The forgotten keys

The house was dark. The silence was deafening. The darkness slowly faded as the sun rose and let its ray peek through the window curtains and lit the room up. And the silence was replaced with birds chirping outside as the study room door creaked open. Another day came by, and I was hoping that today might be the day someone would come and take care of me.

“Good morning,” I heard a voice call out. It was the husband as he walked into the room.

“Good morning, baby,” a voice replied. It was his wife as she headed into the kitchen. He sat on his chair, as he always does, and turned on this odd-looking object. It lit up as he opened it, and he typed on it. He did this every day, yet it aches to watch him use that object instead of me.

Oh, I wish…

“Here’s your coffee, honey,” she said as she walked into the room and handed him a cup. He took it and smiled at her. It lightened my heart up, if I had one. But long ago, I remember my Lucy saying that ‘I had a big heart.’ Oh, Lucy, how much I miss you, dear.

“When are you going to get rid of this old typewriter,” she muttered, looking at me.

“We have had this conversation before, baby. This belongs to my grandma’s. I can’t just throw it away,” he replied with a frown.

“It is just sitting here collecting dust. This thing is so damn heavy to move and look…” she pointed at me and said, “…It has started to rust. Just give it to one of those antique stores.”

“We will see,” he replied and started typing on that odd-looking object again. He looks so much like my Lucy, I thought.

‘Oh, Lucy, why did you abandon me?’ I cried, but no one could hear me.

Another day came and went. As the days passed, I just sat there alone with no one to press on my keys; my ink ribbon dried and rotted. My joints were aching as they had not moved in decades. Dust was collecting on my iron chest and suffocating me. My Lucy would have never allowed this; she cleaned me every day. Oiled my hinges, and changed my ink ribbon every time it dried. And she would sit and type to her heart’s content. Every word she wrote, and every sentence she spoke through me gave me a purpose. And I adored her stories. However, I saw her grow old, frail as time passed; I saw her struggle to push the keys as her hand ached and watched her give me one last kiss and said, “You have been good to me. I’m sorry I’m unable to use you anymore, but I don’t have the heart to give you away either.”

Oh, my sweet Lucy, come back. 

I felt abandoned and forgotten in time until that one morning…

“What time did you say she was coming?” she asked.

“I think around 10,” he said as he was tidying up his study room. I realised they were expecting a guest since she was busy cooking something nice in the kitchen.

“Oh, I wish had more time to tidy up the house,” she complained.

“Baby, the house is clean, don’t worry about it. My Grandaunt is old, I highly doubt she is going to tour the house,” he reassured her with a smile.

There was a knock on the door. He rushed to open it, and I heard voices wishing each other. I couldn’t see them since the study room door was closed. But I heard the voice, and it was oddly familiar to me. She sounded old but that sweet petite voice reminded me of a little girl I once knew. 

After an hour the study room opened, and they walked in.

“I swear I kept this somewhere here,” he said as he rushed to the book cabinet.

“May I come in?” that old lady asked at the entrance of the room.

“Don’t be silly, please do,” the wife said as she guided her into the room holding her arm. I finally got to see her and my heart skipped.

“I remember my grandma giving that book to me ages ago,” he said as he rummaged through the books he stored in that cabinet, and he had overflowing amount of books in that room.

The old lady’s eyes were wandering around and finally it rested on me and I saw her eyes widen. She quickly waddled towards me as fast as her short legs would let her. She came close to the glass cabinet in which I was stored as a display. She opened it and touched me. I finally felt a warmth rush over my cold iron body.

“Lucy,” she mouthed with her eyes swelling.

The boy came behind her and touched her shoulder holding a book.

“I found it,” he said following her eyes towards me. “You remember this?” he said pointing at me.

She nodded. “This was my Lucy’s. I remember my sister spending half of her days on this.”

Then I remembered. This was my Lucy’s little sister, Ann. "Oh sweet Ann; how are you my sweetheart?" I uttered.

Memories flooded of this beautiful child standing behind Lucy peeking and admire her sister use me to create stories. And when Lucy was not around, Ann would sneak into the room and press the keys and pretend to type stories of her own. I watched you both grow up until one day you left home with your own family and never to be seen again.

Oh, my sweet Ann, have you seen my Lucy?

Ann turned around and asked, “May I have this typewriter? This would mean a world to me, to have my sister’s prized possession.”

“Of course,” he said looking at his wife who nodded in agreement.

“Thank you,” she said squeezing his hands into hers and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Please, it would be my pleasure. I couldn’t use it, but I would love it to be in a place where it is well taken care of,” he said. “Let me carry it to the taxi, it is quite heavy.”

Finally, I was free, I came out of that glass cabinet after years of entrapment. Moreover, I get to be with my sweet little Ann who resembles her sister in more way than she could possibly know.

As I was placed in a seat next to Ann in the car. He helped her into her seat as she struggled and said to the driver, “Can you kindly help her with that typewriter, she will not be able to carry it alone into her house?” and I saw the driver accepting it with a smile. It felt like I was heading home. I felt content.

Once again, I felt the comforting warmth of Ann’s touch. Her smile lit up her face as she spoke, “Lucy, I have her, and I promise to take good care of her for you.” I returned her smile with gratitude.