The Freezer Door
I was sad. I was strong and I was clever and I had a good job and I loved my husband and my children loved me, but I was sad.
I thought I was happy. I must be happy, I thought. Because sad people don’t wake up and kiss their husbands on the cheek. Sad people don’t bake fresh bread and bring toast to their children in bed. Sad people don’t go for a run and have an ice-cold shower before work.
I wasn’t happy, of course. Happy people don’t pick at their cheeks until they go red. Happy people don’t say, ‘I’m not hungry,’ and watch their kids eat supper. Happy people don’t read books until four am and then have nightmares.
But life continued. I counted the days: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday... I counted the months: April, May, June, July... I counted the years. Of course, there was no end. I didn’t want an end. I was afraid of an end. When my husband said, ‘When the kids grow up and leave home...’ I felt as cold as ice and I wanted to say, ‘No!’
Then, one day, I opened the freezer door. It was a hot summer’s day. I was getting ice cream for the kids – ice cream that I had made. But when I opened the freezer door, I did not see carrots and gooseberry ice cream. I saw my kitchen. The freezer was like a mirror, but inside the freezer the kitchen was empty. I could not see myself in that kitchen. I could not see myself in that world.
‘Mum!’ called my daughter from outside.
I froze. I loved my children. I would close this door and open it again, and then the strange mirror kitchen would be gone, and I would see the frozen carrots and gooseberry ice cream and everything would be normal.
I started to close the door.
‘Muuuum!’ called my son.
My hand stopped. I looked behind me. I saw my children for a second. I saw the love in their eyes.
Then I climbed into the freezer and shut the door.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, but my words were eaten by the ice.
***
In the first year, I thought a lot about going back. I opened and closed the freezer again and again, but I always saw the same things: frozen carrots and chocolate ice cream. I tried emptying the freezer, taking everything out. That didn’t work. I tried making gooseberry ice cream and putting the frozen carrots exactly where they had been before. That didn’t work. I tried opening the freezer door at midnight, when I couldn’t sleep. That didn’t work.
By the second year, I had stopped trying. I lived my new life and tried not to think about the old one.
Was I happier here? Not really. But I was alone. I did not know why this mirror world was different, why I had no husband or children here. But that was how it was. I was alone, and when you’re alone, you can be sad. Nobody says, ‘Mummy, why are you picking at your cheek?’ Nobody says, ‘Did you have that nightmare again, love?’
So for five years I fell, alone. I fell into alcohol and partying and ice cream – cheap ice cream from the shop. I did my work badly. I was often late. Finally, I lost my job. So I took a job in a bar. I started smoking. It felt good to be bad.
But in year five, I almost died. I drank too much and went walking in the forest. I fell off a cliff and broke my leg. If someone hadn’t come and found me, I would have died.
And that was when I learned the truth: I did not want to die. There, at the bottom of the cliff, lying with a broken leg, I learned this. I did not want to die. There, at the bottom of the
cliff, lying with a broken leg – and it hurt a lot, believe me, it hurts like nothing else – there, I learned that I did not want to die.
After that, it was five years of climbing. I worked hard to make my leg better. I joined AA, went to meetings every week. I started going to the gym. I sobered up.
And I met a man at my gym. He made me think of my old husband. My ‘old’ husband... I had lived in this world for so long. Sometimes, I thought the other world was a nightmare and was the real one. But then I remembered my ‘old’ husband and my ‘old’ kids.
The man from the gym was a bit like my old husband. But his hair was shorter. Actually, he had lost most of it.