from Hayley, who was a child liked to play with anything grown-up, including keys. she sent a letter in October and another in late December, and now I have sent something back to her and it is August.
From the wonderous Yoshiki, who sent the keys wrapped in his physics exam, on which he scored excellent marks.
Dear Beth,
Here is my key…
It may bring you luck…
It may bring you sadness…
It has brought me both…
I guess it evens itself out…
It is quite ordinary…
But very special also…
The key has traveled with me for many, many years now…
From here on out it will travel with you, my dear Beth.
Much love,
Lorraine
Dear unknown Beth
I’m rather at a loss how to start this. Quite some time ago now, I read your blog asking for other people’s keys. I absolutely loved the idea of collecting the keys— so full of symbols!— and stories of complete strangers.
That day, I decided to send you my keys of Failure and with them my (tearful, rather childish) story of how I failed to learn playing the cello. Then life when on, and I met people, making a new friend (a rare thing for me); and she fully understood and convinced me it’s not easy to keep practicing a difficult instrument, especially as a full-time student, and made me go on.
That day, I decided to send you my keys of Success. Again, life went on, and I never got around to actually writing this letter. I write it today though, not because of my struggle with music that I’ve found out will probably never end, and that’s o.k. It’s o.k. (you probably taught me that.) I will practice and I won’t practice, and if I can keep a balance to these phases, it will be alright.
I write this now to take my mind off tomorrow. This side of the globe, that’s a Monday; and I’ll start my secure job in a huge library in the department of medieval manuscripts and early printings. I’m studying this stuff, and I love old books, so it should be heaven. But I’m a bit scared, too. No, that’s wrong. I’m completely, utterly terrified.
I’ve never worked at such a place, and I’m bad with people and unfamiliar surroundings. I’m afraid at doing mistakes and embarassing myself. And I wonder if this feeling ever stops? I’ve turned 22 last week, still living at home, never worked at a serious place. My heart is racing when I think about tomorrow, and I know it will be worse when I’ll be there, it will be horrible, sweaty palms, thumping heart, tiny voice, trembling hands. Every step on my way up those huge stairs, I will wish to just be home again.
But, and that’s basically why I write to you, why I’m telling you this (and not, say, call my best friend and open my heart to her), somehow thinking of you and all your second family of artists out there makes me feel better. It makes me feel better to know that it’s normal to make mistakes, that this doesn’t go away, miraculously, when you grow up. It makes me feel better to know that I can always turn around again in my life and choose a radically different way. I can don fancy clothes and become a librarian, or I can cut my hair, dye it pink and turquoise again and sell my own fashion line. Or do something else instead, like write all those unfinished novels and live on a houseboat in Amsterdam.
I know I can do this because you showed me it’s possible.
And so… I’m sending you the keys of Self-doubt and Fear and Hope. They’re the keys to my cello case, which I’ve never locked. Turn them into something beautiful.
xxx
Deike
July 20th 2009
Beth-
Enclosed are a homemade set of lockpicks that I made when I was fourteen. To try to prevent me from sneaking out, my mom put a lock on my bedroom door with a double sided keyhole—and she had the only key. Of course, she underestimated my desire to get out of her house every night.
I’m all grown up now and have no more need for them, but for some reason I’ve never been able to just throw them away. Thus, they have made their way to you.
So, not a conventional key, but they unlocked the door to freedom all the same.
Love,
Rebekah
It must have been in the early 2000s, if not 1999, when I first moved to Massachusettes. Being only around 9 or 10, this was only my first or second time in a big city like Boston. I remember that on the edge of a fountain, near a huge building (now I assume it must have been a building of apartments), I found this monster key. I justified taking it because it was in plain sight for anyone to take (and of course there’s the rule of “finder’s keepers”). After I took it home, I realized that taking this key may have actually left someone in anxiety for the loss of their key. With a little regret, but mostly out of pride for my first rebellious act, I stuck this oversized key on a tiny little purse up until now, months before my 18th birthday. Only recently did I unearth my purse and find this key again. On behalf of the mysterious previous owner, I hope this reminds you (or anyone else) not to leave oversized keys where little girls can take them!
Best Regards,
The Monstrous Key Owner/Thief
(note: it’s worth pointing out that Sylvia K, who sent this key, is a tremendous artist. she is modest on the internet, but her work is worth seeking out, and she did a beautiful portrait of me that can be seen here.)
Once upon a time, in a small town in Italy (constantly plunged into fog), there was a little girl in a pretty red coat. She felt lost, lonely, clinging tight to her stuffed animals. All the time, she drew. But she was somehow ashamed of it, and hurriedly hid her sketches in a locked drawer. No… that little girl was me. I have been sharing my art (in fact, giving it away too… I own very little of it) for years, and it’s the most beautiful feeling ever. Therefore, I don’t need the key to my secret drawer anymore. I’m sure you’ll have a better use for it.
-Sylvia K
Dear Beth,
This key used to open the door to the garden in my building. We lost our home in 2005, and were rehoused in a really nasty area. I fought hard to get out.
When I got the letter saying we could move I jumped for joy and twisted my ankle. Good, eh?
I’m grateful every day for living here and for the garden. Despite living almost in the city centre, it’s huge, full of trees and my wee boy and I often see squirrels, magpies and all sorts of other creatures.
They changed the lock a little while ago (and neglected to give me a new key…), and so it seems right and proper to send you the old key. I hope it’s not too heavy for your dental floss.
Love,
Julie
