Swing Shift

As of late i've been rising earlier than RJ. I go to the closet with a door that swings out to retrieve RJ's robe (which i seem to have been monopolizing since day two).

I'd open the door gingerly, wary of waking RJ. Some things i am very considerate about. Never deprive a man of his sleep. Or food.

The hinge would squeak. I'd cringe, awash with guilt. It's so LOUD. I'd literally freeze, shut my eyes tight, shoulders tense, reluctant to continue. Then i would try again, and fail again.

"What can we do so this won't squeak anymore?" I asked RJ this past week.

"We can oil it," replied RJ.

Like any other person who lives in a house in a sizable lot, at any given time RJ has 57 projects pending. I'm not counting on seeing the oil any time soon. At any rate, a squeaky door is not top priority. And it shouldn't be.

One recent morning as i approached the closet yet again, i said (not out loud), "Fuck it. Let's get [the noise] over with!"

And with one swift motion i boldly opened the offensive door, grabbed the garment, and promptly closed the sucker.

Instead of the quick squeak i was anticipating, there was... silence.

Sometimes, when we let go of fear expecting the worst, someone wonderful happens.

And that was not a Freudian slip.