Something Lost, Something Gained

A few years ago, I lost my keys.  The most significant key on that ring was my car key, the programmed kind that opened the door remotely.  Once that was gone, I was left with a single, non-programmed key.  And soon after that, the rubber top of it broke, making it impossible to attach it to a key ring.  I carried it singly, in my purse, in my ID badge, occasionally in my pocket, fully aware that I was living on borrowed time.

Jackson borrowed my car last night to go to his night class at ACC.  He called me around 8:30.  “Mom, I’m sorry….kinda bad news….I lost the key.”  He’d been coming out of a building, pulled something out of his pocket, and the key went flying.  He’d been looking for about 15 minutes and wanted to keep trying. I called him 20 minutes later, when it was raining, and told him to grab a bus and we’d deal with it tomorrow.

Even worse than the money was the energy and time this was going to require.  I had tried to get a duplicate key made last year, and learned that only Champion Toyota, where I’d bought the thing, could make a key that would start it, rather than just unlock it.  So, I’d have to first find the car, which was in metered parking, try to put some kind of notice on it to stave off a ticket, call Champion Toyota to explain the situation and make sure that they could actually do this, find a towing place, and have it towed to Champion. A programmed key would cost about $150, but even worse, I guess they’d have to make it without an original to copy from, so God knows how much that would jack it up.  My head hurt just thinking about it.

I hung up the phone.  Deep breath.  My go-to instincts – irritation, blame, exasperation – were surfacing, but so were some deeper truths.  I had lost not just the key, but the entire key ring myself, for God’s sake.  It was only a few weeks ago that, lost in thought, I’d run a red light and hit another car.  Jackson obviously felt terrible, as his subsequent texts showed.

I let it go.  Texted him back that it could have happened to anyone, and “we’ll figure something out like we always do.” I remembered the sweet, generous-hearted girls who I had run into who kept assuring me they were fine, don’t worry about it. It was my turn.  I could extend grace, or I could add to the stress in the world. 

The next morning, I planned to take the bus to ACC and look for it myself.  I woke Jackson up early, and he tried to give me specific instructions as to where he’d dropped the key, then gave up and decided to come with me.  We got to ACC and he lead the way to the scene of the crime: a landscaped patch about 8 x 12, covered with dense, tangled vines, inches thick.  And after 20 minutes, I found it.

I'm glad it happened. If it hadn't, here's what I would have missed:  Jackson and I sitting side by side on the bus, discussing his recent discovery of, and passion for, the Beatles, sharing his ipod to listen to the "Revolver" album.  Whooping and high-fiving each other when I triumpantly held up the missing key. Driving to McDonald's for a celebratory English McMuffin and coffee before heading back to work. Being reminded once again how much I love that boy. 

Well, it's almost 9:00, and Banks and I are just about ot head out.  It's been a long but satisfying day.