The loading door, or what could have passed as a loading door, was not very tall, but it was wide. The height was around eight feet, the length more than twice that. The width ran along the wall almost to one white corner, or actually to both white corners since the door was in the exact center of the wall. There were hinges to it along the top, three large white hinges. The bottom and sides of the door were as invisible as the top. If Rudy knew of this door he would probably have risen from his chair and walked over to inspect it.
But Rudy sat still in the chair with his arms behind his head. He leaned back on the chair so the front two legs lifted off the white tile slightly. He was very relaxed.
The door didn't have a handle on it, nor was there a lock or any mechanism for opening it. Obviously it was only able to be opened from the outside. Either that or it was a mechanical door which swung outward by remote control. Or perhaps even by a small white button hanging from a thin white wire from the ceiling.
Rudy, if he had seen the door or even been curious about the possible existence of a door, would probably have believed the remote control idea. After all, he would say, I'm going to go out through that door and I need to open it some way.
But Rudy still sat in his white chair in his white corner, waiting.
Along another wall was a painting. This painting was actually right above Rudy's head and was, of course, white. The molding along the frame holding the painting was white, and the frame itself was white. The same white as the walls and the ceiling and the floor.
And the door.
Rudy leaned back some more in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. He saw something out of the corner of his eye and moved his eyes to the right slightly. From the angle he was looking up from he could see along the wall until there seemed to be a small outcrop from the smooth surface. He sat, looking at this for a moment, then turned slightly in his chair to get a better look.
There was something there all right, he thought.
He pushed forward and let the front legs of his chair drop to the floor, then stood. He stretched, sensing no need to hurry, then turned and walked to where he had seen the bottom of the picture frame held against the wall. He reached up and touched the frame. His eyebrow went up in slight surprise as his hand moved slowly along the frame until it came to the bottom-left corner of the picture. His hand then followed the frame up until it reached the top-left corner of the picture. He was now reaching up as far as he could, and he thought it a strange coincidence that the top of the picture was exactly as high as he could reach. He continued then to trace his hand along the frame, all along the outside of the picture.
When he had returned his hand to the lower-left corner of the frame, he realized it was a picture. He moved back a few feet and stood looking at the white wall that held the white picture within the white frame.
"It's a picture," he said aloud, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. "How about that?"
He then thought it was strange that in a stark white room with white walls and white floor and a white ceiling, even with a white chair, that of all of the pictures there could be in this room there would be a white one.
"Not strange," he said. "Stupid."
Rudy turned away from the picture then and started pacing back and forth inside the room. He suddenly felt the need to hurry, yet he couldn't possibly understand why. If he really thought about it, if he really tried to understand what he was doing here in this room, then he would know why he should hurry. All he had to do was think about . . .
He stopped then suddenly and turned back to the picture. Even though he couldn't actually see it because it was the same color as everything else, he thought of something:
"If there's a picture here in this room, in this blank room along a blank wall that I could only see because I saw the frame sticking out from the wall, maybe there are other things here as well."
He smiled then as he thought of something else.
"Maybe there's even a door."
He then walked straight ahead until he came to one of the blank walls. He ran his hand along the smooth surface feeling for any indentation or obstruction. The way he moved his hand along the wall made it look as though he was painting it, or washing it.
When he was done with one wall, when he arrived at a corner, he turned and repeated the motions again with the next wall. He continued with all of the walls, moving his hand back and forth as he slowly walked down each length.
As he was moving his hand across the forth and final wall he suddenly felt metal instead of plaster. The transition was so fast and smooth it almost didn't register. He stopped, his hand on the metal framework of the door, and smiled.
"So there is a door here," he said. "How about that?"
He thought a white picture in a white room was one thing, "but this door is something else," he said aloud.
He stood silently, running his eyes slowly from one side of the door to the other. Finally he shook his head, thinking there should be a doorknob or something else with which to open the door. He smiled and nodded to himself, watching the door which seemed to become more visible the longer he looked. At the same time, the longer he looked the more certain he was there was no doorknob or any other way to open the door from the inside. He stopped smiling then, as if suddenly understanding that here was a useless door in front of him, useless as a tool not needed.
He thought he remembered something about a remote control, and then he realized he did hear something about that. He shook his head and swore to himself. It was laughable, he thought. He was stuck in a room, a white room with a white door, and there was no way out.
"It's not funny," he said, shaking his head. "I need to find a way to get that door open." He titled his head to the side. "I want to go through that door," he said quietly.
He dropped his eyes to the floor and then remembered how he had seen the picture. Then he remembered how he had used that knowledge to find the smooth metal door. Now, with his eyes scanning the floor in front of him, he knew how he would find the remote control.
"I know there's a control around here somewhere," he said, bending down to search on his hands and knees. "And the stupid thing will probably be white, too."
He swore again as he searched. He found nothing; no dirt, no dust. And, of course, no remote control. He searched the entire floor, bumping into the white chair in the corner a few times in his haste to find the control he knew was here, somewhere. He wondered idly how the chair in the corner seemed to keep moving: first it was in the center of the room, now in the corner. He wondered what else in his predicament would turn and change while he was living it, then realized his most urgent need was the remote control. The other things could wait. He hoped.
After a few minutes he stopped searching and rose. He stood in the middle of the room. He glanced quickly around the while tile floor one last time and shook his head, muttering. He then raised his eyes to the ceiling and glanced above to the ceiling tile. He eyes locked onto that ceiling as he realized the only place he had not found anything was there.
The chair was on the floor. The picture and the door were along the walls. And on the ceiling was a small wire hanging directly over Rudy's head with a small white button attached. This button would open the door.
Rudy smiled as he looked up. Of course, he thought. Of course.
He raised his arm above his head and with a smile he grasped the white button. It was a small button, almost invisible in the whiteness. He pressed the button, then eagerly dropped his eyes to the door in front of him.
. . . to be concluded . . .
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