This Sunday, let’s hear it for keychains: keeping our wild-hearted keys in check every day, and with nearly no thanks.
On Monday, I headed to the post office to mail some packages. There was a dude (not a guy, not a man, but decidedly, a dude) in front of me in the line.
He was applying for a passport, and as he turned to make a copy of some document, I saw a large key ring dangling from his jeans. His name was on one of the keychains. Nathan.
So I thought about those times in movies when some stranger whispers the name of the protagonist intensely, and the protagonist turns, startled, and gasps, “How did you know my name?” And then the mysterious person dodges the question and makes some kind of vague but relevant prophecy. And I realized I was in that moment, except in real life.
“Nathan.”
He turns; his passport papers flutter to the ground.
“How did you know my name?”
“Nathan, that thing you are so worried about. Do not fear. All will be well.”
Tears form around the rims of the eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers, lip trembling. “Thank you.”
But before I could do that, it was my turn to mail a letter. And the post office is so slow anyway….I didn’t want to hold things up.
Next time.
