2001-07-24

One time, of the countless times I lost my keys as I child, I pretended as if I did not have a home any more. I left my book bag on the back steps and walked to the park, making up stories in my head about my life as a suburban homeless person and how I still managed to go to school every day. Most of the time, as a child, I would make up elaborate stories to occupy my time of alternative lives, entire different circumstances and outcomes and Tara's. To tell the truth, I still do.

Being locked out was an all to frequent occurrence as a child. I don't know why, with three of us coming home in the afternoon, we still managed to get locked out at least once a month. Sometimes, I'd go to the neighbors and eat peanut butter and honey on rice cakes and allow myself to pretend my mother was home every afternoon like the mother next door. I didn't like this story too much because I really wouldn't want a mother who served rice cakes over Ritz crackers.

In high school, I never locked my old gray Buick with only one hubcap. I'd leave books, my trumpet, odd coats and sneakers strewn across the back and the doors wide open. No one ever bothered to take anything. Working late in the art room one afternoon, I returned to the student parking lot and my car was sitting right in the middle, not another car around. The first thing I noticed was that someone actually stole that one lonely hubcap. They did not take anything from inside. Why steal one hubcap is beyond me, but I never loved the car as much again.

Other than locking the door during the daytime hours of empty streets in suburbia when I was at school and my parents at work, my family was never big on locking doors. Now that the old people home across the street installed a security booth, we rarely do. I honestly don’t think that anyone in my house right now leaves the house with a set of keys or knows where they are in the house. I liked my college roommates for being that way too, we never really bothered to lock our door unless no one was home or we were all nestled in our beds. The one time I flipped out and bolted the door created confusion since my roommates didn’t even have that key.

I like the flimsy lock on the door to my apartment. I frequently think I’ve locked the door behind me to come home and find that the people upstairs double locked the front door since they saw mine open. My door opens if it is not locked. I have learned to get into the habit of carrying keys. It’s very easy with the little shoulder bag containing books, journal, emergency tampons, Metro Card and everything I need to live from subway to work and back home. Whenever I go anywhere with Angel, I leave him in charge of the keys. No need to bring two sets.

And then last night happened. I lost my keys. I went out to dinner and was at my door at 11 o’clock, ready to have a cozy sleep. And no keys. I was out with Angel and his girl; they were heading to her apartment way the hell in Siberia/ Uptown. I don’t remember any of my friend’s phone numbers since my cell phone keeps them; I didn’t have my cell phone. It was too late to take a train to New Jersey and I have no idea what time my friends go to bed although I was thinking about just showing up.

I was basically scared. I was stuck in the middle of Brooklyn with only my driver’s license, Metro Card, twenty dollars and cigarettes (and violet mints). I left a message on Angel’s phone since I knew he was still in transit and I got on a train. Once I was well into the city, past downtown that stands abandoned and empty at night, I got off and began calling. The restaurant we were in, Angel’s phone again, trying to see if I could remember anyone’s phone number. Finally, I got Angel, and planned to meet in mid-town. It was already 1:30 am.

Since his girlfriend lives practically in Canada, I knew they wouldn’t be down any time soon, so I walked. My comfortable new sandals held up impressively but not perfectly as my baby toes are now charcoal colored. I walked through mid-town on a late Monday night with perfect summer’s breezes. I imagined what would have happened if Angel had just simply went to bed without checking his messages first. I thought of stories of me going to see the yuppie in his 36th floor studio and having an impromptu party. I thought of stalking Bess as Jesse and I did not so long ago. I thought of spending my night on the streets. What would that be like? Would I want to stay in mid-town or go back to Brooklyn? I think I’d go to Brooklyn.

I got home at 3:30; I came into work late. As I was putting my bird to bed, I noticed something very familiar on the stove: my keys. I had just forgotten them, completely. I was just plain old stupid. But really, the keys fell out of my pocket at the restaurant, the over-night cleaning crew found them. Or at least that is what Angel will know or maybe one day he’ll read this. But no need to tell him that I didn’t ask for the keys at the restaurant so I could think of other lives I could live walking through New York.