Originally posted March 1, 2013
All I find as I open the door is a small gift-wrapped box. I glance around looking for the person that left it there. No one is in sight.
Taking the present into the house, I look for a card. There is no card. Maybe it isn’t even for me. Maybe they left it at the wrong house. I can’t know, so I open it slowly and deliberately in case I have to re-wrap it. My hand is shaking as I lift the lid.
The gift is for me, but I don’t know who it is from or what it means. There is my name engraved on a key ring. One key dangles from it. I don’t recognize this key as fitting any lock I know. Oh, well, if the person wants me to know, they will find a way to tell me what it opens.
I am pulled back to the key as I go about my daily routine. Every few minutes, I am back looking at this key trying to make my mind remember what it fits. Nothing is the answer I get.
I go for my daily walk. Thoughts of the key invade that, too. Maybe dealing with the mail will distract me for a while. I pay the bills, toss the junk, and look to see what else. Usually I despise dealing with the mail, but it has given my mind a break.
Other mail includes an invitation to a birthday party, my nephew’s graduation, and an envelope with no return address. I must RSVP to the invitations and I will need to decide on gifts. Stamping the second RSVP, I open the last envelope. All that come out is a map. A map of the little town I grew up in. With a bright red X on it. No note, just the map.
The key and the map must be connected, right? Guess I better take a trip “home” soon.