Opening Doors By Gregory M.

Schoenebeck

David Henry had always told his son, he would always be there for him. Always. That was before he stepped past the row of solid white lights at floor level which dimly illuminated the expanse of the Federal Triangle Metro Station platform. In one step, the front of the sole to Davids sleek, black Florsheim dress boot precariously edged over the concrete precipice; the next would be most likely be his last. Well, at least in two minutes when the next Orange Line train to Vienna-Springfield came roaring through the tunnel. He hoped the time on the arrival sign was accurate, for he couldnt bear looking into Daniels blue eyes (as big as saucers) through his minds eye much longer. The front page from the mornings copy of the Washington Post Express tumbled across the barren platform whose activity could have been mistaken for that of a dried-up town that came at the tail end of the gold rush. The paper nimbly pirouetted upon currents of air, generated by an inbound Blue Line train that was heading in the opposite direction across the way from where David stood; finally it came to rest around the cuff of his charcoal trousers. The headline read something about planned maintenance outages along several of the Metro lines; a result, which David inferred, had been from that dreadful summer day in Takoma. How fitting, David thought to himself, shaking his gray, close cropped head in agitated disbelief. See, David knew money. Growing up (and to this day), his family owned a sprawling 9,800 square foot estate in Potomac, Maryland, which among many amenities included a dressage course which meandered through glens and meadows, a barn whose size and steeple looked like a church and a stable for two walnut-colored Quarter horses and one black and white Painted. It was a hackneyed family joke amongst his Aunts and Uncles at the long table for the families annual Thanksgiving dinner- which included game hen and rabbit- that they (the Henrys) never could quite break the 10,000 square foot mark. Growing up, David often wished his parents would just add on another 300 square foot den so the issue could be put to pasture. Oh, David knew money. But, it wasnt the power of money or what it could buy which he understood full well, rather the power it couldnt. One could suppose that David started understanding the power of green as a teenager on the links at Congressional Country Club. It was a great feeling when he could slip a burned out Vietnam Vet a pair of $20s for slinging his bag for 18 holes. If David was lucky, hed get 36 in. At an age when his fellow St. Albans classmates were worried about which S class or I series car would be more appropriate for their birthday, David noticed the forest full of trees. It was an innate awareness of reality that drove him to success. Although he encountered a few hurdles to overcome, for David his race to success ran smoothly. After all, the climb to the peak isnt all that far when you start at the summit. Nevertheless, David excelled at statistics and memorized policies with relative ease, culminating in two achievements at George Washington University: One- a Masters of Economics in five

years; Two- courting Samantha and marrying her a month after graduation. Nine months later, Davids fair- skinned bride with gently flowing locks brought into the world what was to become his most valuable possession. Daniel was born 8 lbs, 10 oz. Straw colored hair like Mom, blue eyes (as big as saucers) just like Dad. It took some adjusting, but to David four oclock feedings were a time of reflection. He loved to sit, cradling Daniel, in the rocking chair by the window of their two-story brick colonial and watch the dawns early light compete with the streetlights that illuminated the fog-filled corridors of P Street NW. As painful as his eyes burned and his body craved just one more hour between Egyptian cotton sheets, that time of the morning was the most gratifying. He was far from the reaches of Rep. Jim Whitman and the incessant budget numbers crunch. There was no crisis when staring down at a reflection of his self. To Daniel, money held no value to moments like these and they were not meant to be squandered. David knew money, Rep. Whitman didnt, but he knew an awful lot about dual carburetors and an in-line six. David was 33. Rep. Whitman seemed twice that and then some. When it came to money, David had solutions; Rep. Whitman needed answers, and the fact of the matter was they didnt always align. What this all boiled down to was Rep. Whitman answered the call of the people, which really meant he answered to himself. And David knew it, but didnt necessarily like it. See, David understood a fundamental law of physics which governed action and reaction. This same law applied to appropriating money or more apropos- where you removed it. In the case of Rep. Whitman, he didnt ride the Metro to work. He drove his in-line six with dual carburetors to the Hill, David didnt. It didnt matter much to David that his research and figures quickly passed in and out of Rep. Whitmans ears, nor at the time did he mind when Metro budgeting fell from his agenda. David did his part by doing the research and presenting ideas; however, it wasnt a viable option to Rep. Whitman. In the end, David didnt mind because at 5:00 PM he got to ride the Blue Line home to see his son. However, David did mind that at 4:57 PM on that same day his most valued possession never came home from his own ride back on the Red Line from a story time outing in Silver Spring, MD., with dear old mom. David knew money, but some things cant be bought. Baby Daniel was one of them; a wife free of tubes and machines the other. Looking down the length of the dimly lit tunnel, David could make out the faint illumination of telltale headlights. Even as he focused on the distant lights of the inbound car, he held a strange sense of curiosity, wondering if it would feel the same on that day when a training going full tilt completely obliterated the rear-end car of another parked train at the Takoma Metro Station, peeling back twisted metal of a mangled sardine can to expose your deepest horrors. Daniel probably never felt a thing, David had hoped. He would never know, for Samantha would never be telling him anything. Ever. Money was all that kept her alive, and David knew that money wasnt bringing her back. It would all end today.

On the platform, the dull, white lights which David stood upon began to pulse and intensify. A rush of wind from air forced through the tunnel by the inbound train flung Davids black and white paisley Brooks Brothers tie over his shoulder and rustled his wavy brown hair. The air felt gritty, stifling. David didnt dwell on it too much as the rumbling of the approaching train reverberated off the walls of the semi-cylindrical station whose faade looked that of a space station; it caused David to steel his heart and prepare to boldly go where few have gone and never returned. In one more step of Davids sleek, black Florsheim dress boot he would tumble into the abyss, but it would be all over. He could forget about money; forget it all. David lost a lot of things. Family. Happiness. Fortune. To David, 8 lbs 10 oz of flesh was more valuable than its weight in gold. A tinge of regret came over him as his pupils began to constrict from intensifying beams of lights bending around the corner. He was leaving behind Samantha, but David knew shed be right behind them; hed made sure of it. His power of attorney would order the doctors to shut down the system that kept her alive and she too could be at peace. That made David feel better, and he took his last breath as the shell of his former self and moved forward. David knew money; however even he would have admitted that he could not predict all of what money cannot buy. Surely, that must explain why with one foot dangling in mid-air the Orange Line train roaring down the track came to an immediate, painfully screeching dead stop. It was not because of the astute awareness of the train operator who had seen David about to plummet onto the tracks of his route; rather it was because of a major power disruption experienced throughout the entire Metro line. The disruption was part of an aging transportation infrastructure in dire need of repairs. They were repairs, of course, which needed money, but as Rep. Whitman can attest, often get overlooked on the budget agenda. By the time the power to the station returned and the Orange Line train to Vienna gently crawled alongside the platform, David had two feet firmly grounded on the other side of the solid, brightly illuminated lights which lined the platforms expanse. When the doors to the newly arrived train opened, David did not budge, he remained frozen in space and time. It was only when he heard the station wide announcing circuit that he made any signs of life. His body didnt move, however he was moved to tears: Thank you for riding Metro Metro: Were always opening doors to new destinations As the doors to the train whooshed shut he stood with tears streaming down his cheeks. Only when he saw the red colored tail lights of the train going on its way down the line through his peripherals did he quickly turn on his heel and retrace his path back to the turnstiles and exit to the escalator which would take him up to street level. When he placed his Metro card on scanner to proceed through the turnstile he noted that he had $4.57 left on his card; it was more than enough to catch the Circulator and D3 bus to take him over to Sibley Hospital to see all that he had left in this world.

David didnt need to know a lot about money to understand that.