Keys
Challen Wilson
There once was a very special woman. One day she met a very special man. While in frequent company with him, a peculiar sensation started to come over her, and she was unsure of what it was. This special woman, though, was very confident, and she was sure she could figure it out. One casual afternoon she asked the special man, ‘What do you think this sensation might be?’ The special man informed her that it was love. She scoffed at this. She did not believe the man. In hindsight, the man was right. She also learnt, though, that love to her was ‘truth’ and love to him was something else: maybe truth, but a different kind of truth.
Now, as time went by, the special woman felt more and more drawn to the special man. She would tell him things that she would tell not another soul. And he would listen. She would share things with him that she shared with others, but it felt very different to what she had experienced before. And he would share too. It was, for the woman, like a slice of what she thought heaven could be like. That is, to trust and share together with another person so easily. One day it dawned on the woman that what the man had said, about her love, was true. And oh, she fought and fought the possibility of this being true, for deep down inside I suspect she was truly afraid of loving someone. Then, when she was able to see through her clouded judgment about love, she delved closer into what this love could mean.
So she told that special man, honestly and openly, that she loved him. The special man was very honoured by this. And the special woman felt very proud of herself. But there was one problem. Although the special woman shared very intimately with the special man and the special woman could see the very essence of the special man’s soul, the special woman had not realised how she was particularly attached to that which was of a controlling nature. And although the special man was honoured by this love, he said he was not ready for it. The special woman was confused. Although she loved the man and had had the courage to look deeper into love and acknowledge the love she had, the special man did not love her back. She became sad, and cried about this for a little while. She pondered in and out of weeks and over a time span about this predicament; nothing came to light, but at least the sun began to shine again. Then she thought, ‘What shall I do to help myself live my own sunshine?’ She went finally back into her work with happiness in her heart, and decided possibly by coincidence she would think positively and practise patience to keep sunshine in her life. As this personal journey had ensued for the woman, the special man had gone away, and said he’d be back later.
Well, this special woman, she had a very special talent, which resided in her work. In some moments it had helped her to read the special man’s soul and encouraged a happiness she’d remembered she’d had with the special man. She was very lucky to have this job, and she realised she’d quite missed it. Her sadness had made her forget not only about this ability she had in her work, but also that she truly did love the nature of her job. Why had she missed being present for so many days from her job, she wondered? Nevertheless, it was good to be back to her normal self again. Now, her job was to look after all different types of keys. Every person on the planet had a full set of keys – one master set and one spare set, and these keys focused on different areas of their lives. The very special woman, she loved to be with the keys; she loved to polish them every day. She did a very good job of looking after those keys. Every time a person came into the shop to ask for the keys for a certain area of their life, she would happily give the keys over to them. Once the person took their keys, the special woman had to run them through a chart of guidelines she had, so they’d know how very special their keys were and that once they were lost the keys could never ever be replaced.
One day, the phone rang at the special woman’s work. She jumped a little and was surprised. The phone very rarely rang at the key shop, for it was always the case that people would just pop in. She let it ring four times and then she picked it up and said hello. It was the very special man; he’d come back to town and he wanted to see her. Because the special woman was no longer sad about the man not being ready to love her, she agreed that she would see him, because, of course, she loved him still. She asked him if they could meet two days from now, as there were things she needed to do. He said this was fine, and that he’d like to take her out for dinner. She was just about to disagree, but disagreement about such a lovely gesture was neither positive nor patient, so instead she said, ‘Thank you, that would be lovely.’
The very special lady, she was nervous: she wanted the very special man to be in her life very much. But she did not know how to hold on to him. She walked around and around the key shop, and she thought to a great extent about the very special man. She decided she would go into her very favourite key room: the room of golden keys. For in this room she could think very clearly. It was like the keys played a gentle music, like angels singing, and this helped her to clear her mind. As the woman sat in the room of golden keys and singing angels an answer dawned on her. What if she found the keys that looked after her spirit and the keys that looked after her intimacy? For she knew these were the keys she most desired to give to the special man, so she’d never have to tell him that which she felt in her spirit and that which she had within her intimate self. Then she thought ‘What if he lost her very special keys?’ Then all her spirit and all her intimate self would be lost for ever, never to be shared with another again until she died … Oh, how controlling the special woman was: she really did start to dislike this side to herself, but, of course, that was her, and she could only learn through experience how not to be controlling. Then she had another thought … what if she was also to take the key to her controlling nature? Maybe then this could help her to be less controlling. She thought about how she could keep the key to her controlling nature safely with her, and she decided she should wear it as a pendant around her neck; therefore it would always be a heartbeat away from her. She left the room of golden keys and angels singing and she went to the rooms that held the keys for spirit and the keys for intimate self.
As she was leaving for the night, feeling so clever, she realised she had forgotten to get the keys to her controlling nature. She ran back down the long hallway that connected all the rooms and opened the door to the room of controlling nature keys. This room was a dark forest green, and the keys sang like the birds of the forest. Although the special woman liked this room mostly, today it made her shiver, so she did not stay there for long. She grabbed her keys and left for the evening.
Once at home, the special woman laid all her special keys in front of her. She had the perfect chain: as thin as woven spiderweb and as strong as the roots of a tree. This chain suited the keys of controlling nature flawlessly. She attached them and put them around her neck. As soon as she did this, a thought came into her head. ‘Oh, I can’t wait to see the special man! I hope I have grown some in my awareness since he has been gone. I hope he has grown some too. I wonder why it is he wants to have dinner all of a sudden … hmmm … yes, I do love the special man, but remember, nothing will have breath when the reins of your controlling nature are not pulled in. Be aware of your nature and all will bide well.’ The special woman pondered on this, and decided it was best to take a breath, as her thoughts suggested. She also decided it was time for rest: the little voice we all have inside of us was working overtime, and really there was no need for such a cause.
As the special woman went into sleepful consciousness and as is typical for many of us, we have dreams, and dreams are very special. Instead of a pleasant sleep, the special woman’s dreams were full of omens. She dreamt that those keys were not for her to give to any other person so that they would love her more, because they do not work that way. Those keys were for her and her alone, and the only person those keys would affect was herself. She woke up at the hour of nine, quite distraught about this, and wondered what she should do. At this time the special woman looked deep inside herself; she looked very deep inside herself, for somehow a very achy pain
had washed over her, and she wanted to get rid of it. Should she tell the special man that she could not have dinner with him? Should she put her keys back? What should she do? As it goes, all wonderful women have wonderful friends. She had one particularly special friend she trusted with all her heart, and even though sometimes his advice was a bit wacky, she decided because she trusted him without a doubt she would go and see him to seek counsel.
She rang her work colleague that very moment and asked her if she would mind covering her shift at the shop. Her work colleague agreed. The special woman had only that day to get to her friend and back in time for dinner, so she had to start her journey straight away, for her friend lived a little while away from her; he lived off in the mountains. She jumped into her sleek black station wagon and off she zoomed to see her friend the Mountain Troll. In her haste to get to her friend she realised she had forgotten to see if he was even home. She crossed her fingers and knocked on his mountain home door.
The mountain shook a little, and she was relieved, because that signaled he was home. He opened the door and looked out sternly, gnawing over the carcass of a whole roasted chicken. He looked down. He focused. A broad smile beamed across his face. He set the chicken carcass aside and picked up the special woman, who was dwarfed by his hugeness, and gave her a hug. He placed the special woman back on the ground. The special woman was very happy to see him, but she did not have much time, so she walked hurriedly into his home. The Mountain Troll closed the door behind them. Their meeting was short but worth it. In discussion the Mountain Troll suggested that for a time perhaps he could safeguard the special keys, at least for her spirit and her intimate self, then the special woman could discern the appropriate course of action. The special woman agreed this was the best idea. As the special woman was leaving, her Mountain Troll friend asked her ‘Vhat es et zat uh leove orf hem?’ The special woman stopped and thought. She’d never asked herself this important question before; she’d just known it, the love, to be true. Seven reasons tumbled easily and with grace from her mouth: ‘Well, he’s kind. He’s unfailingly generous. He is handsome. He is kooky and he makes me laugh. He inspires me with his wonderfully interesting energy. And because he smells like freshly baked cookies.’ There were many things to love about the special man, but time was of the essence. She hugged her friend the Mountain Troll, who grinned and breathed his last words as she set off in her wagon. They were ‘Be kervul ma derr, leove kun be orf vikel nayturre. Leove es perhapz en ze merror virst?’ Calm thoughts settled in her brain, as the wind from her open car window breathed freshly upon her face. She hoped she’d make it in time to at least have a shower before she had to meet the special man for dinner. And of course she did. She did not want to smell like she’d been rushing this way and that.
She was home, finally. She pulled out the outfit she would wear. Her dear friend, Rosie, had always said the colour red made her shine, and she wanted to shine. She remembered always trusting the honesty of this other good friend. So she pulled out her white dress with large red flowers that came down to her knees, showing off her figure exquisitely, and her red Spanish-style shawl. She pulled out her simply elegant black high heels, because black high heels always make a girl feel fresh and alive, and lastly her favourite underwear. Into the shower she hopped. While in the shower, she thought how glad she was that she’d given her keys to her friend the Mountain Troll. For now she had space to think about her love for the special man and what that love really was.
All dressed in her pretty finery, she looked one last time in the mirror, and was happy with what she saw. There was a knock at the door. She opened it. It was the special man. Perfect timing. She blushed, and then she smiled and stood back to have a good look at him. He was still as beautiful as ever. He smiled back at her and put out his hand. Click, the front door closed, and together in the special man’s silver four-wheel-drive they drove off to the restaurant.
They stopped outside Kazu, a popular Japanese restaurant in town. The special woman loved Japanese food, and the special man knew this and wanted to acknowledge this remembering he had. It was hard for the woman not to show how impressed she was. It happened that evening as usual: the energy got very electric between them, but for the first time the special woman neither interrogated nor assumed: she just enjoyed the company of the special man. In turn the special man looked at her with a sense of difference, because it was the quietest the special woman had been, ever. Then, quite out of the blue, the special man leaned over and kissed her sweetly. This act of spontaneity would usually embarrass the special woman, but this time was different. She did not feel one ounce of her controlling nature rise to the top, and she was happy. They finished dinner, which perfectly satisfied their hunger. It was late now, so together they decided to go back to the special woman’s home. On the journey home they talked about all sorts of things: what they had been up to in their lives since they had parted ways and what they saw in their individual futures. The special woman loved being with the special man, and in turn the special man loved being with the special woman.
The special woman opened the front door to her home. They both walked in. The special woman felt the calm again, as she took off her shawl, her dress and then her shoes. The special man came up behind her and kissed her neck. The special woman of course responded to the special man: she could never resist. But then she stopped. She let out a low breath and stood at her dresser. She pulled out a nightgown and pulled it over her head. She offered the special man something to wear and the special man declined. For the first time ever the special man and special woman did not make love as they usually did. And the special woman felt very enlightened by this. The special man was intrigued. The lights were dimmed, and it wasn’t long before both man and woman were comfortable and asleep.
The special man woke early; he felt slightly odd. He was not used to the special woman and himself not making love. He looked over to the special woman sleeping and noticed the glistening keys around her neck. He woke her as he touched the special keys. He moved his hand to her face and asked her if she did not love him any more. She simply sighed. The special man nodded his head and kissed the special woman on the forehead. In return the special woman gave words of comfort to him, but more importantly to herself, saying ‘I am trying something new. And if that which I love …’ – leading his hand with hers to the one key that could keep her in tune, that of her controlling nature,– ‘can be sustained and that which must be surpassed can indeed be surpassed … then I think whatever will be, will be. And … this will be the greatest love of all.’ She kissed the special man softly on the lips and thought, ‘Oh how I very much do still love you.’
Alas, what can be said is that the future holds something potent, something special, for that was the truth for the special woman and the special man. As it be for the special man … there once was a man who met a special woman. She was special in many ways, but mostly for her ability to read energy, to see things deeply, to see underneath, perhaps to see things as they actually are. Sometimes he felt that he lived on the surface of things; she, on the other hand, seemed to dwell deeper, connectedly. Of course, her ability to read things drove him crazy. It was like he could never say things lightly to her; there was always something lurking underneath, adjacent, around the corner, hidden within his words that he barely knew but she understood instantly. And it would drive him nuts to have his real meanings pointed out to him. Of course, it was true. Woven within one’s words are threads of meaning we are never entirely aware of …
The Authors
PJ Akuhata
PJ Akuhata (Te Aitanga a Māhaki, Tūhoe) is from Gisborne, and has been a software developer for the past twelve years. He wrote a short story after seeing his sister as a finalist last year and thinking he might give it a go.
Tania Bayer
Tania Bayer (Tainui) lives in Thames with her husband Ross, daughter Katherine and Edna the cat. She loves to read, write and drink champagne. She is a member of
Romance Writers of New Zealand, and is currently completing a short-story writing course with the London School of Journalism.
Sharon Clair
Sharon Clair (Raukawa, Ngāti Ranginui) spent much of her childhood at Ruapeka Marae, Tāpapa, Tīrau. Her earliest memories of loving to read and falling in love with words are family ones. She came from a home that encouraged reading: her parents read Best Bets with disciplined commitment and her grandparents the Holy Catholic Bible. For her it was books about fairies and creatures visible and invisible. Sharon has always loved words. Whatever the style – creative or political – she has always had a desire to impart something good, genuine and generous, immersed in a love of Māori.
Piripi Evans
Piripi Evans (Ngāti Mutunga, Ngāi Tahu) lives in Wellington with his wife and three children. He is not giving up his day job yet.
Ann French
Ann French (Ngā Puhi) lives in Tauranga with her husband and best friend of forty-five years, Chris. Her home is by the sea, and she considers the small pleasures in life bring the greatest rewards. Fishing, cooking, gardening, reading and five exuberant grandchildren are among her greatest loves, along with the odd glass of red wine. She believes successful writing is a craft, a passion and a way of living.
Anahera Gildea
Anahera Gildea (Ngāti Raukawa ki Te Tonga) is a short-story writer, poet and performing artist who has a passion for narrative. She finds success and joy in the tangled threads of ordinary life.
Olivia Giles
Olivia Giles (Kahungunu, Raukawa, Te Whānau a Apanui, Te Āti Awa, Celtic) is a writer, visual artist and designer from Wellington. She is a daughter, sister, wife, mother, aunty and grandmother. She is a story-teller, and weaves stories in all the mediums she works in. She has written all her life; it is her passion …
Huia Short Stories 9 Page 29
