And the key that was lost

And now? I’m gonna tell y’all a ghost story.

Gather ’round.

Long-time readers will perhaps recall that I have Thing about my suitcase lock. Inevitably, when we were packing, I would at the very last minute realize that I had lost the key to the lock, and I would panic, because packing is right up there among my Least Favorite Things To Do Ever. I would look in All the Places, getting ever more frantic, and finally at A Point, Steve would step in and walk me through the Places One More Time, narrating the whole journey in a perfectly calm and reasonable voice, and assuring me that I was very orderly, that the key was discoverable, and worlds were not about to burn.

And damn if he wasn’t — always — right. The key was right there on my keyring, or in the jewelry box, or in whatever other safe and reasonable place that I had already looked; relief reigned, and worlds did not, in fact, burn.

Fast forward to my trip to Norwich at the beginning of November. Yes, I lost the key to the suitcase lock; I looked everywhere and didn’t find it, sat down and cried. Then I toured the house, talking in as calm and reasonable voice as I could manage, telling myself that I was very orderly, that the key was discoverable, and worlds were not about to burn.

Well.

Worlds did not burn, but I didn’t find the key, either, and I finally just left the damn lock dangling from the zipper pull, threw the suitcase in the car and got on the road.

One more fast forward, to this morning.

I have been the sole driver of our car since last November. Remember this plot point.

I drove to gym; I drove to Marden’s. I opened the driver’s side door after I had successfully hunted rugs and blanket, and there, on the seat — was the key to my suitcase lock.

It hadn’t been there when I got into the car to go to gym. It hadn’t been there when I got out of the car at Marden’s.

Yes, I tested it — it’s the right key.

So, yanno, not much as ghost stories go. But there it is — for your consideration.