I remember the first days I spent in elementary school, rushing eagerly past all of the students to get to class first. I sought the knowledge that I had not. I wanted to read, and learn colors, and words, and states, and of all the Presidents who had gone on to visit the Jester in ages past. But, the one thing that stayed in my mind, deeper than the alphabet, darker than the shades of color I learned, and more intriguing than the Presidents of yore, was the Janitor's Closet. I passed it every morning on my way to class. It had a a faded blue painted finish that had many a scratch and scar upon it. The doorknob was carefully worn to where the shine of the brass had long since vanished. An unimpressive spectacle, to say the least, but what was inside? Days passed, weeks,months, years, all growing in number, yet I knew not what did lie therein. And it haunted me. Was the meaning of life in there? Was it a bucket, a mop, a dead body, a cloud of mystery that beckons us to behold but not to comprehend. But time passes, memories slide and the wind blows the sand of forgetfulness across all pyramids of memorium, thus I forgot about the Closet. I went to junior high.
In junior high, there was another Janitor's Closet. I passed this one less often than the one in elementary school. It was wooden, like the other, but had a varnished finish. Much more pleasing to the eye, with an knob of iron, shiny and new, possibly replaced before the superintendent showed up the week before. It was an impressive closet. Yet the mystery was not there as much. I had caught a glimpse of the inner workings of the closet when a custodian carelessly left it unlocked during his break. While he was probably off smoking his cigarette and complaining to his fellow janitors of the daily incompetence of the faculty, I was exploring the mysteries of life...the secrets of the closet. But there were no mystic revelations here...merely an old sink, a broom, and a bottle of whiskey that the poor custodian uses to give himself a sense of purpose before he goes home to beat his wife for his dinner bing too cold. Perhaps there was meaning in this closet, but not the meaning I sought. This was not MY Closet.
In high school, there was also a closet. It is near this closet that I spent much of my time when I was supposed to be eating lunch. I just sat there in the floor, writing my thoughts which I thought would mean something to someone someday, a novel? Maybe. The janitor here was my friend. He often would joke with me about my classes and I would joke with him about what a lousy job he did cleaning the cigarettes out of the bathrooms. I often saw inside his closet. A picture of his kids, an old paint can and some cleaning supplies. Not MY Closet, though. I graduated. Days go by, weeks, months, years, and the wind blows more sand on the pyramid of memorium, leaving only the head of the Sphinx above the dunes.
I got married, had two children, and now hold a fairly satisfying job at the local hotel. I run the place, basically, with my partner and brother. There are many closets here, each with a broom, and a vacuum, and a selection of linen to be placed or replaced in the rooms. But they were not MY Closets. One night, I had a vision of power. I dreamed that a sphinx was behind the door of the Janitor's Closet I saw in elementary school. I dreamed that he mocked me and told me of things that I shall never know. I would never know the meaning of life, I would never know why the stars are in their places, nor for what purpose the seas were formed, and above all I would never know what was in that Closet. My life was already determined, and I could not alter it to find out the meaning of the Closet. I screamed myself awake. My wife, startled by this pleaded with me to go back to sleep, I refused. I went to the dresser, took out my .38. I knocked my wife to the floor, put a pillow over the barrel to prevent waking the kids, and shot her in the head. She died quickly. Then, I went to the kid's room, gently lifted them, and put them in the car. I drove swiftly to the elementary school where I woke the kids.
"Angela, Robert, wake up dear." I said in a soft tone. "Daddy brought you to school this morning." "But daddy, it's still dark out," Angela said in her soft, tired voice. "I know sweetie, but I want you to see something." I broke in the front glass door with a hammer I had in the trunk. This alerted the security guard who came quickly to inquire my intentions. I shot him twice, and he died peacefully in the night. My children were too sleepy to be shocked. I took the man's keys, and we went to that Janitor's Closet. I kicked in the old door, sending blue paint chips flying and cut on the intereior light... only to see a dusty mirror...broken...one single crack that split my reflection between those of my children at my sides. I laughed, softly at first, then madly. A sandstorm had blown the dust away from the tomb of curiosity, and the Sphinx's face was revealed, it was mine own. I asked my children if they wanted to go back to sleep. They said yes, and I had three shells left. One for Angela..."Goodnight, honey." One for Robert..."Sleep tight, sport." And one for me. I could now rest...the Sphinx's riddle was finally answered. Man.
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