Key

While cleaning out my coat closet, I found a bag that I hadn't used in years.

Before tossing it on the Freecycle pile, I felt around to make sure I hadn't left any cash or wadded-up tissues. Much to my surprise, I came across the key from my psycho ex-boyfriend's apartment in Suresnes.

I had forgotten to take it out of my purse when I left on my last visit, in May of 1999.

I sat in the middle of my living room floor and pondered the heavy piece of steel.

The relationship by which I came into possession of the key had started out firey and passionate and romantic... but slowly downspiraled into a very emotionally abusive and draining experience. In fact, it took quite awhile before I could let go of the negative emotions that I managed to associate with anything that reminded me of the it - even something so broad and general as "France".

Surprisingly, however, when I found this key - something that literally unlocked the innermost sanctum of that ill-fated relationsihp - I felt nothing.

But, I couldn't just throw it in the trash bag, either.

Why was that? Did having it in my possession make me feel as though I finally had some power over the situation? I mean, it's not as though I would ever go back there... and heck, he's probably moved two or three times, by now.

Perhaps it was there to remind me that I never have to allow myself to be taken advantage of, emotionally and physically. Or, perhaps it was a symbol of my own strength. Or, maybe... I don't know.

But I just couldn't throw it away.

Instead, I put it in my cashbox and stuck it high on a shelf.