Suddenly *Not So* Single Journey

Happiness is a full keychain…

Author: thenicknick

This is going to sound silly.  And maybe it is.  All I know is that keys are a big deal.  Really they are.

I remember when I was given my first key, the most important key ever.  No, it wasn’t to the house I grew up in.  We kept a hidden key for that.  And when my little sister would forget to put it back, I used it as an opportunity to McGyver my way into the house.  (I was very good.)

Instead, my first key was the car key.  My mother gave it to me when I passed my driver’s test.  And it came with a special key chain.  I loved it.  Better still, she let me drop her off at work that day and drive myself to school, picking her up after she was done work.  (Told you she was a special mom.)

I remember that day, the happiness in my heart as I heard the key clinking around in my purse.  Yes, I had made it.  I had a car key.

Through the years, I have had numerous keys, but none of them had the impact of that first key, not even the house keys when the ex and I purchased our home years back.  Nope.  In all those years, there have only been a few keys that really mattered.  HIS.

As private as he is, it was huge the day that he gave me keys to the house, keys for the kids to the house, and keys to his truck.  We were in the bedroom.  It was just before we went to Carmella’s for Dollar Slice Night.  I remember the chills going down my spine.  I remember how exciting it was.  My heart was screaming, ‘You’re in!’

That’s why it was devastating when we broke up and I had to relinquish all the keys.  It was like having a piece of me ripped apart.  I remember that we were in the bedroom then, too.  And I remember how much lighter my key chain felt.  I remember how much smaller it looked.  See, there is a direct correlation between the number of keys on a key chain and the size of your life.  My life became infinitesimally smaller that day.

Sure, soon there were apartment keys, a symbol of my new found independence.  And I still had my old house key.  And there was my car key.  Still, it was weak.

Then everything changed once more.  When I moved back in with HIM, I was given my key…again.  It felt nice.  Optimist that I am, I moved it behind the apartment key to signal its permanence.

Then…the other night…something happened…something that made me so very happy.  We were preparing to drive home from visiting friends and HE was going to let me drive the truck.  (I feel so big when I do…)

me: (With palm outstretched…)

HIM: What?

me: Keys.  I need your keys.

And he made that face while he struggled to get his keys out of his pocket from a seated position.

me: This wouldn’t happen if you gave me back my truck key.

I was teasing.  I rarely drove the truck.  It really wasn’t an issue.

Only the very next day we were outside talking.  And out of nowhere, he reached into the truck and pulled out the keys.  (One for the truck, one for the tool box.)

HIM: Here.

me: My keys!

And I opened up my Tiffany’s key ring and put them behind the apartment key and the house key.  (We have plans for a new door handle soon.  It’s a necessity.  If I had a dollar for every time the handle fell off in my hand, I wouldn’t need child support.)  Oh, but those keys… Optimism.  And happiness.

My key ring is just about full now.  I don’t know what else I could possibly need on it.  And every time I grab it, I get to smile over my wonderfully full life.

This entry was posted on Thursday, August 19th, 2010 at 12:00 am and is filed under Happiness is.... You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.