I broke it.

 It happened so fast, I wasn’t even sure if it had actually occurred. I had been sitting there holding the music box. Its gentle melody cascaded through the room enveloping me in its soothing atmosphere. I’m not sure how it had happened, maybe a door slammed or a dog barked. The cause wasn’t important, it is the result that holds value. The music box slipped out of my hands. I watched in horror as the golden cylinder accepted gravity and clattered to the floor. It gave a slight cling as it collided with the wood, leaving deafening silence in the moments to follow. The music had stopped. I scrambled to recover it, scanning the intricate red and green roses on it’s lid for scratches. After concluding there was minimal exterior damage, I hesitantly wound it. Nothing. Panicked, I opened the box up to reveal its clockwork. I had been determined to fix it, to repair the memories. When I looked inside however, all regret vanished. Nudged within the metal pieces of the music box was a key.

       My great-grandma was not someone to be envied. That sounds harsh, but I only speak from the memories I have of her. I’m sure when she was younger she was beautiful and spirited, but from my four year-old perspective no one could have been more opposite. Time had not favored her. Liver spots decorated her arm like a tattoo, and her skin sagged tiredly. She moved as if she was pulling the weight of the world and maybe she was; I’ll never know. I didn’t love my great-grandma for looks though. My great-grandma is part of my childhood. I don’t know how many afternoons I’d sit in the back room in front of the tv. The walls were bleached, a wrinkled leather sofa was placed in the center of the room, and the tv was rickety and half-broken, but none of that mattered to me. I loved that room because in its drawers was a deck of cards and some checker pieces. I would play with them for hours: try to stack them, pretend they were people, build monsters, and entertain myself with endless other fun. It only took a deck of cards and some red and black checkers to turn that bleak, withered room into an imagination haven. All this was possible because of my great-grandma. She didn’t make the stories or play the parts, she just supplied the tools, and I can never be more grateful.

       As much as we wish we could freeze life in moments like that, it’s impossible. Life goes on. People grow, people change, and people die. My great-grandma had already done the first two, I guess it was only a matter of time. When she died though she didn’t leave empty-handed. She took it all. Her skin, her house, her back room, her deck of cards, and her checkers. I had felt stripped of my rights. It hadn’t been fair. She was my giver, my patron. My great-grandma had given me the gifts of imagination and wonder, and with one missed heartbeat it was gone. Her death also left me with a sense of mortality. She would never speak again. I’d never see her smile. I remember wondering if there would be a day when I would never see my mom smile again. The thought scared me more than anything I had ever imagined. From that day onward my childhood was never the same. I still imagined and played, but I was never quite as carefree about it. My stuffed animals became suitable toys, and I entertained myself with them for years to follow. I made a vow to myself though. I promised that I would never play as I had before with any other cards and checkers, and I haven’t since.

       I had thought this promise would follow me all my life. That was before I found the key. A faded copper colored line indented with grooves and circular at the head. It’s hard to imagine why this would have such a substantial impact on me, but then again, I have a pretty good imagination. I felt as though my childhood had come rushing back to me. I gripped the key tightly as thoughts of my great-grandma filled my head. I know that this object is most likely unimportant. It probably opened a garage or a mailbox, but that was before I had found it. Now this key opened my past. It unlocked everything I had shut away. This was a lifeline to my great-grandma, something I had wanted for so long. I couldn’t have this connection with her music box or her perfume. That was something everybody shared of great-grandma’s; it wasn’t mine alone. This key; however, was different. It was a secret that was hidden away and never meant to be found. Now it was something my great-grandma and I shared. Like the cards and checkers, she had given me a tool. Only I won’t let this tool be taken away. That’s why I carry it, because I have to. I carry it because I can’t make the same mistake. I have to hold on to my imagination, or fear losing it all over again.

       I carry this without regret. You can’t regret when you commit to something like this. If you do, then you’ll fail. You’ll slip and drop it like the music box. If you do that it might break, and everything you’ve worked so hard for breaks with it. That’s why I’m happy to hold this key. It guards my memories and childhood. It doesn’t matter if I ever find out what it’s actually used for because it’s irrelevant. The only thing that matters is that I have it, and I never lose a tool like this again. Although it’s not checkers and a deck of cards, it holds the same value in my heart and carrying this key has made my great-grandma more alive than ever.