There was a knock at the door ...

Our prompt for this week is brought to you by more musings of my crazy mind.  I do edit as I write, to some extent, and one thing that usually raises a red flag is passive voice.  It's usually a quick fix to rewrite and make the sentence more active, but this time, I hesitated.

The sentence:  There was a knock at the door.  (passive)

Possible rewrites:  Someone knocked on the door.  (active)
                               I heard a knock at the door.  (active)
                               We jumped at the sound of a knock at the door. (active)

The little voice in my head argued that there was a different mood, a different tone, to the first sentence, and it got lost when I changed it to something else.  It seems to me that "There was a knock at the door." implies you are inside (whatever it is that has a door), and you don't know who or what is outside. 

The sentence "Someone knocked on the door." gives me the feel that the narrator is standing outside the door in a group large enough that when someone knocks, it doesn't really matter who did it, just that it happened.  It seems distinctly different to me.

I could go on, but I think you get the idea.  My conclusion:  You have to know the rules of writing in order to be able to break them appropriately at the right time to make a point.  I'm reminded of Tahere Mafi's SHATTER ME, which I think was pure genius.  (Wrote about that here.)

As to whether I was right or wrong to leave the sentence in passive voice, only time will tell.  In the meantime, your prompt for the week:  There was a knock at the door.

Enjoy!

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My response:

Just as I reached for the doorknob, someone knocked.  (SEE!!!  Sometimes you just have to write what FEELS right!  It didn't work here, so I had to fix it.  Sorry.  End rant.)

I peered through the peep-hole.  All I could see was the top of a head of blond hair and a pile of black duffle bags.  What kind of door-to-door missionary carries luggage?  I hesitated with my hand above the handle.  Usually, I would just wait for them to go away, but I needed to get to work early today, and there was only one sensible way out of the apartment.  Why should I let someone trap me in?  I shouldered my bag and opened the door.

She only came up to my shoulder, and she tossed her hair back as she looked up at me.  Her blue eyes were red and swollen, her skin splotchy.  She blinked up at me, then dropped her eyes back to the floor.  "Hallelujah!  You have carpet!"

I raised my eyebrows.  "Excuse me?"

She plastered a too-wide grin across her face and reached out a hand.  "I'm offering free carpet cleaning today - just one room - while I do a demonstration."

I shook my head.  "I don't have time, and if I'd wanted clean carpet, I wouldn't have rented a cut-rate apartment.  You're in the wrong part of town."

She turned her head back up to me, the fake grin and all her bravado falling away.  Her eyes filled with tears that fell onto her cheeks.  "I know.  I know, I know, I just have to ..."  She wiped at her cheeks with her sweater.  "I just need the money, and this is where they sent me, and ..."  She threw her head back and sighed, then choked back a sob.  "And I could almost handle this dumb job, if it wasn't for ..."  Choking wasn't working for her anymore.  Now she was sobbing, her voice incoherent as she fought a wave of tears and mucus.

I stood in the doorway trying to decide if it would be horrible of me to close the door and sneak past her.  She could be part of an elaborate scheme to rob my apartment, I reasoned.  She kept sobbing.  I threw up my hands.  "Okay, okay.  Here, come in.  Sit down."  She didn't even look at me as I guided her to my couch.  She was lucky I was a normal guy and not an ax murderer.  She just sat on my couch and cried. 

When she slowed down, I asked, "Is there anyone I can call?  To come get you, I mean?  I don't think you're in a state to be working right now."  She pulled out her phone, flicked through her contacts, pressed the call button and handed it to me.

"Courtney?  Are you okay?  I've been worried!"  Another girl answered.

"Um ... Courtney is here.  She needs someone to come get her." I said.

"Where is here?"  The voice was guarded and demanding.  "Who are you?"

"Look," I said. "She just showed up at my front door trying to clean my carpets and collapsed on my couch in tears.  I thought she should call someone to get her."

She was considerably nicer as I gave her directions to come pick up her friend.  I was pacing the front balcony and checking my watch, a little put out that I would now be late for work, when Courtney's friend showed up.  She had jeans and worn cowboy boots, a faded UNO sweatshirt, and a thick brown braid.  Just a normal girl, but the way she skipped up the stairs and met my eyes made me feel like she was different from every other girl I'd known.

"Is Courtney in there?" she asked.  A mere formality, more like assuming permission to walk into my apartment.  She took one look at Courtney and sighed.  "Oh, girl, you can't go breaking down like this every time a guy dumps you!  You've got to snap out of it!"  She threw me an apologetic frown.  "Or at least, break down at home, where we have ice cream and Netflix!" 

With a mix of scolding and persuasion, the friend rounded Courtney up, picked up the bags, and made their way out of my apartment.  As they reached the stairs, I realized I still had Courtney's phone in my hands.  I held it up and called out, but as they turned back, I stashed the phone behind my back.  "Take care."  Courtney spared me a weak smile before breaking into sobs again.  Her friend gave me a quick wave, and they disappeared down the stairs.

I pulled out the phone and flipped through the recent calls.  Annette.  Annette with the brown braid, the UNO sweatshirt, and the frank manner.  I'd have to call her when I got off work to let her know I had Courtney's phone, and we'd have to meet so I could give it back.  I wondered if she liked Indian cuisine.