The key, by Leonor Henríquez

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I lost a key.

An important key.

I panicked and began a desperate search.

First, I looked in the most obvious places, my handbag, pockets, drawers, shelves.

I tried to find a spare one, but nothing.

I took a deep breath and decided to undertake the search more serenely.

The worst that could happen would be having me to call a locksmith.

I invoked my new mantra for this year: everything can be resolved.

Calmly, I retraced my steps from the beginning of the day.

I started looking at unexpected places and corners, and while I did, I found pleasant surprises. As it usually happens, we find treasures while looking for something else.

So, it was.

I found a postcard, in my mother’s handwriting, Bariloche, 1977.

The “Romancero Gitano” (Gypsy Ballads) by García Lorca, who brought me the verse of… the lanterns went out and the crickets were lit…

A cigarette from the love of my life, hidden at the bottom of a shelf, perhaps from the time when he tried, unsuccessfully, to quit.

For a moment I forgot about the key and let myself be carried away by the pleasure of the search.

I filled my hands with the dust of memories.

This is how I found a lost earring, a South African coin, a bone-shaped cookie from my grumpy but beloved dog, Sancho, my four-legged knight.

Suddenly the lost key appeared, there it was, laughing, on the entrance table. The truth is that I did not feel much joy finding my key and a reminder of my lack of attention.

The adventure of the search had been much more fascinating to me than the finding.

There I was, sitting on the floor, plethoric, with my hands full of dust, an old postcard, a poem, an earring, a coin with the aroma of baobabs, lions and elephants, memories of my dear pet, an unsmoked cigarette, and that other key.

The happiness one, maybe…

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