Lost...Again

I can hear your noise and developing anger as you search throughout the house to find me. The opening of closets and drawers closed a bit more forcefully each time as your frustration blooms in the search that has not yet produced positive results. Time is also whispering in your ear, “You’re gonna be late again.” Increasing the feeling of frustration you have over a gradually forgetful memory.

Then your mental distractions begin: Is this a sign of Early-onset Alzheimer's? I’m forgetting more lately & I’m terrible with people’s names. How bad is my memory really getting? Other related topics flash through your mind in consideration of having a faulty memory and perhaps why.

I’m one on a ring of keys. The tools that allow you to access things that are important in your life - so important that they are locked up to prevent their loss or use by others. Your life depends on me and unlocking the things that matter to you. Right now, you need me, the small metal tool with TOYOTA cast on the top of it. This will allow you to enter and start the blue Camry waiting for you out on the driveway so you can partake in the daily deadly migration of workers stressing their way to work. But you can’t go until you find me.

As I have witnessed a number of previous times, I hear as you recite your mental exercise of recalling your arrival back here last evening noting in approximate order the things you did once you closed the front door behind you:

Put the groceries you picked up on the way home on the small table by the door; you look and see I am not there,

You hung up your coat in the hall closet – Check the pockets of the coat…again! I’m still not in them like I wasn’t the last three times you looked.

Took the bag of groceries into the kitchen and begin to place them in the fridge and other places they belong. I know you’re looking for me in each of these places as you backtrack your steps.

You then opened a can of beer and let the cat out the back door. No, I am not to be found near any of these places either.

After releasing the cat outdoors, habitual practice led you upstairs to change out of your office clothes, so its time to explore the bedroom one more time. No, I’m not on top of the dresser and I’ll bet you will get down on all fours to look under the bed in hopes of seeing me looking back at you…sorry not today. Perhaps we fell behind the dresser? You grunt and curse as you wrestle the heavy furniture away from the wall for naught, I’m not there either.

Returning to the bottom of the stairs you express your growing anger with a short, easy to spell expletive. Remembering an old phrase your grandmother used to say, “The easiest way to find something is to find out where it is not” Thanks grandma! You begin your search anew looking everywhere along the path you made during last evening’s return home.

As a survival tactic your brain starts to compile alternate scenarios for the day: “I’m feeling ill so won’t be going to work today; Find the lost spare set of keys; Take the bus to work…”

Remember the spare set of keys fiasco? That was a lesson sort of learned, as loosing both sets of keys at the same time could hardly be called a solution to forgetfulness. I’m glad we got that behind us…. but I know you’re thinking about it now when time is at stake and you’re not thinking clearly.

Did you leave them in the car? No, of course not. You needed them to unlock the front door to get in the house. You sense the celebratory DING in the depths of your mind. The front door! Rushing to the door you open it to see me smiling back at you, although I spent all the frigid night out here dangling under my key ring and Yale the lockset with nothing to amuse me other than the traffic driving past and dogs peeing on the shrubs at the sidewalk.

All night long Yale, continued to rag on 'Red' her primary key who would argue back about her cold embrace of frigid hard steel, lifeless and disdainful. She would lament about being an old-fashioned manual lockset past her prime. Oh, how she yearned to be a new digital push-button lockset where people would push her buttons luxuriously to gain access. No more cold metal hastily inserted into her to be used like an appliance. Yale is not my favourite lock. Despite her ambitions to be something greater than she is, she seems to believe she is superior to all others because she protects entry into your home by those not invited or those with intent to do no good.

I feel the warmth of your fingers as you pull me away from Yale - the cold-hearted bitch. You drop me into your right jacket pocket next to the soiled Kleenex and parking meter change. Turning back into the house, you conclude your daily preparations, put on your outdoor clothes, exit and close the door, pushing the alpha key back into Yale, she gets her morning twist and we walk to the car as you fidget to find me on the ring as you open the driver’s door get in and slide me into my favourite receptacle, Tama, the small reliable Asian ignition keyset so comfortable its as if we were made for each other.

Its an hour later than normal, we pull out of the driveway and make it three intersections towards your office when you realize you forgot your lunch on the kitchen counter. In a clear proud voice, I hear you proclaim, “FUCK IT! Today will be lunch at the taco truck.”