Through The Keyhole Blooms A Flower

We didn't always look through a keyhole to case a house we wanted to rob. Sometimes we could look through windows, other times we were invited in after we cut a lawn for the owner.

But we had to look through the keyhole at the Calhoun house. It was shuttered. Mrs. Calhoun had died a long time ago and Mr. Calhoun died at least four years ago. No one had been in the house since.

I wouldn't call us a "gang." We were very young - twelve and thirteen years old. Most of the time we were playing baseball in the summer, football in the winter, exploring the woods in our neighborhood.

Other times we were setting up ramps and jumping over trashcans. It was the mid-70's. Evel Knievel and "The Bandit" ruled the day. Of course we were going to be wild. Of course we were going to break the law. That was the cool stuff.

It was a gray, brown, cold day in November and the wind blew, not a lot, but it dropped the temperature. It was colder than usual.

We were bored. There was no snow on the ground, the sun hid behind the gray clouds. It was the kind of day when there just wasn't much to do. The kind of day when young boys can get into trouble.

"Wanna get up a game?" Larry asked. This meant football, but it was getting late and we really didn't have time to start a game now.

"Too late." Danny answered. A few of us nodded in agreement. As we passed in front of the Calhoun's house, our inspired leader in criminal mischief, Alan, chimed up, in an excited half-whisper.

"You want to rob Calhoun's?" We all stopped walking.

"You want to?" Dave spouted. All of our eyes lit up.

"It's dark enough." I said, and we all looked around. No one was out. It was too cold, too gray.

"Let's go!" Dave trumpeted, and climbed over the metal fence. The others followed, except me, Alan, and Greg, who had remained silent throughout our plotting.

"I have to go home." Greg said softly.

"Chicken shit." Dave called out. Greg turned and walked toward his house in silence. The others hopped the fence and walked toward the Calhoun house. I watched Greg. He looked back once, but only once.

A thought was struggling to develop in my barely-teenaged brain.

Greg was doing the right thing. We were doing the wrong thing. But before the thought could blossom fully, Alan pushed me.

"Come on." he said excitedly. I took one last look at Greg, who rounded a corner and disappeared in the direction of his house.

I put my hands on the metal fence, hopping over it with the gymnastic elasticity of youth, then walked toward the dark house, which felt darker because of the pine trees around it. There were pine needles piled up on the ground, they squished softly under my Jack Purcells.

**********************************************************************

We approached as predators, jackals, wolves, seeking a vulnerable position where we could strike. There were basement windows, back door windows, side windows. There were windows on the doors.

But as we fanned out around the house, striving to find a gap where we could look in, or break in, we came to the realization that there weren't any. Every window was blocked completely by curtains inside the house.

I was walking with Alan around the front of the house when I saw it, beckoning me - the keyhole in the front door. It was one of those shaped like a keyhole - circle at the top, straight line underneath. It was big, made for a big, old skeleton key - and we would be able to look through it easily to see the booty inside.

Alan saw me looking and caught on. He jumped to the door and called out as he knelt in front of the keyhole. "Guys - around front!"

They all stampeded to us. Alan was alternating between looking into the keyhole and checking attendance. When Danny finally rounded the corner of the house and ran up onto the front porch, Alan smiled and turned back to the keyhole.

We all waited, moving in closer around him. The anticipation was thick in the thin November air.

Danny whispered. "You see anything?"

Alan screamed. "AHHHHHHH!" and jumped back. Larry and Dave screamed as well, startled by Alan's yell.

We all turned to him.

He pointed an unsteady finger at the door.

"Old man Calhoun is in there. Sitting in a chair."

"Get out." Danny scoffed.

"Bullshit." Dave added.

"See for yourself." Alan said, his voice quaking.

No one moved. Time's river slowed to a sludge crawl.

Finally, Danny stepped forward.

"I'll look." He said, blustering with false confidence. We all crowded around him, except Alan, who held back. Danny lowered his head and peered through the keyhole. All of us slowed our breath.

Alan snuck up behind us.

"BOO!" He yelled.

All of us screamed this time. Danny raised up quickly and slammed his head on the doorknob. Alan burst out laughing.

"You guys all pissed your pants!" Alan managed to say, then returned to his hearty laughter.

"Jerk."

"Asshole."

I shook my head and chuckled. He got us. He got us good.

"Did you actually see anything in there?" I asked.

"Beside old man's Calhoun's body?" He said and started laughing again. "Yeah, there's stuff in there, man. You can see it."

**********************************************************************

I shook my head and moved to the door, knelt down and put my eye up to the keyhole.

I backed away and turned to Alan.

"Don't even think about it Alan." His laughter slowed enough for a response.

"No, no. I won't do anything. Look in there. There's some stuff we can get."

I turned back and pressed my eye onto the cold, metal keyhole. At first, I couldn't see anything. But as my eye adjusted to the different light in the house, I started to make out the Calhoun's living room.

"The room where they lived." The thought sounded and echoed in my mind.

My eyes looked further into the house. I could see the dining room. Simple. A wooden, oval table with four chairs around it. There was a cabinet. It looked like there was china in it. Photos and paintings on the wall.

They must have eaten there every day for...what? Fifty years? We didn't see the Calhouns much as they got older, but we saw them in the yard when we were younger, and even back then, they looked really old to us.

They would've eaten together thousands of times at that table. Chicken dinner, spaghetti and meatballs. Liver? Whatever old people ate. Back then.

Back in the 70's, the 60's, the 50's. I guess the Calhouns got married in the 40's.

My eyes moved forward again to the living room - a sofa, two chairs, facing a console with a television on top of it. There were photos, vases, and I think candles on the console too.

I could see the staircase leading upstairs. There were photos ascending the wall next to the steps. Mr. and Mrs. Calhoun in various times and places. I stared at one of the photos that looked like they were in front of an ocean. They were smiling. Mrs. Calhoun's brown hair was shining and blowing in the wind.

"So pretty." I thought.

I lowered my eyes again to the living room. There was a table with a mirror in back. There were more framed photos on it. The Calhouns really liked photos. There were a lot of them.

"A lot of happy memories." I thought. I squinted, trying to make out the subjects of the photos. Most of them were of Mr. and Mrs. Calhoun.

My house only had a few photos. The one of my parents with me and my older brother Brian sitting in front of them. But this was a photo taken by a photographer. I was too young to remember it, but we were clearly posed.

The photos of the Calhouns were different. They were always touching each other - holding hands, hugging.

"Man they really loved each other." I thought.

I saw a photo of a young couple. The man was in a military uniform. The woman was pretty and had on dark lipstick, her teeth shone white. The Calhouns when they were young. Mr. Calhoun didn't look much older than Brian, who was eighteen.

I was mesmerized by this photo; by Mrs. Calhoun's beauty. I had only seen her in the gray frailty of very old age. In the photo, she looked like a movie star. She was entrancing.

**********************************************************************

"Guys, I think I can get this basement window open!" Danny proudly announced.

"Oh yeah." Alan said, and nudged me. "Come on. Let's see what's in there."

I didn't move. I was transfixed by the photos, the dinner table, the aura of the house. A new flower bloomed in my nascent psyche as my eyes moved frantically around the Calhoun's living room and dining room. But I knew I had to stop.

I moved back and stood up, still in a haze. The young Mrs. Calhoun's bright smile and shining hair still in my mind.

I heard a snap. It was Danny getting the basement window open. The rest of the boys let out low cheers and moved closer to the window. I jumped off the porch and ran to them.

"Don't go in that house." I said.

Everyone stopped, confused, and looked at me.

"But...I got the window open." Danny said, in a slight whine.

I wasn't our leader. That was Alan. I was more like Alan's right-hand-boy. But I was the strongest in our group.

There was a hierarchy, with Alan at the top. but everyone knew that if I wanted to, I could take Alan, except Alan, of course, but I was content to let him have that. We hadn't fought.

"I said...don't go in the house. Close that window." Danny looked at Alan, who was looking at me intently. The others were looking back and forth, between me and Alan.

And on that cold, gray, brown day in November, my new bloom spread to Alan.

"Close it." He commanded.

"Aw man." Danny grumbled, and he closed the window.

"Let's go." Alan said, and we all walked back to the metal fence and hopped, or climbed over it.

"So, you guys wanna get up a game?" Larry asked, hopeful that his initial proposal could come to fruition.

Alan looked at me and we exchanged brief smiles. Then he looked at Larry.

"Yeah, Lar. Let's get up a game."