Updated: Mar 12
There was a door in my house I used to find impossible to open. No matter how hard I tried, I could never do so. This door connects my conservatory to the rest of the house. Long ago, before I was born and before my parents built a room made of glass to pointlessly extenuate the rest of the house; this would have been our home’s front door. I suppose it fits it’s purpose in that case. Doors that lock automatically once you’ve closed them.
The first weekend I spent in my godmother’s house, neither of us could unlock this door. We had to call my mother; who shouted down the phone at us to ‘turn the key towards the beach and turn the handle to the village’. We ended up using another door. Our next choice would have been the kitchen window.
Funnily enough, I have no problem opening the door now. In fact, I barely turn the key and it opens automatically. Nevertheless, I still feel a fright, as though I should be leaving the door open. In my grandparent’s house the front door not only locks itself, but can’t be opened from the outside. The back door is the only way of entering the house. Once we’d park the car, we had to decipher which of us would be the one to open the back door. It felt like such a chore, in comparison to sitting still in the warm car. Having said that, whenever it was my turn to grab the key I felt a rush of exhilaration. Letting other people inside the house was in my control!
I’ve never been good with keys; losing them, forgetting them, putting them in the wrong locks (house keys in lockers). Keys and their double meanings. Hilarious really, being gifted a key on your birthday. Your key to life. Key to adulthood. Key to success. The key doesn’t always work.