Day at the Dutch Door

Olive sat by the closed door in a chair made of cherry wood. It was old cherry wood, from the old cherry tree that had stood tall for what was sure to be some 500 years, or so her ma’ said. She sat, cross legged widdling birch, a boy way to pass the time, but she was the sort of young woman that held boy ways in her. Like climbing trees just to see how high she could go in the world.

The door opened.

“I told you to go away!!!!!! What’s wrong with you??” The young man was spitting nails angry, red faced the type of blood boiling angry like tomato soup cooked for a day. Olive looked up at him, his blue eyes dark and stormy, and sighed and smiled.

“You are plumb CRAZY!!! Did you hear me! Crazy!!” It was true, she was crazy, she’d been struck crazy by the power that held the stars in the sky. It had taken her a few years to figure out what had touched her, but once she had, she figured, she’d been given the magic of the stars, she’d better stop fighting it and start following it. And it told her to sit right here at the closed door until Atticus opened the door.

He stood their quaking, she didn’t say a word, looked at him with a smile.


“Well what?” She responded.

“Well…why don’t you take yourself home and stop bothering me!”

“No.” She simply stated. He went from Tomato soup red….to stained crimson.


“Because I was told to sit by this door until you opened it.”

“Dammit! I just opened it…so go home!”


“What do you mean no?…I swear to God Olive Angeline…what the hell…” She looked up at him with a steely gaze that stopped his mouth.

“I can’t go home till I’m told what to do next…so you can stop yelling at me.”

“I’m telling you to go home and leave me be. I want nothing to do with you anymore.”

“You are not the stars, you don’t get a say in the matter frankly.”

“You’re a witch!”

“I know.” She smiled. It was true, Olive was from a long line of witches, the kind of witches that went to the Assembly of God every Sunday morning and read Tarot for the parishioners in the afternoon.

He continued, “I get a say in my own life and how I want it to go, and you ain’t in it.” She sighed and just started back on the birch wood. “Olive you are the most exasperating woman I’ve ever met!” And with that, Atticus slammed the Dutch door so hard the top half of it flew open and smacked him right in the face. The crimson blood in his cheeks started pouring out of his nose. Olive picked up her widdling bag and pulled out a handkerchief walked up to the door with the bleeding cursing teary eyed man, who was stunned and held the white cloth up to catch the running red.

“Atticus Lee, that is why you don’t go slamming doors in people’s faces.”

Atticus began to cry.

“I don’t know what to do with you…I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Stop knowing, and trying to know about what to do. You don’t get to know things Atticus…some things are so big they don’t get a knowin’. They just get a being…they get an “is”…that’s about all. Some things just are. Now stop thinking you know how everything is supposed to be you stubborn thing.”

Muffled by the bloody handkerchief Olive made out a, “Do you want to come in?” She looked up at the sky, the clouds floating by, waited and listened.

“I guess that would be alright.” She picked up her bag and stepped through the open door.

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