Two Keys

“Two keys.”  The old man laughed out loud, tilted his head back, and brought the cackle deep from his diaphragm, having just received the pair from his new landlord.  “One for the top lock and the other for the bottom,” he had explained before stepping away, stuffing the first and last month security check in his shirt pocket.  As the old man came back down to reality, he murmured it again, “Two keys.”  This is what his life had come down to.

He would live in that apartment for exactly eleven years and two months until he was found dead in his bed having had succumbed to a heart attack.

That very bed was where he sat once settled in his room.  The first thing he unpacked was his wife’s ashes.  “Marilyn,” he smiled as he placed her on the nightstand next to where he would sleep.  Just two days prior, she was buried, sixty two years after they first met.

Two keys was still on his mind as he laid back, hands behind his head.  It might’ve been a nap or he was consciously reminiscing, regardless, he thought of his life, specifically his two children and how his daughter now a doctor, would come visit from time to time and his son, who now lived in, Ontario, insisted that he come and stay with him and his family.  And of course, he thought of his beloved Marilyn, their first date, first kiss, and wedding night.

It was more than a nap, waking hours later just in time to grab a bite from the local diner before it closed.  “I’d suggest gettin’ those colored tips, maybe one orange and one blue so you can tell ‘em apart,” he recalled his landlord telling him, as he now stood in front of his door staring at two locks and two keys.  He guessed and tried the first one, it worked and he entered and unpacked the groceries he picked up while he was out.

A year later and now settled, he returned from the barber, a nice little stroll just down the street.  He arrived home a little more giddy as he now looked forward to his guessing game of which key will work.  More so on big occasions, like how he chose correctly when he returned from Morton’s funeral. Morton was a good friend, he relived, as the keyed lock turned the corners of his mouth into a smile in remembrance.  Even when his daughter made her first visit.  She wanted to come in before lunch but the old man insisted on after, and the key let them in on the first try.  But not always so, he once got caught in the rain without an umbrella and upon hustling home, he picked the wrong key. And the same thing happened when he decided to have his first cheesesteak after his beloved wife passed on.  It was delicious but, the key worked.  He hoped it wouldn’t so, he never had another.

For many years, he never color coded his keys and used his key guess as a barometer of how his day went.  He’d settle in bed, and wonder what he did wrong on the days he chose incorrectly.  He’d blame it on a bad encounter, “oh, I should’ve let that motorist over,” or “I should’ve given that homeless man a few bucks,” and vowed he’d do so the next day.

But, there were days when it all seemed mixed up.  Like the day Kennedy was assassinated. He was in bed, having slept in late because of a cold.  Out of tea, he dragged himself a couple of blocks to the deli and got himself a hot cup.  “What a day,” he sniffled, and upon returning, he chose the correct key.  Odd he thought, having anticipated the opposite.  Now the old man’s thinking was askew.  Determined in believing there’s no such thing as randomness, he needed to find out what this all meant.  So on that chilly November afternoon in 1963, the old man laid back his head and thought, thinking of his life, the good, the bad and the ugly.  And how, through it all, it wasn’t about the choices he made, it was all about how he stuck to those decisions and brought them to fruition.  His life by no means was easy but it was honorable and abundant with all the love he gave and received.

And the last thing he thought as he pulled the covers to his neck was the day he had moved in and was handed the keys.  “Which one,” he thought, as his landlord walked away.  He made the correct choice, eleven years and two months ago.