An untold story - The 5ifth Door

Saturday afternoon, 6:30 p.m. or so

First week of spring, but cool, too cold some would say.
The sun was still lingering as the day drew to an end, but the residue of winter
still served as a blanket on my not-so-long-ago well groomed consistently green lawn.

The chime of the door bell almost blended into the sound coming from the piano.
Danielle clearly welcomed the possible relief from her imposed practice session.
A friend was on the other side, she hoped. But disappointment was swift.
She realized the visit didn't include her guaranteed deal breaker, her friend Mandy.

The shadow cased was only that of her father.

He walked through the door with a copy of my book in hand.
"Wow! Wow! I was unable to put this down."
He said. As he raised it up to my eye level.

"You did a great job. I was in the area and decided to swing by to congratulate you.
I knew you were writing a book, but I didn't know you were writing this story.
Wow! I'm glad you decided to." He continued in a surprised kind of tone.

"You're about the sixth person with this reaction." I said.

But because it's was such a personal journey and it was written mainly in privacy,
I understood why that reaction was common among those close to me.

You see, the whole idea was to write a journal for my two girls, my daughters.
But after a few years of writing, sheets of paper turned into a high uneven and out of control pile in my office. They begged to be transformed, to be organized into something else.

Complying this journal was not a decision or conclusion I came to without much contemplation,
but I became fully aware that these are stories worthy of sharing.

As Maya Angelou said...
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

- Anthony Thomas