The Elements Behind Losing the House Key and a Revealing Conversation

I went through my backpack to find the house key I usually kept there. I have a long history of misplacing a lot of things. But it’s only been to the extent that I’ve only been mildly inconvenienced. In the past, if I had lost my key I would only need to wait a few hours before my mother arrived home. Waiting wasn’t all that bad, but the sight of someone standing outside of a door for hours on end certainly was humiliating.

If I couldn’t find my key now, then it’d be a different story however. For the past few months, my mother began to start working late. She apparently works an office job at a marketing company a city over. She wouldn’t be back until the early morning. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem—I could just knock. But she’s been called into work earlier recently. I doubt I had the fortitude to withstand sleeping right outside of the house door.

I began to shuffle around and try to find it in all of the obscure places I possibly could’ve put it in. I couldn’t hear much of a metallic sound coming from my bag and I grew increasingly worried. I believe that I spent a good five minutes of shaking the bag and rummaging through the now mixed contents of the bag. Still I came up with nothing. I was a little distressed and in light of that I proceeded to remove everything from my bag in one fell swoop. It would’ve been easier than going through the loose items.

I tried to look in between the pages of my notebooks and textbooks and was short of my key. Every second I spent was one that I grew a little closer in despair. I eventually managed to get my key. I was celebrating in the presence of all of my schoolwork and books scattered throughout the outside of the apartment. I probably should apologize to the neighbors for possibly tempting them to call the police about the actions of a strange person celebrating erratically.

As I picked up my things and put them back in my bag haphazardly, my mother opened the door. She was confused as to why everything was randomly scattered in front of the door. I told her about how I seemed to have lost my key and began to frantically search for it. Throughout my explanation she seemed to have a stark confusion on her face. Her confusion towards me seemed to grow as I kept explaining, until she brokered in and told me why I couldn’t just use the doorbell.

“Even when I head to work early, I’m still here when you get home. You could’ve just rang the doorbell or knocked.” She said almost trying to stop herself from face palming.

“You really are your father’s son,” she joked, “For someone who loves logic, you seem to lack a great deal of it. This is good timing anyhow. I have to head into work early today.” She said in a hurry. “They’re calling me into work earlier than usual. I prepared dinner in advance.”

“Yeah, yeah… Don’t worry about it, I’ll make sure to tell them.” I said, knowing that I didn’t need to be reminded of something seemingly obvious.

“Also, I’ll have to call you later, it’s actually really important. I can’t tell you now or else I’m gonna be late.” She told me as she was starting to walk out the door.

I wished her a good day at work as she headed out the door. Afterwards, I headed to my room that was just beyond the small living room and kitchen respectively. I placed down my bag onto the bed and slowly started to put everything back into its original place. I was going to lose something else or damage my belongings if I left it as it was. I laid everything out onto my bed. There was a strange sense of order to the disorganized pile of notebooks and other important papers. It resembled one of those convoluted evidence boards that sometimes appear on detective shows.

It was certainly a process. Repeating what I did outside of the front door was a bit disconcerting. I put things back as they were, or at the very least something that pacified my desire for organization. I spent all of that time trying to revise every nook and cranny to make sure that I hadn’t lost the key. That second search brought me nothing, maybe a feeling of relief that it wasn’t in my bag, but further anxieties about where it could’ve gone. That being the case, I slowly but surely cleared the remaining clutter on my bed, leaving it to return to being half tended.

If it wasn’t in my bag, it was bound to be somewhere else in the room. I looked at my desk situated by a window that had a limited view of the river and several ornamental trees placed outside of its perimeter. The rest of the view consisted of the cityscape and warm lights that shined brightly at night. I didn’t move much from the desk. Unlike everything else in my room, it was one of the few places that I regularly kept clean. I didn’t find anything there. But now was as good a time as any to put the geometry textbook I removed from my bag and place it on the desk it usually sat upon when not in use.

It would normally sit on top of another textbook on the right corner of the desk. It was only then that I noticed that there was knocking on the front door and placed the textbook on my chair for the time being. I didn’t even need to see how it was, it was definitely my siblings who just came home. I opened the door for them and for some reason they had a scornful look directed towards me. I questioned why they directed this contemptful expression towards me when they told me they’ve been knocking for five minutes straight and only now did I hear them. They spent the next ten minutes or so reprimanding me.

Afterwards, I told them what my mother had told me earlier before she left and for them to behave. They seemed to shrug it off as they both went to their rooms. I forgot what I was doing before my siblings came home, so I also went to my room. I took out my phone from my coat pocket and felt a strange small object fall to the ground.

It didn’t make much of a noise, but it noticeably sounded as if it was some heavy object despite its size. It was… my key… Turns out it was placed between the outside of the pocket and my phone. I didn’t notice anything feeling odd because of it. So I was finally relieved and left to continue through the rest of my day with a pleasant feeling.

I headed towards the chair by my desk that had my textbook sitting rather comfortably on top of it. It was just occupying space where I needed it most, so I usually put it on top of the other textbook I left at the corner of my desk. It definitely had a little wear and tear and seemed to age rather well despite how long it’s actually been in my possession.

That textbook was originally my father’s. It was one of several books my father lent out to me as a way to bond. His study was full of these books on a wide array of math topics. He used to be the professor of mathematics for a large university actually. This textbook was one of several things that had a permanent spot on my desk.

It’s accompanied by a book that I had acquired on advanced geometry—the book I carry along with me through school. But despite bringing it with me everyday, it felt natural to leave it atop of my father’s textbook. They sat there peacefully and with neither wishing to be separated for so long. I always found myself shedding a tear whenever I placed my textbook on the one given to me by my father.

I felt more at ease once I had settled down. Everything that needed to be done on my end was complete. I could always make my bed, but I didn’t really find much desire to. I also didn’t have a reason to eat as of now. I could only just wander around until I felt like pursuing something—anything really.

Turns out they were eating without me. They saw the food already left on the table and simply reheated it. They are more capable than they seem. I only needed to make sure they actually ate their dinner. They are picky eaters sometimes. So throwing their dinner in the trash because of the taste wasn’t something that I would put past them.

I would eat later. I decided that I should get a start on my geometry textbook. I removed it from atop my father’s and began to go around to prove one of the theorems in the textbook. I veered from the latter part of the textbook which contained the dreaded theorem I haven’t been able to approach for months. In my eyes, it was something that wasn’t solvable so I left it at that.

I did try a few days ago to attempt my hand at it, but I had no idea how to begin or what to use. It’s likely something I’ll get back to another day. I skimmed around to the parts of the textbook that I hadn’t explored concisely. I eventually stumbled across one towards the middle of the book. But I couldn’t quite see the problem in its entirety so I turned on my desk lamp.

The bright orange wasn’t as vibrant as it was only a few minutes ago. The traces of blue and purple were starting to set upon the sky. It was a sign of sorts, telling me that working through this problem at this time, I’d likely wouldn’t get a good amount of sleep. But it seemed as if my own personal definition of a necessary amount of sleep was lacking in many ways than one.

If last night was anything to go by, I would be on the verge of falling asleep at my desk. I think I was bound to pass out at any moment, but then my phone started to ring from the top of my desk. At this point, I was being kept half conscious by the warm lamp light. My listlessness started to take the better of me until I heard a loud ringing from my phone.

I was tempted to ignore it and go to bed, but a part of me was curious about what was so important to demand a phone call. I lacked any grave anxiety about this fact. I was hard-pressed to answer, even though I knew that it was probably nothing that serious. I didn’t recall ever putting myself in a precarious situation. I realistically had nothing to worry about, yet still I exercised a bit of caution when I answered.

“Hey mom, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?” I mumbled towards my phone.

I think she could tell that I was riddled with weariness when I spoke with an audible muteness to my voice. She seemed to pause a little bit. She had wanted to take her time for what she had wanted to tell me. I was all the more anxious about this conversation. It seemed to be something she wanted to tell me about desperately. I admired the scenic view from the left side of my window as a way to calm myself for what lay ahead.

“You know how I love to talk to you about your childhood, right?” She began as discreetly as one could.

“I know you do, but… why are you bringing that up?” I said, trying to understand where this was going.

“Well, do you remember that one family we lived next to when you were a child?”

“I don’t really remember much about that.” I responded with conceded honesty.

“Regardless… they’re people that we’ve known for quite a long time. I know Eiko and Yosuke have fond memories of them… I’m curious. Do you remember their daughter, Ichiko? She used to be one of your closest friends at the time.” She clarified further.

“When your father lent you books from his study, you’d run over and show them to her… A lot of kids played with toys or… those playground games to have fun. You know that. But you seemed to have fun in your own way and… you shared that with her.”

“You’d be showing Ichiko some of the math you’ve been working on… I think both of you found it… really fun to share things with one another. She was phenomenally talented… I’m just reminiscing. This was all before they decided to move away.”

My mother stopped herself abruptly. She continued by asking if I knew why they had left. If I honestly knew the reason at one point, I wouldn’t remember now. She wanted me to be sure of the reason in its entirety. They’d moved away due to her grandmother’s poor health. They owned a decently-sized farm a few hours away and since she wasn’t as able, what became a temporary arrangement to help around the farm became permanent.

“Knowing Ichiko, I think she wanted to put you at ease when she inevitably told you…”

My mother paused for a while. She wanted me to give me time to process all of what she told me. What she told me about this person only seemed to sow doubt within me, but also a melancholy that grew from a regret of possibly forgetting. If there truly existed a person like this, why and how could I forget such a person. A part of me felt conflicted with a reality I don’t remember.

There could’ve been a person who existed by the name of Ichiko. Yet a person that special surely would’ve left a mark on my life.. I'm sure I would’ve remembered—no, could’ve remembered. But it felt that this wouldn’t have been the case. I’m unsure about a lot of things in my past. Most of my childhood seems to have been a faint memory. I can recall a great many things but certain things just don’t feel as if they belong in that memory.

“I’ll tell you the reason why I wanted to talk to you about this.” My mother said, treading her words carefully.

“It’s been several years now. I’ve heard recently that they’re planning on moving to our area. I thought it’d be best for you to… reconnect. I think… Having something that connects you with your past might really help you in the long term. It’s just a feeling that I have. Call it whatever you’d like.”

“When are they going to be moving here?” I interjected.

I felt that I had more pressing questions at the forefront of my mind. Some that probably brought answers as complicated as they would be lengthy. Admittedly, I didn’t possess the clarity to understand them nor was it time or place for these answers. Or more truthfully, perhaps I didn’t want to hear those answers.

“They should begin moving probably within a week or so… In the meantime, I think you should prepare to welcome them. It’s getting late, so you should rest on this. I have to leave anyway.” She concluded before I ended the call right then and there.