Locking Yourself Out, Then Trying to Get Back In
You simply go out and shut the door
without thinking. And when you look back
at what you’ve done
it’s too late. If this sounds
like the story of a life, okay.
It was raining. The neighbours who had
a key were away. I tried and tried
the lower windows. Stared
inside at the sofa, plants, the table
and chairs, the stereo set-up.
My coffee cup and ashtray waited for me
on the glass-topped table, and my heart
went out to them. I said, Hello, friends,
or something like that. After all,
this wasn’t so bad.
Worse things had happened. This
was even a little funny. I found the ladder.
Took that and leaned it against the house.
Then climbed in the rain to the deck,
swung myself over the railing
and tried the door. Which was locked,
of course. But I looked in just the same
at my desk, some papers, and my chair.
This was the window on the other side
of the desk where I’d raise my eyes
and stare out when I sat at that desk.
This is not like downstairs, I thought.
This is something else.
And it was something to look in like that, unseen,
from the deck. To be there, inside, and not be there.
I don’t even think I can talk about it.
I brought my face close to the glass
and imagined myself inside,
sitting at the desk. Looking up
from my work now and again.
Thinking about some other place
and some other time.
The people I had loved then.
I stood there for a minute in the rain.
Considering myself to be the luckiest of men.
Even though a wave of grief passed through me.
Even though I felt violently ashamed
of the injury I’d done back then.
I bashed that beautiful window.
And stepped back in.
Raymond Carver
rakkity
That’s a nightmare I’ve had a few times. But before I break in, I always wake up. On the other hand, a similar thing has happened to me once.
I stepped out of my car holding the key,
Helplessly, I watched it be deflected by the closing door,
To land inside as it shut
Solidly,
Soundly,
Unforgivingly.
Through the windshield,
There was the key on the floor,
I could see it mocking me.
adam
Our kids several times kicked in a single-pane basement transom when they came home without a key, but never a main window … My own version (only twice in 2 years) is arriving at the office to find that my keys are still on my dresser. No B&E yet.
Rakk, this is the first I’ve known you to be a poet … ! Well done! Much as I hate the chirping noise, the keyless entry systems of today do minimize locking onesself out of one’s car, ’cause you “beep” it closed as you walk away after getting out.
Hilster's Mom
Love the symbology. So beautiful.
I have a couple of favorite “lost key” stories. The first is mine. I pulled into work the first day of a new job. Was digging things out of my trunk, Dunkin’ Donuts and coffee to be exact (I always buy my friends the first week of a new job). When I went to slam the trunk, my finger that was through the key ring extended and the force of the slam sent them sailing over head across the parking lot. They landed with a very satisfying “kerplunk” into a grated storm drain filled with water and other city sludge. Long story short, the facilities folks spent the better part of the day fishing them out with a magnet and string and deservedly eating Dunkin’ Donuts. I made very little friends at that job.
The second belongs to my husband. He went through a spell of locking his keys in his car in the same place at least once a week. It was like a virus that wouldn’t go away. He would call the same tow company each time. By the 5th time, the driver felt so sorry for him that he didn’t charge him the next 3 times. The spell finally passed and now he keeps 3 sets of keys on him at all times.
michael
Matthew claims we never gave him a house key and that’s why he and his friends have always climbed up on the roof to enter our house through his bedroom window.
But, no one else see this as metaphor for his life. That he was finally able to step outside of himself to view his marginal existence, but once outside felt isolated. And that the first floor represented his routine existence while the second floor his ability to rise above it, to self-reflect. When outside and apart, he saw what was good though he knew, down deep that his life had become something other than what he’d hoped for. And only in the past, in the people he loved then, in some other place was he truly happy. And that finally, though he recognizes his complicity in his own sins, he steps back in.
Jennifer
You sound so sure, Michael, of exactly how the metaphor works. I suspect we all got that it was metaphorically about a life (something about your title, if nothing else!), but I’m not sure I agree about all the ramifications of the metaphor.
Jennifer
Oh, yeah, key stories. The time Lew walked past me in our entry-room, locked me out, and went on to work when I was in my PJs. The time I locked my car keys in my car while it was running. (The AAA guy said if his wife didn’t have N-star [or whatever it’s called], they’d be in trouble — she had locked their baby in the car, running and not running, something like 5 times.)
rakkity
Never have I seen such a long-winded philosophical ramble on why one doesn’t give his kid a key to his house. The sequence from “Matthew claims we never gave him a house key”, to the last, “though he recognizes his complicity in his own sins, he steps back in” is the most convoluted metaphorical jumble I’ve ever read. I’m tempted to use it myself to explain why we’ve never given Katie a house key. But I’ll have to read that again a couple of times to get the razmatazz straight.
smiling Dan
Disappointed as I read on, to learn that it was not you who had locked himself out of the Olds’ Nantucket residence on a rainy morning this weekend.
Was dying to hear how you got back in–and give Q some competition in the saga department.
Hil K
My dorm room door locks automatically so you have to keep your keys on you at all times. Needless to say, I’ve locked myself out twice in my first week and my RDA is starting to remember me for the wrong reasons.
Jennifer
Um, rakkity, you getting enough sleep? … Michael was explaining the POEM in his second paragraph.
michael
Speaking of well rested (just back from Chappaquiddick) , I have to reply to Hilster’s Mom. Those storm grates are my near-worst nightmare. I seem to always park near one, and I have the same relationship with those murky potential key confiscators as I’ve heard some people do with heights. Like the urge to jump, when I walk by a storm grate, keys in hand, I feel the damn thing calling so loudly I just want to throw my keys in. Now that I know how to retrieve them I’m thinking their power over me will have lessened.
And Hil K, the cost to Matthew to replace his lost dorm key is something over $300.00.
Mother K
I laughed so hard when I read that MMM wants to throw his keys into the storm grate. The amazing things I learn about my own husband, just by reading the blog!
rakkity
Uh, Jennifer, no, I guess I’m not getting enough sleep.
What with our son Patrick’s wedding, the sale of our Maryland house, a contract on a new house in Colorado, and helping my sister move my sick (94-year old) father to a new apartment in Simi Valley, CA–all within a 2 week period.
Got off the red eye this morning. What state is this, anyway? Not even enough time in my schedule for racquetball.
Jennifer
Michael, if Matt locks himself out he doesn’t need to replace the key. On the other hand, if he hears his father calling from inside the storm drain and he throws it in, he might. (I had written “he will” but then I realized Matt will surely find a way around it anyway. He’s the one who saved Hilary B. when she got locked out of her place in Nica after curfew and she couldn’t get her stuff before a weekend trip.)