Finally at home I might have thought as I reached into my bag for my keys, only to realize that I have left them a one hour long drive away, that from this morning till Wednesday night my husband is at least five hours of a flight away, his keys are with him, and even if they were at home, it would be even more nerve wrecking to think of them as being almost within arm's reach.
I turn around and rush out of the building. I grab my mobile phone to call some friends to get the phone number of the squash club where the competition was held at, my hands colder than usual, my mind racing with images of people and relatively far away places that seem like vast distances, and my mind is flooding with ideas even when I already have a solution and dial the number of the cleaning lady. I talk to her son, ask for their address and head for the tram stop, only to first rush into the grocery store where I know Noemi and Robin to be, who hold the key to the phone number of the squash club, which I may need, and I need to talk to them, because I don't have their phone number, and even if I knew, it would only make me angry, as my phone refuses to work any longer. I rush in a frenzy, knowing I would not be able to see them even if they were there.
Alone. Waiting for the tram, pacing up and down, impatiently, trying to put up with the piercing cold wind. I try to call a long time friend who perhaps does not get the fact that my husband is abroad, because I am too dumb to say or because I don't have the time. Because I don't want to make a fuss or panic, either. I simply ask if he could give me a lift, even though I cannot decide whether I need a lift to the cleaning lady's apartment, or back to the squash club. I know I can get to her place on my own quite easily, it would just be nice not to have someone for company. I leave half a message on another friend's phone, half-witted and cut off, but it does not matter, really, I don't need a lift as I am already on the tram, and my only concern is the iciness of my fingers, and that has never bothered me much. I manage to turn my phone on twice and memorize the cleaning lady's phone number. It is a noisy business with all the beeps, apparently the most annoying to me.
Then, when I have it, I take a seat. Two stops later, a guy sits down opposite me, his friend standing beside him. The guy has a cigarette in his hand, still glowing. I cannot help but think whether he thinks the world revolves around him, then it seems he simply forgot to put the cigarette out on alighting the tram, and if by chance it has happened so, he decides to smoke it. If I don't mind. I tell him I don't, and when I get ready to get off, he wishes me well, as sincere as such a wish can be, though saying "I don't" and "it is not a tennis racquet, but a squash racquet" are the only things I tell him besides saying good-bye.
I make two phonecalls from two different phoneboots not too difficult to find, the first I find very supportive of my mission as it returns all the money. He comes down and hands me the key, then tells me his Mom wants to talk to me to make sure I am who I claimed myself to be. Her reasons justified, I can only be thankful for her son's help, and the luck that he stayed home tonight. I wonder what it might feel like to be grateful and obliged to the one who has actually saved one's life.
I put the keys in my pocket. Then I put them in my bag, and I check and double-check. Their sound soothes me. I decide to walk a little, in spite of the wind freezing my hair which is still damp from playing squash all day, and it is sheer luck that I catch a tram and don't have to wait too long. I am counting the stops, one by one, like never before as step-by-step the city slowly puts on its familiar face.
I break down and start to cry as soon as he calls. He tells me everything is OK, and he is right. I know I could have stayed at my mother's place, or at several friends I did not even bother to contact. I could have taken a taxi, money does not matter in emergency, or even a train to get my keys back. All feasible ideas, a plethora of solutions, still, I don't want anything or anyone except him, even though it feels good when people check back on me and offer help, regardless of what they may have planned for the night. I know no problem is too difficult and no distance too great if there is a way to go on. I know it is easier together than to manage on my own.
The take away I had got before getting home is still warm. And having talked to him and having cried I lie on the couch, muffled up in a blanket, because my body still remembers the cold. Home feels good, though it doesn't feel quite right without my own set of keys, or perhaps I am just too tired, weary, like always when I have cried so hard. I stare at the tv screen for some time, and I talk to two more people, one of whom suggests she can give me a lift tomorrow, the other one says he can get my keys sometime before Wednesday, I hardly have to ask. Rather, I am thinking about whose offer to accept, who I am willing to rely on, sizing up people and relationships, in a way. I should be fine now, I think, I have not been totally lost and alone. Yet I want him to be here to cry once more on his shoulders and let the harsh sense of distance I feel finally start to fade. I check the keys in the door, then check them once again, like he checks on me, before several countries apart we both go to sleep.