Silver Lining

I am at war. In battle. On guard. I am every day, and have been for as long I can remember. The enemy? A small, slippery, silvery little menace known as The Key.

Big ones, small ones, simple ones, intricate ones, important ones, useless ones, they all have that mystical ability to leap from my left jeans pocket where I put it, to my right coat pocket where I most definitely didn’t; a game designed to confuse and frustrate in equal measure.

If it’s not jumping about my person, it is manoeuvering about my house, scurrying from the desk in my room where I placed it deliberately, and crawling down the back of the sofa in the living room; the last place I look.

But, despite the longevity of this battle, there are only a few instances in which I remember The Key really winning.

One of those times was when I was due to have a New Years Eve party at my parent’s flat at London Bridge, where it took my arrival at Liverpool Street for me to realise I had left the key on the kitchen table next to my empty cereal bowl. Even here though, The Key only managed to make me spend three times as long on the train between Manningtree and London.

This, though, is the one that really rankles:

When I was in uni halls, the battle ceased a little due to the combination of my corridor being quite trustworthy, and the fact I didn’t really possess anything worth stealing, so it meant I didn’t have to worry so much about The Key, as my door was on the latch most of the time.

One night, I decided to go out with some friends, while my corridor buddies chose to stay in. As I was leaving, I glanced around the small room and patted my jean pockets for my keys, but couldn’t find them. The latch would do. What could possibly happen…

So the night progressed, and on the walk back it was suggested that we have a bit of an after-party in someones room. My room, often being messy and unkempt wasn’t the usual candidate, but in this instance, it was suggested, rather explicitly I realise now, with the power of hindsight.

As we entered our halls, a small crowd was now gathering as we made our way through the twisting corridors, every one identical to the last. As we continued, more and more people joined the group, with those that hadn’t even gone out joining the flock. I was like the shepherd, and it was my duty to see them safely to our destination. My drunk brain hadn’t spotted anything amiss quite yet.

I guided the by now heathing throng of people into my corridor, where, as I approached my door, I did the usual patting and searching of pockets. It wasn’t on me, but I recalled the latch, so boisterously encouraged the party onwards.

As we whistled down the corridor, one of my friend’s doors opened, and he came out, extending his hand to me. In it, was The Key. It came as no surprise as I was always leaving it about the place, and I thankfully took it from him and continued down to my room, muttering all the way that I didn’t need it anyway, my door was on the latch…

It wasn’t, and this surprised me, but it was only when I put my key in the lock that the penny dropped. I looked around me at the crowd comprised of the swinging, the swaying, and the singing, and it all became clear. They were here for something! A reason! That was the afterparty! I was about to reveal something that served as an attraction to drunk and sober people alike. They were magpies, squawking and screeching in anticipation of me opening this door…

It was amazing. Like something you could never imagine, unless walking into one of your very own. My room had been replaced by an eerie foil equivalent; everything was silver: the walls, the bed, the desk and everything on it, all individually wrapped; truly, totally, tin-foiled.

As I was pushed in by the joyous hordes behind me, I could do nothing but admire the beautiful pointlessness of the endeavour. Everything clicked into place, with the walk back and the suggestions of the afterparty, to the swelling crowds through Castle Leazes’ corridors, to the return of the real culprit in all this, The Key… I had been pranked.

As I awoke groggily the next morning, and the sun dazzled off every surface in the room, I could take at least a little solace in that, despite the inevitable headache and nausea caused from last night’s excess, I knew I was still alive, alive to fight another day against The Key. Sometimes the silver lining is as thin as a piece of foil.

Dan: