The Doors-1

This is the first installment of a 2 part story. The second installment–”The Doors-2″–will be posted tomorrow.

Normally a very calm kid, Georgie burst thru the front door of his home that afternoon in 1968 almost incoherent with excitement. Riding home on the school bus he had spotted the newest model Sting Ray bike in the bike shop window—the Apple Krate.

 Georgie’s life had never been so clearly focused.

 Georgie’s father listened quietly to his son’s excited pleas for a new Sting-Ray for his birthday. Despite the adolescent chatter and excitement, he could see his son was rapidly becoming a man.

 When the bike was actually presented to Georgie the morning of his 15th birthday, his parents didn’t press him to stay in the house for a party. They could have cake and ice-cream after supper that evening.

 Georgie spent the entire day dashing around town, showing off his bike and just showing off. Several of his friends already had Sting-Rays but those bikes were older and no where nearly as tricked-out and cool—Georgie’s father had spent a weeks pay—over a hundred dollars—on his son.

 As far as Georgie was concerned he had been given a rocket-ship—16 inch front wheel, fat rear tire, springer front end, rear shock, banana seat of course and the incredible, absolutely mind-blowing 5 speed Stik-Shift.

 On afternoons when his father worked his part-time job at the Eagle Amusement Park, Georgie would ride his rocket to the park with 4 other kids who had Apple Krates, plus another kid who had a Lemon Peeler. It was never discussed—but from the start—everybody accepted Georgie as the leader. They called themselves the Eagle Park Krate Demons and among kids old enough to ride a bike on their own (but not old enough to get a learner’s permit) the Eagle Park Krate Demons got serious respect.

 The Demons wore wrap-around sun-glasses, slicked-back hair, tight jeans (no matter how hot it got) and where ever they rode, they left a wake of staring and bewildered, borderline-pubescent little girls. Georgie’s Apple Krate spent every night next to his bed and was so well cared for that—months later, other than tire wear—it looked like it had just come from the shop.

 The demons were not allowed to ride their bikes around the amusement park midway so the deal was, each of them took turns watching the bikes while the other four roamed the park riding rides or just hanging out swilling slurpies and lusting after the snow cone girls.

 The rides no longer interested Georgie much. For years he had been afraid to ride the big rollercoaster but early in the season he felt ready and by himself one afternoon, he rode with hands held high in the air the first time. Scary yes—but not a problem. He never even mentioned it to his parents.

 And that summer of 1968, Georgie’s taste in music changed. Certain types of rock began to speak to him personally.

 Last year only a few of Georgie’s friends were talking about rock bands and music but suddenly everybody was crazy about The Beatles, The Doors, The Stones, Steppenwolf, Simon & Gar.

 Often—as Georgie and the other demons were tearing down Main or Easton Street—they would loudly sing Steppenwolf’s “Born To Be Wild.”  But the rock group that seemed to draw—and at the same time scare Georgie a little bit—was The Doors.

 For weeks the Door’s strange song lyrics and weird music had been moving him uncomfortably close to some very personal doors of his own—doors that Georgie had always kind of known were there within him but which had always been inaccessible—and even if you could get to them, they could never be opened.

 And for those same weeks—Georgie had been experiencing these increasingly frequent moments of internal exploration and discovery—stuff was happening.

 Alone in his room one evening— the only illumination, a lonely streetlight shining through his window—listening with headphones, he found himself standing at the top of ancient, dark stairs leading down into the silent earth. He knew—down there—his doors were waiting. And if that wasn’t enough, there was that girl Cheryl, who ran the Wild Mouse ride at the park. She was his age—had been in his class a few years ago—now she was somehow different. There was something scary-exciting and compelling about her—he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

 He’d sit behind the fake palm trees at the park and watch her putting the little kids in the cars and getting them out when they completed the ride loop. He’d thought about speaking to her but didn’t know what to say—he knew he’d make a fool out of himself.

 The second installment will be posted tomorrow.

here’s a link you may enjoy:

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