[ WP ] you find a door you have never noticed before in a home you 've lived in for 20 years .

They talk over me. Mouths, dripping and spraying the remnants of the dinner I had spent hours on, uttering nonsense neither one was listening to. Overlapping threads of internal conversations competing against one another in an endless battle that had no winner. 
 
 “ Can I go to Jerome ’ s on Friday? ” Queries the smaller one sitting to my right. 
 
 “ You spent all day playing on your iPad. None of your chores are done! What did you do all day? ” The larger one avoids answering directly. 
 
 I stare out the window as a neighbor slowly walks along the sidewalk edging our yard, my mind sneaking alongside him engaged in a polite conversation around whether it was a morning dove or pigeon we heard cooing in the distance. 
 
 “ I want a FIFA 15 for my birthday. ” 
 
 The threads of the conversation jumped at random angles to one another. I listen, gauging when they ’ re close enough for me to bind together for a moment. 
 
 “ Well, your birthday isn ’ t for another month. How about you start a list and keep adding – “ 
 
 My voice is drowned out by the larger mouth. “ Another video game!? That ’ s ridiculous! ” 
 
 I ’ ve managed to bind the threads of conversation again, but the energy is too difficult to contain. 
 
 “ I wanted to go the SportsClub, but you wouldn ’ t take me yesterday!? ” Replies the smaller mouth. 
 
 “ Don ’ t change the subject! Did you apologize to your mother for talking back last night? ” The Larger is unaware of the tangential nature of his own comments. 
 
 The conversation has played itself over again and again. Invisible would be a step up. I ’ m more a wall, something to be talked over or avoided. But never actively engaged with. 
 
 The neighbor glances at our window and I smile. 
 
 He knows. He knows me. 
 
 I stand up, before the momentary impetus leaves me. If it ’ s one thing I ’ ve learned from the two next to me, is that consideration is for those who want to slow themselves. And I do not. 
 
 “ Goodbye Karl. ” I give the larger mouth a peck on the cheek. 
 
 I give the small mouth a squeeze of the shoulder. The damage of leaving is less than staying. 
 
 I do n't grab a bag. I do n't grab the keys. I simply stride forward with a purpose I have n't felt in decades and put my hand on the doorknob, twisting hard. 
 
 I ’ ve used this door a thousand times, but for the first time I use it as the exit. 

