The Key

Prompt:You wake up with a key firmly in your grasp. How did it get there and what does it unlock?

When I woke up that morning, the first thing I noticed was that my hand was firmly gripping a key. I had no idea where it had come from, so I examined it carefully. It was a brass skelton key, very old. The handle had once been ornate but was now worn smooth.

I asked my husband if he had placed it in my hand, but he denied it. At breakfast, I asked my daughters. They looked puzzled. Another denial. At four and six, secrets were accompanied by lots of giggles, so I figured they were in the clear.

Perhaps, I imagined, it was to some treasure box which, when found, would be filled with piles of gold and jewels! Maybe then we could afford some luxuries around here, instead of a twenty year old car and hand-me-downs.

I was still pondering the mystery of the key when Rebecca – my six year old – knocked over the carton of milk. Nearly half a gallon spilled out on the table.

“Pick it up!” I yelled, but she just stood there, mesmerized. I grabbed up the carton, then tossed her a towel, and we started cleaning. I carried the dirty towels to the hamper, and when I came back, Rebecca had tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, mom,” she said. “It was an accident.”

I sighed. “I know. Come here.” She came over and hugged me, and just like that, everything was okay in her world. If I had treasure, I thought, I wouldn’t worry about needing a little extra on our grocery budget. I could just spend, spend, spend.

I loaded the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher. “I wanna help,” four-year-old Lila insisted. She carried her bowl into the kitchen, where of course she dropped it. Crash. Pieces of the bowl splattered all over the kitchen, where the three of us stood, barefoot.

“Don’t move!” I yelled. I tiptoed over to Lila, scooped her up, and carried her to the safety of the living room, then did the same for Rebecca. Then I ran and grabbed some sandals and began to clean up the shards.

“Sorry, Mommy,” Lila said.

“It’s just a bowl. Accidents happen.” At least it wasn’t fine china. If I had that treasure, we’d eat off china every day, and never care when it broke.

After lunch, I sat by the window, imagining trips down the Riviera. Shoot, I’d be happy with a trip to Florida. Suddenly, I heard a crash and then Rebecca started howling. I ran back to the bedroom to find both girls in tears.

“She pulled my hair!” Rebecca shrieked.

“She took my toy!” Lila screamed back.

The tears ran. I was about ready to join them, but instead I sat them each down on their separate beds. I took away the offending toy, lectured on being kind to your sister, and left them on their beds. When I checked back five minutes later, they were having a tea party together, and being quite sweet about it.

“Would you like some tea, Mrs. Doodles?” Rachel asked in a high falsetto.

“Oh, yes, I would love some, please,” Lila responded, mimicing her sister.

If we were rich, the girls would get used to entertaining, and maybe I could afford someone to help around here. And I could have adult conversation!

They took a late nap, so I went in and woke them up around five. They were both cranky about it – neither one was the jump-out-of-bed type. I started cooking dinner, but Lila came into the kitchen whining. I sighed and hoisted her up on one hip. Then Rachel complained that she wanted me to hold her, too. Sorry, but unless you’re built like Arnold, there’s no way you can hold a four year old, a six year old, and manage to successfully cook dinner. So Rachel threw herself screaming on the floor while I stirred the hamburger. It got so bad that I had to put Lila down to carry her sister to her room. Then Lila started screaming, of course, so I carried her off and set the girls down on timeout again. All of a sudden, an acrid smell filled the house, and I ran back to the kitchen to find dinner charred to a crisp.

Of course George chose that moment to walk in the door. I’m standing the kitchen, black smoke everywhere, the girls are both screaming their heads off, and in he strides. He took one look at the blackened mess, and said “Guess we’re not eating tonight?” I did a fantastic job of not throwing the food at him. Instead, I shouted, “Fine, you cook it!” and stormed off in tears, nearly running the girls over as they came out of their room.

I flung myself down on the bed, bawling like a baby. When my tears had subsided, George hugged me.

“Bad day?” he asked.

I snorted. “You have no idea.” My lip trembled. “I’m just so worn out all the time. It’s like I solve one problem and find three more. The kids are driving me nuts.” I made a face. “And to top it all off, I’ve been spending the day thinking about the treasure box.”

“Treasure box?” George was puzzled. I explained to him all the things I’d imagined us doing with the key I’d found.

Rachel came in the room, Lila right behind her. “Mommy, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“You didn’t,” I sighed. And they hadn’t. Everything that had happened today – and every day – was just kid stuff, normal for any preschoolers.

George and I gave them their baths. I ignored the water that splashed all over the bathroom, and consoled them when they got soap in their eyes. Then I carried Lila, and George carried Rebecca, and we lay them in their beds and read their bedtime story. As I kissed them goodnight, Lila wrapped her arm around my neck and kissed me. She smelled like soap, sweet and clean and good.

“I love you, Mommy,” she said sleepily.

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

As I stood in the doorway, I thought how much nicer it would be to have money. No stress, no worries. Then I gazed at my girls again.

“They’re a treasure, aren’t they?” George said softly. He kissed me, and we closed the door.

“Now, show me this key,” he said. I pulled it out of my back pocket, where I had carried it all day, imagining all sorts of glorious things. Somehow they didn’t seem so important.

“Hmm.” He studied the key, squinting at it. “This looks familiar.”

He handed it back to me and dug through the closet briefly, then emerged with a small, ornate chest.

“My grandfather gave me this, a long time ago,” he explained. “Back before our family lost all our money. But I’ve never been able to open it.” He gave a wicked grin. “Wanna see what’s inside?”

I smiled. “Sure. But it can’t top the treasure we already have.”