The Housekey
By: Jesse Bartel
Tags: Breakups, Loss, Creative Non Fiction, Memories, Creative Writing

You texted me that you dropped off the housekey. I stared at my phone screen and realized that the last piece of the puzzle had finally fit into place. This was the final part of you given back to me. The chord was cut and retreating to each person’s body and mind.

I stayed out late with friends not wanting to face the finality. The looming exhaustion of coming home to confront my feelings kicked behind my eyes. I knew I wouldn’t want to be sober when I felt what I was going to feel. I had to prepare myself.

When I did get home later that night, I parked my car on the street and sat there — paralyzed. You were here today, too. Your feet touched this ground only so many hours ago after months of absence. But I didn’t get to have the moment with you and we both know that I didn’t want to.

But what did you feel when you sat in this spot? A place your car parked for half a year. A place we walked away from together after long days of work. Another place leaking with memories.

The mailbox by the door beckoned me but I stayed put a moment longer.

I remember giving you that housekey. 2 and a half years have passed and it was in your possession the entire time. Always on your keychain. Always a line of safety to me. Always a hope that you would just come in one day with arms open. Arms open without reservation, hesitation or guilt.

After 2 months of dating, I put a copy of my housekey in a card I gave to you. The writing in the card celebrated an openness and safety I felt. My home was your home whenever you needed it. Days prior, I went to the hardware store and asked to have the key made — I stood there nervous and scared. The act was a leap for me after telling myself I would be more patient. I felt something new and different with you, though. My heart is a profound architect of misery.

When you opened your card, the key slid out and hit a book I had bought for you as well. The thunderous thud of metal hitting the hardcover made us laugh uncontrollably. Your eyes shined when you saw the key and I think, for the first time, someone saw more in you than anyone ever had. Part of you probably knew that you couldn’t see that in yourself yet but we could put it off for some time.

We dated for almost a year and things lost their footing. Ideas and trajectories changed but the hurt was real. We remained good friends and maintained a healthy relationship while we went off to other people and experiences.

Still you had the key. And still, part of my heart was there with you — hopeful

We tried it again. We thought we could do it again. We thought this would be it.

You moved in. You got comfortable with a life here with me.

We used your housekey almost every day.

But the good left us again and with it our friendship, too. The hardest part was not the loss of our romance but the loss of my best friend. A person who had seen almost all of me.

As I walked up to my front door and opened my mailbox, my breathing deepened. My heart paused. There was an envelope with my name written in your handwriting which I hadn’t seen in several months now. The key landed in the palm of my gloved hand but not with the thump it had 2 and a half years ago — just a quiet ache.

I imagined you in this exact spot. I imagined you thinking of all the times you came through this door and felt safe. You called this place home once and now you were going to be locked out. I imagined the pain you probably felt because you hated that you couldn’t be brave enough to talk to me about what happened. I felt so sorry for you.

I took your key, put it into the door and opened it.

Outside I left you. You were on the porch with the last of our memories. It was warm inside and tomorrow a storm was coming.

And with some hesitation, I turned the porch light off.