The Coat Was Right There

Thirty minutes. I want to be precise about that. Not five minutes, not a quick confused moment at the door, thirty minutes of standing in the hallway, sitting on the bottom step, going through my bag twice, checking my jeans pockets four times, briefly considering whether I had left my keys at the coffee shop two days ago, and then, eventually, reaching into the pocket of the jacket I had been holding over my arm the entire time.

The keys were in the jacket. They have always been in the jacket. I put them there myself, presumably, at some point yesterday, and then this morning I picked the jacket up and slung it over my arm instead of putting it on because it was warmer out than I expected, and then I locked the door behind me, and then I thought: wait. Where are my keys. And instead of checking the jacket, the object in my hands, I checked everything else first. My bag. My jeans. The little bowl by the door that I could not reach because I was locked out. The jacket waited patiently.

the posture of someone who has been sitting there a while

I've been thinking lately about the number I wrote on paper last month, the rough monthly figure I decided I was comfortable spending, the way writing it down made it feel like something I could actually work with. And I think there's something related happening here, which is that I keep looking past the obvious thing. The jacket was in my hands. The number was already in my account. Sometimes the answer is just, there. Waiting. While I check every other pocket first.

they were here. they were always here.

Anyway. I was late to nothing, because I have nowhere to be on a Friday morning, which is either the silver lining or the whole point. The sketchbook is open on the kitchen table. Gerald is fine. The keys are on the hook where they belong now, which is where they will stay, probably until tomorrow when I do this again.