Locking Yourself Out, Then Trying to Get Back In

You simply go out and shut the door 
without thinking. And when you look back 
at what you’ve done 
it’s too late. If this sounds 
like the story of a life, okay. 

It was raining. The neighbors who had 
a key were away. I tried and tried 
the lower windows. Stared 
inside at the sofa, plants, the table 
and chairs, the stereo setup. 

My coffee cup and ashtray waited for me 
on the glass-topped table, and my heart 
went out to them. I said, Hello, friends, 
or something like that. After all, 
this wasn’t so bad. 

Worse things had happened. This 
was even a little funny. I found the ladder. 
Took that and leaned it against the house. 
Then climbed in the rain to the deck, 
swung myself over the railing 
and tried the door. Which was locked, 
of course. But I looked in just the same 
at my desk, some papers, and my chair. 

You simply go out and shut the door 
without thinking. And when you look back 
at what you’ve done 
it’s too late. If this sounds 
like the story of a life, okay. 

It was raining. The neighbors who had 
a key were away. I tried and tried 
the lower windows. Stared 
inside at the sofa, plants, the table 
and chairs, the stereo setup. 

My coffee cup and ashtray waited for me 
on the glass-topped table, and my heart 
went out to them. I said, Hello, friends, 
or something like that. After all, 
this wasn’t so bad. 

Worse things had happened. This 
was even a little funny. I found the ladder. 
Took that and leaned it against the house. 
Then climbed in the rain to the deck, 
swung myself over the railing 
and tried the door. Which was locked, 
of course. But I looked in just the same 
at my desk, some papers, and my chair. 

This was the window on the other side 
of the desk where I’d raise my eyes 
and stare out when I sat at that desk. 
This is not like downstairs, I thought. 
This is something else. 
And it was something to look in like that, unseen, 
from the deck. To be there, inside, and not be there. 

I don’t even think I can talk about it. 
I brought my face close to the glass 
and imagined myself inside, 
sitting at the desk. Looking up 
from my work now and again. 
Thinking about some other place 
and some other time. 
The people I had loved then. 

I stood there for a minute in the rain. 
Considering myself to be the luckiest of men. 
Even though a wave of grief passed through me. 
Even though I felt violently ashamed 
of the injury I’d done back then. 
I bashed that beautiful window. 
And stepped back in. 

by Raymond Carver 
This was the window on the other side 
of the desk where I’d raise my eyes 
and stare out when I sat at that desk. 
This is not like downstairs, I thought. 
This is something else. 
And it was something to look in like that, unseen, 
from the deck. To be there, inside, and not be there. 

I don’t even think I can talk about it. 
I brought my face close to the glass 
and imagined myself inside, 
sitting at the desk. Looking up 
from my work now and again. 
Thinking about some other place 
and some other time. 
The people I had loved then. 

I stood there for a minute in the rain. 
Considering myself to be the luckiest of men. 
Even though a wave of grief passed through me. 
Even though I felt violently ashamed 
of the injury I’d done back then. 
I bashed that beautiful window. 
And stepped back in. 

by Raymond Carver