He had been in want – in need – of company for so long that he half believed he had imagined the nearly imperceptible twist of the doorknob. He blinked rapidly hoping it was just his ailing eyes playing tricks on him. Yet he couldn’t force himself to turn around, to retreat from the dank basement and back to the plush living room where he could erase this incident of what he thought to be old age with a few hours of mindless television. He still found himself easing one foot onto the next step, never removing his gaze from the door. As his heavy boot made its descent the stairs emitted a small creak. The man paused, his heart in his throat and one leg dangling over the next step ready to drop. He assessed himself and felt shame wash over him; embarrassment at what he had become. Could he really believe that something lay beyond the storage door? No, he thought. His life had been lacking in excitement lately and he convinced himself this was nothing more than a cheap thrill. Once again though he felt a pull to the door, a pull that could only be described as otherworldly. He reasoned that he would just check to make sure there wasn’t an intruder, although the idea of someone breaking into his picturesque neighborhood was laughable.

Disregarding his previous attempt at being cautious, he clamored down the rest of the stairs pausing a few moments before the door and then finally wrenching it open. He couldn’t suppress the pang of disappointment at what he found, or the lack of, as all that greeted him was an empty closet. He lingered at the door for a few moments, crouched in eagerness that slowly began to dissipate. The familiar blush of embarrassment crept rapidly across his face; he was ashamed of his actions and afraid, afraid that he was succumbing to old age like much of his friends already had.

Returning to his full height was a slow and painful ascent and he winced as he straightened out his knees. Before facing the stairs, he threw one last glance at the door, shaking his head as he turned his back to it for what he believed to be the last time. Swoosh. The sound was nearly as hard to catch as the turn of the doorknob. It was enough to stop the man in his tracks. He urged his feet to keep moving to avoid another repeat of what had occurred mere seconds ago. Before he knew it he grasped the doorknob in one hand and had swung the door open.

His eyes swept the closet hungrily. He didn’t know what he was looking for but he doubted he could handle the disappointment of coming up empty handed again. At last he spotted something. It was rectangular and flat, unassuming. But it hadn’t been there the first time he inspected the closet. With trembling hands he gingerly picked up the object. As he pulled it closer to him it became clear it was an envelope, the outline of a letter inside barely visible in the dim basement light.

The stationary was unmistakable. How many times had he eagerly awaited the arrival of one of her letters in the mail, instantly recognizable by the lilac envelope and paper? He traced his name, written in her signature scrawl, longingly his mind wandering to a different time. The contact with the envelope conjures images of her sitting at her desk, furiously writing to some old friend she had been meaning to catch up. It was a hobby she had kept up through all forty-five years of marriage. It was a hobby she had attempted to keep up even when she was relegated to a hospital bed, wasting away and barely retaining the strength to hold a pen.

The realization of what he was holding finally registers as he throws the envelope back onto the ground, stepping back from it as though it’s tainted. Tremors began to shake his body; he didn’t like what these hallucinations, or whatever they were, were doing to him, what memories they were bringing back.

Where he had tossed the envelope wafted a smell, her smell. It probed his nostrils and he inhaled deeply, letting the familiar fragrance calm him and dispel the tremors. The scent had such an affect on him that he found himself wandering back to where the letter lay, stooping down and picking it back up. Without much hesitation he broke the adhesive seal and removed the letter, unfolding it.

Dear Charles,

I don’t know quite how to begin this. I presume you’re in quite a shock, as was I when I first found the portal. I had heard rumors of it before but had simply brushed it off as hearsay, not wanting to get my hopes up. And then one day I was taking a stroll and out of nowhere there appeared a door. I realized it greatly resembled the one to our storage closet in the basement. As I neared closer I saw that it was the same exact door and could hear movement behind it. When I opened it I saw you, shuffling about the kitchen. You couldn’t see me but you can’t imagine the joy I felt to see your face again! I hope I haven’t alarmed you too much. This is a lot of information to process and in a letter at that. I hope you’ll see how lucky we are; apparently the portal is a rare phenomenon that few people have access to. I’m sure this is more than enough information to take in so I’ll leave you now. Don’t worry dear, I’ll write soon (and hope you will do the same).
All my love,
Catherine

Catherine was right; this information was more than plenty for Charles to absorb. He skimmed the letter a few more times but found he was calm considering the circumstances. In fact, he found a bubble of elation growing inside of him as his eyes continually traveled over the letter. It seemed to him his loneliness had finally been cured. He may not be with his wife physically but they could still communicate and that was enough for him.

Her hope that he would write back pushed him up the stairs and to the nearest piece of paper and pen he could find. Once again his body was wracked with tremors, this time brought on by a completely different emotion. His handwriting was barely decipherable but he knew that Catherine would be able to read it and that’s all that mattered. Charles hurriedly stuffed the letter into an envelope and walked as fast as his legs could carry him back down to the basement. He placed the letter in the exact spot where Catherine’s had arrived and closed the closet door, leaving it to do its magic.

His letter had been brimming with so many questions. How was she? What did it look like? What did she look like? Who was there with her? He hoped Catherine was eagerly awaiting the arrival of his letter and would be quick to send another one. Not long after Charles had placed his letter in the closest came the now welcomed swoosh.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It had been nearly four weeks since Catherine and Charles had first discovered the portal. The first couple weeks Catherine and Charles were sending multiple letters to one another several times a day. Charles didn’t have much to say as his life had come to a lull when Catherine passed on, but he much preferred what was going on with her anyways. She said she was doing fine, great in fact, besides the longing for Charles.

Things slowly began to wane over time though. Charles was constantly sending letters most of them filled with nothing but questions for Catherine. The activity on Catherine’s end began to increasingly decrease. When Charles would send a couple of letters at one time and would get one in return, he made excuses for Catherine. She had other things to do besides camp out in front of the portal and wait for letters; it was possible she had made friends, caught up with old acquaintances that had passed on like her too, but that was a thought Charles liked to keep at bay. And then the influx of letters ceased altogether. Charles refused to believe that Catherine would give up on him. He stationed himself in front of the closest and strained to hear the swoosh that hadn’t come in so long.

It came again, on a day when Charles began to doze off in the chair he had brought to the basement. The sound immediately woke him from his daze and he hurriedly opened the door carelessly ripping open the envelope and scanning the letter. It began like all the others, the familiar ‘Dear Charles’ greeting him, yet he could already sense that something was different.

Dear Charles,

This is the last letter I am going to send you. I’m sure this isn’t what you were expecting to hear and I hope you know it is as painful for me to write this as it is for you to read it. You can’t see me Charles but I can see you, and I see what you’ve been doing to yourself. I thought you would be able to handle the portal and I guess I’m partly to blame for rushing into things and not taking it slow. But I can’t watch you throw away the rest of your life, because, whether you like to accept it or not Charles, you are still living. I know exactly what you’re doing by sitting in front of the closet; you’re wasting away, just like I did. And it saddens me. And it angers me. What I would give, what we would all give here, to be in your position, to be in your shoes and have just a few more years to live. There’s a whole world outside of the basement Charles, a world that will be welcome to accept you if you let it. It’s okay to explore that world without me. If you’re looking for permission to live then I give it to you wholeheartedly. I’ll always be here, waiting for you. But I don’t want to see you by my side until a couple more years. I can wait and so can you.
All my love,
Catherine

It takes Charles a few moments to process the letter and sort out his emotions. He turned his gaze to the stack of papers and array of writing utensils that sat by his chair, his eyes sweeping over the letters strewn about the room, the dirty plates piling to a precarious height, the blankets he had dragged from his bedroom to keep him warm at night when the temperature in the basement plummeted. He formed fists and brought them to his gritty eyes rubbing them, as he finally understood what Catherine saw: a desperate man. Charles heaved a sigh the smell of his own breath inducing a gag. His eyes traveled to the small rectangular window, the only source of light in the basement. Charles strained to hear the sounds of the world outside. What reached him was children’s tinkling laughter, a choir of birds, people barbequing; what Charles heard for the first time in a long time, wasn’t a world that he was desperate to leave, but a world worth living in. He began to gather his belongings but left the letters on the floor, closing the closet door. He turned his back on the portal for what would be the last time.