My in laws, whom I love, came to visit us from Italy and stayed at our house for a month. On the rushed, logistically complex, bittersweet morning of their departure, they piled their suitcases and their selves into the car and I walked out, closing the door behind me. In a sudden frantic flash, we realized that we did not have the keys, not to the car, not to the house. There we were, with barely enough time to get to the airport, and we were locked out.
If “locked out” doesn’t have a ring of finality to it, a ring of fatality to it, let me try again: Locked. Out.
After a minute of full-fledged panic we happened to find a spare car key and Luca dashed them to the airport while I remained behind trying to determine the best way to deal with the tragicomic (well, tragic now, comical some day far, far into the future) situation I found myself in (or rather, out.)
I won’t provide brain-numbing detail. I’ll just say that while I waited for a locksmith, I remained outside for almost four hours, with no means of transport, no cell phone or blackberry coverage, no food, no heat, no coat, no water and no bathroom.
In my frustrated desperation and fury I thought about the irony of feeling so trapped - trapped outdoors rather than within an enclosed space. I thought about how so very badly I had yearned to have the house back all to myself and now, in the first hours of having this privilege finally arrive, have it revoked so cruelly, mine, and yet remaining just beyond my grasp.
We should be very specific when we wish for something.