“ It’ s not real,” I said, rolling my eyes. It couldn’ t be real. But what if it was?“ The key is real, and your name on the front is real,” Mr. Smith countered.“ And the rabbit you had when you were six, Mr. Putters, he was real too.”
My mouth dropped open. I’ d almost forgotten about Mr. Putters myself. He’ d died the same year I’ d gotten him.
“ You could know everything,” said Mr. Smith in a low voice.“ Nothing would be uncertain, ever again.”
I thought of my history books, of all the wars and missed connections and tragedies that seemed so easy to avoid in hindsight. I thought of ships passing in the night, and that time in fourth grade when I’ d agonized for weeks over who would end up being my teacher, even though the not-knowing didn’ t bother any of the other kids in their last weeks of summer. I thought of the past year: college applications and campus visits and SAT studying and waiting for financial aid letters. I thought of sitting at the kitchen table with three acceptance letters in front of me. I didn’ t know which to pick. I wasn’ t sure which choice was right, or even which choices were wrong. Even now, I wasn’ t completely sure of my decision, and it ate away at me in the quiet spaces between breaths. I thought of three years from now. Would I be holding a diploma? Would I be unemployed and drowning in student-loan debt? Would I be regretting all the decisions that led to that moment?
But then I thought of my parents and the surprise party they threw on my thirteenth birthday, my siblings and friends blowing noise-makers and grinning and shouting and me, grinning in the middle of it too. I thought of the tiny happy thrill when I opened college letters and saw,“ We are pleased to offer you …” I thought of the beautiful delicious shock of seeing the ocean for the first time, on an unplanned detour on my college visits trip. I thought of the breathless roller coaster moment before the drop, and the trip in my heart the first time a boy asked me to dance, and the tiny pinprick of serendipitous pleasure as I picked a bright penny off the side walk.
“ You wouldn’ t ever be uncertain again,” Mr. Smith whispered.“ But once you open it, you can’ t go back.”
I took a deep breath, smiled at Mr. Smith, and picked up the key.
18