Keys

My key ring only contains four keys now: one to my vehicle, two to my Sioux Falls apartment and one to my parent’s house in Pierre. The key ring’s weight loss – half of what it used to be – in the last week is probably the biggest symbol of my transitioning life so far. Soon, it will be two (when I move out of my apartment) and then one (when I sell my car.)

Keys are often little medallions to the things we own and the things we are granted access to. The more keys we have, the more power we posses. We have keys for our offices, homes, vehicles, storages, our friend’s homes and storages and anything we decided is valuable enough to lock. To have a key to something is a privilege.

I like having lots of keys. A jangling set reminds me of all that is mine and what I am entitled to that others are not. I might not be getting paid for a certain job, but I have a key to the office building and with a key I am somebody.

As my life is being whittled down, so is my key set. The chain is actually able to fit in my back pocket without one side of buttocks appearing significantly larger, and grossly misshapen, than the other. And it seems to drown more in my bottom-less pit of a purse.

Although it’s a bit disheartening to lose privileges, my life is slimming down to one goal, one job, one objective. That’s sort of euphoric. I may only have one key in a few months (do mud huts have keys? I assume so) but it’ll probably mean more to me than overloaded chain with keys to vehicles and office buildings. That key will represent privilege, access to something others do not have.

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