Keeper of the Keys’ Burden

I’m an early riser. I wake up around 0415 without an alarm clock. I set my phone to ring bloody murder at 0350 Monday through Thursday so I can fall out of bed and go to practice. Since I’m wide-eyed and bushy-tailed by 0430, I had the job of driving to the boathouse earlier than everyone else and opening the bay doors so my teammates could file in, take out oars, sign out boats, etc… by the time 0500 rolled around.

Along with the keys to the boathouse, I was entrusted with a set of keys to the gym. These keys are funny to me. I had wanted them so badly so I could sneak in one night and fuck Michael in the heated pool (something he had mentioned wanting to do so I kept my eyes open for such an opportunity), and just when things ended with him, the keys practically fell into my lap. Strange how life works out like that. Almost unfair.

The season has ended but I still have all of the damned keys. I wish I could tell Michael about the keys, just for laughs. I miss talking to that silly face. I don’t miss him so much in the romantic sense especially now that I have someone who is so much more affectionate towards me than he ever was, but it was always nice to chat with Michael. I liked hearing my Google Chat ringtone because that meant I’d read something interesting, funny, or relevant to me. I haven’t heard my Google Chat ding in months. I jump whenever I hear it from a passerby and have to fight the urge to look at my phone.

I always look. I’m always disappointed.


He said that he hoped we could speak again in the distant future. I said I wasn’t sure if I could promise him that. I was being stupid.

I hope that the distant future comes soon. I hope he hasn’t changed his mind.

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