I am like a child again. Barefoot, I stand in the hallway beside a doorway in the middle of the night. I am eavesdropping on my parents' conversation. I should be in bed. My feet are cold, my nightgown too thin for the cold of the night that brings a chill through the door that hangs ajar. I listen. Nothing makes sense, their voices come low and speak only of an adult world.
I am here too once again, back in the Red Room. I stand in the doorway with a feeble knock. You see, I cannot leave it. One month has almost passed since I left the Room and throughout that month there was so much that I wanted to write about. Doubts. Hopes. I am back now to join with my fellow writers. Please pull back the door a notch to allow my words to enter, to spread out the blanket, to ease the chill.