The Key

It came by way of Fed Ex.

Packages from Dan always did. Leon would bring them, set them down, ring the bell and we would laugh over small brown boxes, before Leon moved on to chat up Mrs. Stevens. They had a thing.

Dan always sent me boxes. Any little piece of God knew what; it was his way of letting me know that he cared, even from somewhere out in frozen-nowhere oil country. I used to wait for them, all stupid pins and needles, knowing that sometime on his six-week stint I’d be getting a brass moose. Or a wooden bear, or a shell from one of the zilla-crabs that were out in the deep water. I’d call them The Latest. I’d put it on the shelf in just the way—he’d see it when he came back and after we made love, he’d ask me and it was always ‘Best Ever!’ or ‘How Sweet!’, because that was what a wife does.

When he left, I’d drink the morning coffee with the Bailey’s and talk with The Latest and try to remind myself that all of it was for us. The promises I made for us filled up notebooks; someday we would take that bonus from his two years and never have to even talk about fracking or ice roads again. We’d buy a house that was ridiculously huge and hatch a brood of rugrats and all our lives would be patches on the knees and dirty laundry and it would be perfect.

My days with Dan gone were all at Molly’s, serving up whatever came out of the kitchen that was still edible and smiling so hard for tips it hurt, but at night it was daydreams, silly hoping and time with peach moscato -- I’d do a Smash Mouth burn off while I slept in his sweaters and wait till the next Latest came, and try not to cry.

See, it was love-hate with The Latest. I’d count how many trips he’d taken and all the time we’d missed. Sometimes I’d pick one up and imagine I could smell him on it. Sometimes I’d call them all bastards. Sometimes I’d cry. But I would wait–it was like I was always watching the calendar, but never changing the day. Week one, I was genuinely pissed, and Dan’s texts just sat. Week two, I’d let him chat to me, and we’d laugh and I would miss him and try not to let him know how much. But, by week three, I’d be sprinting up the stairs coming home from Molly’s, not even caring about the coffee on my skirt or the old man handprint still fading on my ass, just hoping for Dan’s next big thing. Come the fourth week out, if The Latest hadn’t come, my nails were chewed and my eyes would be roaming to the phone, even if Dan was off grid and couldn’t reply.

I did text him once though; Once I did, when were first in our closet sized apartment—I slayed his messenger with so many texts that when he came back and our diseased wi-fi kicked in he just set it on the counter and let it go off while we pushed dishes off the counter and held each other hard enough to frighten the neighbors. When we showered we let the steam come, close as the little bathroom would let us. I don’t remember how long it was–a half hour? It was only a half hour. Only.

I’m rambling. So—no, getting a package from Dan wasn’t unusual.

Except – Dan was dead.

…………………………………………………………………………

I don’t remember everything they said when Lupe Oil called.

I remember it wasn’t raining that day. I remember that I’d saved up enough to buy those new green Converse and I was off from Molly’s and it was going to be a park day. I remember that I ate half of the tortellini from the night before and I was still hungry.

He’d fallen off. That much I do know. There was a storm, something about damaged overhead supports and a loose boom. They were deeply sorry. They made counseling available. They were sending me a generous compensation.

When the check came it sat on my counter for days.

I didn’t tell them at Molly’s. I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t call my Mom. I just went to the diner and I made smiles and I said things and my eyes didn’t work right because they didn’t let me cry and I didn’t touch the check. Touching it meant admitting and admitting meant saying goodbye things and we never said goodbye things, we only hit pause till next time Dan said. --Only next time didn’t come.

Tuesday was Wednesday and Wednesday was Friday and I saw the check every day until I couldn’t anymore. So, I opened it; I counted all the zeros that were supposed to make Memory Dan go away and I think I was supposed to scream or cry but I just took it First Savings. I don’t know the girl’s name, but she had green eyes and she wouldn’t look at me with them. She said they were sorry and I think I said things they tell you to, like thank you. When I left I wished I could have remembered her name, but all I remember is her eyes. I told myself I would call to thank her after everything settled—I should have.

The days were all the same. Molly’s specials, my converse on the stairs, the sun. I let the money sit, while the bank called and told me all the creative ways they could make it grow, and all I wanted was one more Latest and the smell of whatever the hell IPA was in the fridge when Dan came home. My sister Emma in Newark told me come down, take time and finally I said yes, mostly because I couldn’t look at grey walls Dan never painted over, because I didn’t care about colors any more, just wanted to see him in those damn get shit done jeans—his GSDs he’d call them all holes and threads.

I found boxes and started to do the thing you do when you put it all away. Photos, one more bullshit mug, but not The Latest. I couldn’t, not yet, not on my own. Stupid, but Emma was coming the next Tuesday to help me finish up, and I remember thinking that maybe by then it wouldn’t matter.

And then Leon brought the box.

Leon didn’t look at me.When he didn’t give me his easy smile I knew he’d heard somehow, the walls were so thin in that shithole place, and I cried so quiet, but not enough. He handed me the little box and he mumbled something that sounded like sorry, and he walked away with his head down. I leaned on the door case looking down at the thing he left me, after I closed it, I wanted was weed and Hennessy and I remember telling him to fuck off after he was already too far gone to hear me.

It wasn’t like the others. When Dan sent The Latest it was always if-it-fits-it-ships, all white with some place in Alaska stamped on it and some corners dented in because the US Postal zombies liked to show they cared. This one was smaller, square, wrapped in brown paper and neater than when Dan’s sister used to wrap his notice-me gifts for him. A perfect little cube that was stamped with six exchanges just to show how lost it’d been. I ticked off the weeks in my head. Just before they called me. Just.

I carried the box to the living room that was only a step away from the kitchen which was only a step away from the closet it was and set it down on the tea table. Dan called it tea table—he never told me why, but I kept it that way in my head. I set it down in the center and backed away. I kept my eyes on the little tan paper box while I moved up to the fridge, opened it blind and one handed the peach-scato out. I watched it while I opened the bottle, grabbed a glass, left the glass, drank half---then I went out to the seat of love, Dan’s stupid seat of love and sat down two feet away from the tiny invader. My uniform from Molly’s was too damn tight, and I think I remember I smelled like waffle while I kept sipping.

When I set the bottle down I didn’t mean to touch the box. Except maybe I did, because both my hands were on the seams, feeling the folds two seconds later. I remember how tight they were and I knew Dan couldn’t have ever, except—he did. There was tape, all in little pieces in the places no one would ever put them, all set on each other so carefully and so wrong. If Dan did this it would have taken him days. I could hear him laughing about it. I could feel the way that laugh would climb till he was laughing but not breathing and how the whole place was so empty because— I'm not. I’m not thinking that right now because I have this package. And that means I have Dan, and Dan tape and---

I pushed one little tear back while I slid a ratty nail under the tapes and watched the wings let go, but not open all the way. I could have just let them, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t look because even then I knew that The Latest was the The Last and I wasn’t ready for The Last.

Because I sent him back. This one time I did because we were so close and we just needed a little more to make a downpayment… and I sent him back—I did.

I never drink a whole bottle but it was already gone, and I had a second one in my hand. The burn crept up behind the sad little power cells that made the tears come and I felt my chin shake and I could see the pools on the tiny table and I didn’t know what to do because everything was warm in that way that makes you sick. I leaned back and looked up at the ceiling Dan never patched, my legs splayed out and one Converse undone.

I remember praying, the words falling out in a slur. “Dear Jesus, I solemnly swear on this bottle.” I watched it pour out on the rug like a sacrament, and I think I laughed and I think I cried while I prayed. “T-That if you give me Dan back, I’ll always say the things…the ones that you’re supposed to. I’ll be good…”

And it was all quiet. And the sun was still shining in the back window. And no one said anything and nothing mattered and I was standing. “Fuck. You!” Part of me wasn’t screaming at God, just Dan- only Dan. “Fuck you and all your I’m here and I’ll hold you, because you’re not, and you’re not and you’re not!!” I was on my knees then. I don’t remember crawling back to the box and I don’t remember when I picked it up up, but I remember—“And, F-fuck you! You didn’t come back, you didn’t come back, you stupid, stupid…” and all my insides turned to hot and slick and they turned over and I threw the box while peach-scato climbed up between my fingers and soaked the rug and everything hurt, down deep.

The box hit the wall. The bottle went next– I heard glass shatter and then I knew—I’d broken The Last and Latest and Oh God how could I have ever and I scurried and I cut my knees and I didn’t care about the tears because my hands just needed to touch it. I made it to the mangled box while my head spun, and the tears kept getting in my way.

I don’t know how I managed not to cut off my finger while I pulled away the paper. All these broken echoes of glass fell out of the fancy box, ran down my legs, diamonds on the floor. But—It didn’t matter because there was a note, in Dan’s neat handwriting.

Hi, I wanted to give you the Key.

And then I pushed away the sea salt blur and saw there was a screenshot. And – on the back of the note, a pink house key, and then I knew why he went---

And I cried till my heart said sleep and I did, in my Molly’s suit, until it was the next day.

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The bus took days. I rode it with my head on the window and all the towns went by. When I made it to Key Biscane I didn’t think I’d be staying–it was just the end.

I never left. It was four years ago and I think I may have finally moved in, and some of me has moved on. Some hasn’t--I had a copy made of Dan’s key and it stays around my neck and I used Dan’s money to make sure I could take some time.

I did. I met Charlie. He never wears shorts. He’s not Dan, but he’s a good man and he doesn’t ever ask me when I’m coming back when I go down the beach while our baby sleeps. She looks like me I think and sometimes I wonder when she’ll find a way to be, and who will hold her when I’m gone.

It’s a long time till you need a Latest sweetie. I hope.

Out on the horizon I see the oil rigs, and I remember Dan said someday he’d tan. I remember the day they closed the doors in that tiny apartment and I gave the keys back to Mrs.Chen.

It’s a sunny day, the kind that seeps in and goes looking for all the places you keep under your skin.

I think today I’ll let it in.