By Kimberly Sweeney

 “Open” beckons the unmistaken, glowing neon. Elated, I approach. 

Surprised to find a sizable queue, I grasp for my exclusive invitation. It disintegrates in my palm.

The line advances. A velvet rope lowers hard in front of me. Dark eyes shining, a bouncer whispers, “not yet.” I try to taste his hot breath, hungry.

Patiently I wait. The hour hand is blurry around the clock. Studying the others gaining entry I consider alterations. The reflection in my makeup compact: unsuitable, inadequate, forgettable.

The song of laughter from inside accelerates my longing. I try to force my own, but it catches in my throat. I taste bile. 

Mouth parched, kidneys burning I persist, my pain familiar. I’ve stood in this line before.

Medal grinds through medal and the door locks. I lean toward the entry, but stumble and fall, shattering. The letters rearrange and now the sign says “Nope.” 

Streetlights flicker and burn out. Unwilling to see, I close my eyes and focus on the purple darkness of my eyelids.

The happy world twirls around me, iridescent sunsets, ice cream sundaes and babies being born. A concerned friend grabs my hand to yank me out of line. In response I cut mine off at the wrist. 

I bleed-out, waiting for his sign.

*   *   *

Kimberly Sweeney has over a decade of experience as a Marriage and Family Therapist and is currently writing a memoir about thriving in the face of PTSD. Her essay work is published in the journal Star 82 Review. Her piece “Psycho Dynamics” was recently republished in Star 82 Review’s anthology issue. Kimberly is a proud resident of Minneapolis, Minnesota where she lives with her husband and two daughters.