“Wow,” he said, feeling the two keys in his hand.
The stranger’s voice interrupted my thoughts, rattling me as we stood in line to sign into the conference.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had more than one key on my keychain,” he continued. The keys clinked together, and his face flushed. I could not tell if he was slightly embarrassed or sad; I had an inkling that he was both.
We parted ways, checking onto the campus where we would be staying. I threaded the assigned room key upon my keyring. The tip of my finger ached, reminding me how much tension exists in the act of putting on and taking off.
After the last session of the first day, I broke from the crowd and found a spot of shade provided by a tree that dipped its branches and leaves into a nearby stream. Under its arc, I could see across the waterway. My eyes scanned the trees like books on a shelf carved from the sunset.
I noticed a man waving at me, anticipating that my eyes would soon land on him. Smiling, I waved back, realizing this was the same gentleman I saw this morning.
He got up and made his way to where I was sitting, balancing upon rocks within the stream to bridge his space into mine.
“Hi,” he said shyly. “Do you mind if I join you? If not, I can try to make it back across the tumultuous divide again.” He gave a nod to the peaceful babbling brook.
I laughed with him, but I also noticed the nervous energy in his voice. The stream appeared peaceful to me, but it took courage for him to cross it to come my way. He felt tension, and I felt tranquility, and yet, the stream was still the stream.
“Well, we wouldn’t want to risk injury on your first day,” I replied. “Of course, join me.”
I scooted over to allow us both to rest in the shade. “What an exhausting first day,” I said, more to myself than to him.
“Sorry for my pathetic comment this morning,” he began. “And sorry for scaring you.”
“There seems to be quite a lot of ‘sorrys’ coming from someone I don’t even know the name of.” I looked at him, and he was already smiling.
He put his set of keys down and extended his hand. “I’m Charles.”
Shaking Charles’ hand, I introduced myself and asked about his first apology.
“What pathetic comment do you think you made this morning?”
“You know, the one about it being a long time since I had more than one key on my keychain,” he said.
I remembered Charles’ comment and how his face looked both sad and grateful. “I never thought your comment was pathetic; quite the contrary. I wanted you to explain further. I was curious — still am — about what you were thinking about.”
Charles gave me a lingering stare that would have made me uncomfortable in a general setting, but there was nothing general about this moment. Charles stared at me as if there was a tightrope between his eyes and mine. I felt him leaning into my presence and peace for balance as he started talking again.
“These stupid thin, small rings,” he said.
Picking up the ring that held his two keys, Charles continued.
“We secure keys upon these rings that open locks, giving us access to significant places like home or work.” He tossed the keys into the grass between us. “We put our most essential keys upon a ring that is made to have things added and removed. Think about that. Even in this small task, we are reminded that everything here is temporary.”
Charles’ keys were within reach yet appeared very far away.
“Explain more if you are willing,” I said.
“This time last year, I had four keys. Four. One for the home I shared with my wife of 27 years. One for our storage unit because she had to decorate every holiday, and we did not have enough closet space for Christmas and Easter.”
I noticed him picking at the grass in the silence between his sentences. I waited, not pressuring him to speak.
“The third key was for our daughter’s apartment. It was the first place that she lived on her own after college. She didn’t know how to make toast or balance her budget, but she was doing alright.”
“And the fourth key?” I asked.
“My job,” he said dryly.
“What happened?”
Charles took a fist of grass into his left hand and wrestled with trying to loosen it from the ground.
“I lost four keys in one day,” he said.
“Sorry? Not following.”
“Car accident. My wife and my daughter. They went shopping together on a Saturday afternoon. I lost everything in one day. One moment, I was the poster child for living the American dream, and the next, I was living a nightmare. I couldn’t function after they died. I lost my job. I had to move… the memories were too tangible. I used the time to clear out our storage unit and my daughter’s place. I kept thinking that I wished I were the one who had died that day. In a way, I did.”
Charles and I continued to speak on and off throughout the remaining days of the conference. He became a living reminder to me of life’s aches and how much tension exists in the act of putting on and taking off — of adapting to the changes that come, with or without our permission.
As we navigate this week, may we remember that each of us is in a stage of transition, whether visible or not. Some feel the discomfort of threading something new into their lives or removing what is no longer meant to remain.
May we practice holding space for one another. We never know whom God is positioning in our lives for a reason, even if only for a short season.
This column was initially published by CherryRoad Media. ©Tiffany Kaye Chartier.
