A Room Key

The key that unlocks my dorm room is a guardian of safety and quiet. He and his twin—of which my roommate got custody—are the only way to access my world of clacking keyboard and Frank Sinatra. 

            I confess that I often use him to deny others access to that world. He locks the door for me when Josh and I go away for the weekend. He keeps my suitemates from taping my possessions to the ceiling. His slight bend from a previous owner’s violence is just his smile, saying, “I’ve got this. Nobody gets in here on my watch.”

            A key is a wonderful thing to have if you value solitude as much as I do. Sometimes I need someone to guard the door so I can battle my monsters in peace. Other times I need someone to guard the door so I can be out with other people and not have the safety of my possessions in mind. My key has my back in both cases. He works in conjunction with his cousins the deadbolt and the door to form an impenetrable barrier. Then my monsters and I can enter the ring or go our separate ways. 

            I wear my key on a chain around my neck. His daily presence is reassuring. His shape resembles a wrestler crossing his arms, and his metal form is always cool to the touch. When I’m nervous or bored I can knot a finger in his chain. It’s as if he’s holding my hand. 

            Have you ever stopped to consider the value of a locking door? The ability to keep loud people out of your life is completely underrated in the world of headphones and music. Even the dedicated “noise blocking” app on my iPad isn’t as effective as an old-fashioned locked door.

            If I wax poetic when it comes to keys in general, it’s because I appreciate what they entail. My key keeps my room in the category of “my things” and not “public space.” Forgive me for cherishing that designation as much as I do, but that’s because I’m used to having no personal space at all. A family with nine children does not place heavy emphasis on elbow room. But here in my dorm, I’ve got a key, and frankly, I like having it. Maybe I like my solitude a little more than is good for me, but I’ve got it, and that’s all that matters. 

This piece was a part of my final creative writing portfolio. The subject given was “a small, animate object.” I misread it and wrote this piece on a totally inanimate key.