The Doorknob

The Interview

"What the..." I mumble, a loud ringing interrupting my semi-pleasant sleep. It takes a moment before I realize it's my phone, and I lean over the edge of the bed to pick it up off the floor. I don't recognize the number, so I almost hit the ignore button, when I recall the application I'd dropped off at the coffee shop yesterday.

I clear my throat, trying to eliminate the sleep from my voice, before answering. "Hello, this is Daniel," I opt for my full name, just in case, then sit up, the blanket sliding down to my lap.

"Yes, good morning, Daniel. This is Dave, the manager over at the Corner Shoppe," the gruff man's voice answers from the other end, "I know this is rather late notice, but one of my employees just called in sick, so we'll be short-staffed for this afternoon's shift. Would you be able to come in for a working interview at two?"

I barely hesitate, "Yeah, yes, sure, I can be there!" After some pleasantries, the man hangs up, and I drop my phone to the floor, flopping down in relief. Maybe now I'll be able to afford to live here and eat food! I huff a laugh as I stare at the ceiling, not quite ready to get up. Did I actually sleep? It's unlike me to sleep for more than a couple hours, and they're usually full of stress-induced nightmares. And for...how long? When I realize I have no clue what time it actually is, I roll over and lean back down to grab my phone again.

"SHITSHITSHITSHIT!" I scramble to kick the blanket away, nearly falling off the bed in my rush to get up - it's a quarter to two, and I'm barely awake. I run to the bathroom and slam the door shut, stripping out of my pants and hopping into a still-chilly stream of water.

After history's fastest shower, I'm dressed but wet-haired - twice in three days, ugh - and standing in the entryway, grabbing my wallet and keys before unbolting the door.

"Where are you off to, you'll catch a cold with your hair wet like that!" I hear the voice, accompanied by an adorable laugh, and my heart races - only half from excitement, I scold myself, mostly from surprise. I turn to see Phil, looking just the same as last night, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Oh! Uh, hello again!" I reply, cursing my lame greeting - why am I so awkward? I should've said something clever, like...uh.... At this point, I realize I've been staring at him, so I rush to answer his question. "I got a call to go down to that coffee shop for an interview. I guess they're short-staffed so I'm going to help out and hopefully do a good enough job that they want to hire me," I finish, then change my mind. "I need to be there in," I check my phone, "three minutes, but do you want to maybe, uh, hang out or something? Like, when I get back?" I curse my strange wording again.

Phil's face lights up, though, and it's worth a trillion awkward monologues to see it. "Yeah, sounds great! Have a blast," he tacks on, and I can't help but smile back as I open the door. I repeat the routine of locking it up and jiggling the handle; just want to be sure it's locked, I tell myself, but I'm secretly pleased when I hear it jiggle from halfway down the hall.

---------------------------------------------------------

At half six, I'm back at the front door, fitting my key into the lock. A plastic bag containing a sandwich and some crisps dangles from my other hand, along with a newly acquired apron. Dave had been rather impressed by how quickly I'd picked up the drink-making after only an hour of helping the other employees, so he'd pulled me into a training session once things had calmed down. Afterwards, I was sent home with the new apron, a sandwich for my efforts, and a promise that I'd see my schedule for next week within a few days.

I push the door open, and it swings shut behind me. The slam is loud in the empty space, and I turn around to click the lock shut. "Phil, I'm back!" I shout. I'd imagined, on my brief journey back from the coffee shop, that I'd walk in and Phil would greet me from the kitchen. Perhaps we'd chat for awhile - I had quite a few questions for him.

Silence, though, is the only thing greeting me. "Phil?" I try again, aiming to match my earlier enthusiasm, but definitely lacking the earlier confidence. Despite my attempts, my thoughts go right for the gut - he's probably bored of me, it's not like I've ever been adept at keeping friends. I shake my head to chase away the thought, choosing to focus instead on the empty flat.

"Oh, I see how it is," I say, letting a bit of irritation leak into my voice as I go to set the bag and apron on the counter next to my laptop. "You're mad because I left as soon as I got up, and now you're waiting to scare the shit out of me, is that it?" I give an eye-roll to the emptiness, then pull the sandwich out of the bag. I haven't eaten much today, aside from a sugary drink I'd botched earlier at the coffee shop, and I'm starving.

Tossing the crisps aside, I unwrap the sandwich and take a bite. Gooey cheese melts into my mouth, and - deciding that Phil must be watching, waiting for the right moment to appear and jumpscare me - I make an effort to ignore him. "This is soooooo good," I speak around the mouthful of food, trying to annoy him into appearing, but the room stays silent.

"Fine, your loss!" I say, after swallowing the giant bite. I work my way through the sandwich, glancing over my shoulder every few minutes to make sure he hasn't appeared, before I give up entirely. "You don't have to be a dick, y'know," I mumble, dropping the ends of the sandwich onto the parchment paper and crumpling it up. I toss it back into the bag at the edge of the counter, leaving the crisps for later, and bring my laptop into my bedroom - I really need to get something, aside from my bed, to sit on...

As I scroll through my tumblr feed, I try not to check the clock every two minutes and fail miserably. What if...the thought sneaks into my head, unbidden, and I want to push it away - maybe I am going crazy, maybe I imagined everything last night, and this morning...

I stop scrolling, stop caring, as my brain takes that idea and runs with it, ferreting out every possible explanation that points toward my insanity, and I can't be bothered to fight it, or even make an effort. If I'm not crazy, I reason, why would Phil have left me alone?

As the minutes tick away into an hour, I feel as though I'm watching my downward spiral from the outside. I can see, through the expressions on my face, as I sift through each memory, erasing Phil, because surely he wasn't even there. If he were, he'd appear now just to laugh at how silly I'm being. I can feel the frown, the crease in my forehead, the slump of my shoulders, all becoming more pronounced.

As with everything lately - or so it seems - I'm pulled from my thoughts by a loud noise. As I get up to answer the knock at my door, my mind shifts gears and I wonder who could possibly be visiting me. Did my parents surprise me with a visit? The idea barely manifests before I dismiss it - they live pretty far, and were too busy to even help me move in. Not bloody likely.

I check my phone, just after eight at night, and the pieces slot together in my head - right, I'd ordered some groceries to be delivered tonight. Wait - more pieces fall into place, and I check the date on my phone as I make my way to the door. The boxes were supposed to have been delivered by noon today, weren't they? Great, one more problem to add to the pile, I can't even begin to be overwhelmed by this, though, as I unlock the door and take the plastic bags.

I make quick work of putting the food away in the now slightly-less-sparse pantry and fridge, then stare for a few seconds, pondering my current level of hunger. Not enough to bother making something, and my lack of motivation agrees, so I shut the fridge and grab the bag of crisps from the counter, returning to the only semi-comfortable surface in the flat.