A Lesson in Vulnerability by Addie Tsai

I had always believed, within me, an open door. All prior visitors agreed with this sentiment. They came and went as they pleased.

Sometimes, they left tokens of gratitude. A miniature swan cast in glass. A ring of white jade. A milk bottle brimming with seashells and stones.

More often, they took a lesson, or a gift unfreely given. That’s the price of leaving your door unlocked.

I did, then, what any reasonable person would do. I went about my business, trying to make peace with the losses. I built cabinets to hide them in plain sight, so as to more easily forget.

And then, without warning, a wind swept the door shut.

Before I knew it, I found myself an orange plucked from the vine, cut open. A slice was missing, held still in your mouth. The rest of it resting in the palm of your hand, the air softening the peel.

That’s when I knew how long I’d been holding my breath.