Two doors

I open one door. It’s musty. The curtains are closed. The light is on. The heater is  full blast. So is the radio. The petite teenager is putting on makeup in the mirror.  For the 3rd time today. She is staying home tonight. She can’t have friends over – she’s been sick all week. Well, every morning anyway, getting better and better as the afternoon approaches. School-itis is suspected, a band-aid on her arm evidence of a blood test  – just in  case it’s not.

I open the other door. The window is open. The curtains are flowing in the breeze. It is cool and light. It is quiet. The petite teenager is cross-legged on her bed. Homework spread out in a circle around her. Her study plan is organized for the weekend. I see a candy bar in the mix of papers and a card. She got the student of the week this week.

Same womb. Different rooms.

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