Missing Jingle

There is no lonelier feeling than the sinking in my stomach when I realize I have lost my keys.

When I realize I have lost my keys and it is 10:34 pm and I am in Silver Spring.

I have lost my keys and I have to call the actor who I depend on to let us in and out of our rehearsal space, the actor who has already started on his long drive back to Olney, to let me back into the space to see if my keys are there.

The feeling when the keys are not there.

I have lost my keys and the extra set I made when I moved in to my apartment six months ago that I gave to my ex-boyfriend who was not my ex-boyfriend at the time are no longer good because we had to get the locks changed several months later. The extra set of the new keys are now locked in my apartment, on the coffee table where we stack the mail.

I have lost my keys and my cousin, who is my roommate, left this morning to spend two weeks in Georgia for work. Georgia, the country. My cousin, who is my roommate, has left for Georgia, and she has the only other correct set of keys that I know of. I don't know what time it is in Georgia, the country, but it is now 10:56 pm in Silver Spring. I don't think her cell phone works there.

I have lost my keys and I suddenly am remembering all the places I stopped between locking the door as I left this morning and arriving at the Metro platform in Silver Spring, where I am now standing. It is really cold. Places where keys get lost and never found. Places like Union Station, like several metro trains, like Whole Foods, like Starbucks, lots of places, lots of places to lose keys.

I have lost my keys and suddenly I think, I am alone and homeless and tonight I will experience what it feels like to sleep in Union Station. Because I have lost my keys and what if I can't reach any of the people that might let me sleep on their couch since it is now 11:23 pm and I rarely answer my phone past 11:00 pm so why should they.

I have lost my keys so I call H who lives up the street and she answers her phone and she offers her couch and she makes me feel so much better and now at least I have a plan.

I have lost my keys but the day job I worked today is at a National Landmark, or a place registered as a Historical Site, or something, so there are guards on duty 24-hours-a-day, including holidays. I can stop there on my way between Silver Spring and H's house, just in case, in case, in case. Just in case I have lost my keys, and they are there.

I have lost my keys and the guard lets me in, even though I don't think I have ever seen this guard before. And the extra bag I brought that day that I left at work that I'd used to carry paperwork I needed to get done that day is still there, since I figured I'd finish working on it the next day, and there in the bag are my keys. My keys. Sigh. My keys...

I have my keys. I have found my keys. I have found my keys, and I can go home now.

Why do I let this happen? At thirty-years-old I should not be losing my keys. Thirty-years-old, with at least twenty of those years spent dealing with keys (back in the day I guess my brother and I would have been deemed "Latchkey kids"? Do they still call them that?) and yet still, I am thirty-years-old, and, on occasion, I lose my keys.

(P.S. Just to be clear - I was in no way scarred by being a latchkey kid. I didn't mind it, really. So no worries about that, Citymouse mom. The truth is, I would probably still lose my keys latchkey kid or no. The psychology behind the whole losing things phenomenon is too deep for me to figure out. The good part is that, on the whole, I really do think I have gotten better about all that.)