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Locks and KeysOctober 07, 2007 I went through Vineyard Haven on my way home from the barn. I needed milk, and since there was absolutely no cash in my wallet I also needed money. The parking lot at the M.V. Co-op Bank was deserted. I hit the ATM in the foyer, slipping $50 into my wallet as I returned to the truck. Rhodry looked at me expectantly. As usual, I explained that the ATM doesn't dispense cookies. As usual, he bought my excuse but didn't believe it. There's no lock on the door to the bank's foyer. You don't have to use your card to get in, and you don't have to think twice about walking across a deserted parking lot with money in your wallet. I've taken this for granted for so long that I have to remind myself that I'm taking it for granted. When did I move into this apartment? The very end of this past February. Last week Sarah gave me my keys. Tonight I tried them out. The one into Sarah's studio, where my bathroom is, works fine. The two for the deadbolts -- one in the downstairs outside door, one in the door to my deck -- work from one side but not the other, and the upstairs one won't come out of the keyhole when the bolt is shot. One of these days we'll get around to making another copy. When I left D.C. in the summer of 1985, all my jeans had right hip pockets that were nearly worn through because that's where I carried my key chain. I remember that key chain because I wrote a poem about it, "The Key Sestina," not long after I moved here. Once upon a time, nearly all the doors I passed through required a key coming and going. Lammas Bookstore had a security system that had to be neutralized within a few seconds of passing through the front door. I still remember the code: 3-1-2-4, which was (and still is) the p.o. box number for Ladyslipper Music in Durham, North Carolina. The store was long gone from that location before it closed for good a few years ago, so don't you go trying to break in. I'm not even sure if the building's still there. I'd have a hard time living with that many keys again. If I had to, I could probably recultivate my old reflexes, and pad my jeans pockets so they wouldn't wear through. I hope I won't have to. Locked doors have this subliminal effect on your psyche, even when you've got the keys. Each locking of the door is a vote of no-confidence in the universe, and an assertion of control that is probably more illusory than real. Around here UPS and FedEx drivers leave your parcels inside the door if the weather looks dicey. I like that.
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