch to branch among the evergreens. Aidan liked to watch them at times, but today, he had other concerns.

The key. Grampin had said The Door Within was close, but how was he supposed to unlock it without a key? He was about to call down the stairs to ask when his eyes locked onto the poem.

There are passages and doors And realms that lie unseen. There are roads both wide and narrow And no avenue between. Doors remain closed for those Who in sad vanity yet hide. Yet when Belief is chosen, The key appears inside. What is lived now will soon pass, And what is not will come to be. The Door Within must open, For one to truly see. Do you see? Believe and enter.

Like a connect-the-dots picture with a handful of lines drawn in, the meaning of the poem was slowly taking shape. It all seemed to hinge on believing, but believing what? The Story? Just believe it’s true? Aidan needed more dots connected.

Maybe it’s like making a wish, Aidan thought. Perhaps he could just hope really hard, and a key would come forth from the scrolls. Aidan reasoned that if three clay pots could appear out of thin air, certainly a key could. Aidan put down the scroll. He was ready to believe.

A idan sat on the edge of his bed. His knees were together and his back was as straight and stiff as a post. He squinted his eyes shut, as if letting in a crack of light might somehow spoil the moment. Then thinking I believe, I believe, I believe, over and over again, Aidan started to hold out his hands. Then he opened his eyes. What sort of key will I get? Should I cup my hands one under the other for a tiny key? Or hold out both hands shoulder’s width apart for a large key? Aidan wasn’t sure. Then he had a disturbing thought. What if the key is the size of a telephone pole?

He risked it, cupped his hands, extended his arms, and again closed his eyes. “I believe, I believe, I believe, I believe,” he chanted, rocking slowly and trying to will a key to appear. At last, he opened his eyes again. There in his hands… was nothing.

Aidan glanced sideways at the scrolls on his bed and then trudged downstairs to the living room. Grampin seemed to be asleep, but he opened one eye as Aidan approached.

“Grampin,” Aidan said meekly, “how do I believe?”

Grampin snickered. “Do you believe the sky is blue?”

“Yeah,” said Aidan.

“Okay, do you believe birds fly?”

“Of course!” Feeling foolish now.

“Well, son, it’s kinda like that!”

“Okay, I believe like that, but… I didn’t get a key or find a door.”

“There’s more to it, Aidan. It starts in your head, but it’s got to go beyond. Try this. Picture yerself standing on the edge of a cliff. It’s a chasm, really, and there’s an old narrow bridge you could cross to get to the other side. Now, you can look at the bridge and agree, it’s fine-that it’ll hold you-but believin’ it’s safe won’t get you to the other side, now will it? You got to step out, walk right on out there.”

Aidan swallowed and nodded. Grampin’s fierce blue eyes held him there for a moment more.

“Now, Aidan,” Grampin said. He coughed and cleared his throat. “It’s up to you.”

Aidan gritted his teeth and turned. He began to climb the stairs to his room, but glanced one last time at his grandfather. He was slouched again, spent from their conversation. Aidan noticed too that Grampin’s right hand was lightly pressing into his chest as if he were kneading dough. Aidan took a tentative step back, but Grampin looked up and smiled. “Go on,” he whispered.

Aidan grinned back and flung himself up the stairs.

The scroll with the poem was waiting on his bed. Aidan sat down and brushed his fingers across the script. They felt vibrant, textured with electricity. Aidan closed his eyes. No more chanting. No more wishing.

He cleared his mind. Then, rapidly, an image began to develop. There before Aidan was the cliff. And secured to the edge of it, just a few feet away, was the narrow bridge. It spanned a great gap, but Aidan could not see the other side, for it was whited out by distance and haze.

In his mind, Aidan stepped closer and peered over the edge. The depth of the ravine could not be guessed, but it had a peculiar, powerful gravity that entranced and pulled. Aidan shrank back. Were he to fall, he might never stop falling.

He heard the birds chirping, and he almost opened his eyes for the safety of his bedroom. But that would be giving up, surrendering. No, he could not surrender this time. And Robby wasn’t there to bail him out. Aidan himself had to go forward.

First, however, he decided to inspect the bridge.

It was made of ropes and wooden planks. The ropes seemed tightly wound and knotted and were not frayed. The planks were cut from solid wood and were not cracked or rotted. The bridge looked sturdy. The bridge looked strong.

I can do this.

Aidan took a step toward the bridge, but at that moment a stiff wind came forth and caused the bridge to sway. The terror of death awoke and whispered icy thoughts into Aidan’s mind. The bridge seemed at the mercy of the wind. Aidan began to shake. It was one thing to venture out upon such a bridge when it was still. That was enough. But to risk his life on rope and wood in motion?

The rope might not hold. A board could crack. I could slip.

Fear groped about for Aidan’s throat, and again Aidan was tempted to open his eyes. But then words from the poem sprang into his mind:

Yet when Belief is chosen, The key appears inside.

In that moment, he had it-the key to the riddle: Belief must be chosen.