A Mind of Unimaginable Proportions

The Key

Today, I found a key.

I was on my way home from a good little fast food place called Runza, a classic, midwestern, traditional restaurant just 5 blocks away from my house. My favorite thing there has always been a bacon cheeseburger.

I don't know why it hadn't caught my eye beforehand, that key, I just know that it glinted a rosey gold color in the midday sunlight and it was slightly bent in the middle, making appear a lot lonelier, there on the ground. I'd just barely passed it when I thought maybe I should look at it, make sure it wasn't just some random key.

At first, I didn't want to take the key. In fact, I almost left it there to be lost forever, I just couldn't handle people looking at me and whispering little criticisms to each other. I didn't want to be something to make fun of. But I thought about it again. I couldn't do that, no, what if it belonged to some one? It would be selfish of me to skip it just because I was afraid of some minor heat.

So, I looked up to make sure it wasn't anyones, but of course it was. There was a house. Uncomfortably I picked that key up and I walked up, my heart pounding, my body trembling. I didn't want anyone to see me walking up to it, I didn't want to look like a weirdo. I breathed slowly to chill out some.

I managed to get up to the patio and saw there was a little maroon table, handpaited, and quite obviously so. There was an ashtray that had those little divets in the sides so it could hold burning cigarettes if they had to set dormantly for a time. There was something else there too, but I can't remember what. Anyways, I sat that key on the corner and hurried away from the scene.

Now, as I continued my walk home, I questioned why it seemed important. Why did I feel a kick in my belly when I tried to wave it off? Why did I feel tears welling up in my eyes when I thought about just leaving it there? What was the big deal?

And then, I realized why.

It didn't seem like a big deal, but when I thought about it, what if the people who owned the maroon table and ashtray had some issues I didn't know about? Like, what if they weren't able to find that particular housekey and had to call the landlord to bring an extra? He would come, agitated and in a hurry.

What if they were anxious like me and seemed suspicious when he arrived because they started thinking about how they hadn't been able to pay rent this month?

How the cat had taken numerous dumps on the brand new carpets?

How the house smelled of smoke when the landlord specifically instructed them not to smoke inside when they first moved in?

We all make mistakes.

But it would only piss him off more.

It would have started a fight and the angry landlord would have thrown them out and sold their things and leave their pets for dead. Now, it would be impossible for them to have a decent home. Not having money is one thing, a bad record is another thing.

As if they weren't already stressed out already over the death of their mother. They were very close. She committed suicide and they felt like it was their fault.

The final thought I had was this: What if they had to go day by day barely surviving, upset all the time? On the verge of disappearing, their mind, their heart, their entire life (and it would be an entire life) becoming nothing but a forgotten hobo on the streets?

All because I hadn't found their key or had and decided not to put it on their little maroon, handpainted table because I was scared.

...

Today, I found a key.

A key to life.

The little things matter, and you could save some one with your simple deeds.