The Spare Key

There's a reason as to why we are called "spare keys", because you rarely ever need us. Obviously, they're not you "main set of keys" that you use for yourself, nor are they the "duplicate" keys you give to that special someone. The "spare keys" are the ones you intentionally hide away in some secret spot outside your place of residence. You know, under the dirt in a spot near your door, somewhere along the ledge of the door frame or some special place that seems extremely logical at the time.

You live in hopes of you never actually needing to use the spare key, so it kind of becomes out of sight, out of mind. But it was five years ago that I've been hidden away, and my owner has never had the need to find me until now. So, why now? Why after five years of not needing them, do they suddenly have a need of finding me?

If you must know, my owner lost their main set of keys on the subway, OK?? That part was actually a funny situation, so it could be told. They were fumbling around with the main keys while waiting for the train at the station, and in a moment of clumsiness, they went flying out of their hand and down onto the tracks. I mean, right onto the outside rail just as the train was coming. The train rolled over the keys with no effect to the train, but the keys were flattened thinner than a piece of paper.

Now, they're home, and need to find ME, the "spare key" that they so meticulously hid away five years ago. And what of the "duplicate keys"; had they not given them to someone in good faith? Of course not, they were hanging on the key holder, just on the other side of the door, just two feet away from where they stood.

So, they go back to looking for me. "If I were me, where would I have hidden it?" they mumbled to themselves, until they began to realize the absurdity of the statement. "I am me, and I still don't know where I hid the key."

I knew where I was, and all they had to do was look directly at me, I was not too well hidden and could be seen from where they stood.

"Think, my friend, think!" they began to look in all of the typical hiding places, to not much good, and there weren't too many places. They peeked over the door frame and under the doormat, and even around the window.

They were running out of time; it was getting dark out. But I think they were getting some sort of an idea, there was only one place they hadn't looked. Yes, they had found my hiding spot, the lighting fixture for the porch light, taped to the back panel of the glass casing.

They pulled me off and slid me into the lock, and with a slight turn, I had caused the lock to make that distinctive click, and the door swung open.