Exercise: The Keys To The Heart
Writing Exercise #2
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Welcome to the new and improved Writing Exercises at Gibberish! In the past, these exercises took the form of weekly microfiction (typically 500 words or less) designed to help me hone my creativity. This year, in order to free up space for longer form fiction, my writing exercises will be reduced to a monthly schedule, but I will be more deliberate about what exactly my exercises are, you know, exercising.
The added feature for these exercises are paid-subscriber Craft Chats, where I will discuss the exercise and particular goals I had with the story and elements of craft. If you are a paid subscriber, you can access these Craft Chats on the app. If you are not a paid subscriber, and paying for a subscription is not in the cards, consider using the referral program to earn a paid subscription? Referring 2 subscribers will earn you a 6 month comp automatically!
While exercises will be slow in coming, if you have ideas you think I should explore, feel free to let me know in the comments!
Enjoy!
Inspiration: This Note from
about a real life key-disaster. H/T for encouraging this silly joke to become a story.Charlie Landon eased his fingers into the glove, soaking up what felt like a portentous moment. Fingerless gloves, he thought, my humiliation is complete.
The fact is the fingerless gloves solved a serious problem. He could keep his hands warm, yet not lose any of the dexterity or feeling that usually came with gloves. Charlie stifled a smile—there’s a kind of bitter irony in the fact that these were the kinds of problems he was solving.
He held his hands above the fire in the trash can, and rubbed them together. As he looked into the flames, against his better judgement, he allowed his mind to wander.
He recalled, as he so often did, the moment that it all could have gone differently. His so-called friend, Justin, coming to his apartment with a brilliant business idea.
“Charlie, you and I have been ride or die since we graduated,” Justin had said. “I just need a few grand to help get this business off the ground. It’ll help people—tons of people—once we get going!”
“Justin, you still owe me from the time you left your wallet at home two weeks ago,” Charlie had replied, indulging a rare moment of skepticism. If only I’d pushed back more…
Justin had smiled that easy smile of his that made him a great salesman, and which convinced Charlie that his business venture was not only good but real. Justin had pulled out a $20 bill on the spot and handed it over. “Here, take it. I was going to pay it forward but if it’s important to you—”
This had wounded Charlie, he didn’t accept the money. “Hang on to it,” he said, winking. “You’ll need it if you’re going to start this business. How much do you need?”
Charlie’s mind raced through the subsequent weeks. He never saw or heard from Justin again. His rent came due, his car broke down, he couldn’t afford both rent and repairs—he sold his couch, sold his tv, sold everything—it wasn’t enough. He missed a few days of work, they put him on probation, he got an eviction notice, he got the call from his boss—the slide was so sudden and so fast.
His friends lived in other cities—cities he couldn’t get to anymore. His family lived across the country, and anyway he had already learned how much it cost to ask them for help. He was on his own. He put as much as he could together in a bag—except for one thing. His suit, still in the bag from the drycleaners. “I’m going to turn this around,” he said to the suit, “and I’ll be wearing this suit when I do.”
Tracy Plath fumbled her phone as she got out of her car. The morning air was still cool, the sun was strong, the birds were chirping—it was a magical day and Tracy couldn’t enjoy it. She cursed through gritted teeth, picked up her phone, and stood—and there was Lisa, smiling knowingly at her.
“So, how’d it go…” Lisa asked.
Tracy rolled her eyes. “Don’t start.”
Lisa’s face fell. “Again?!” she said as she embraced her friend.
“THAT’S what you’re not supposed to start.”
“Tracy…”
“Before you start mothering me, do you want to get coffee out and catch up, or do you want to talk on the run?”
“Out, kids are asleep,” Lisa said, “Talk on the run, I want to hear all about it. It’ll justify the sugary coffee after.”
“Alright, you ready to go?”
“I’ll tell Hubs I’m leaving, one sec.” Lisa disappeared into her house, and Tracy got back in her car. It was a small gesture, but an important one—something tugged at Tracy’s heart. She and Lisa had been friends for near 15 years now—they had been roommates their freshman year of college— and Lisa seemed to be living the life Tracy always wanted. Why was this so hard?
Lisa opened the door and slid into Tracy’s car. “So before you tell me everything wrong with the poor guy, tell me about the night, what happened? Did you have fun at least?”
“I guess? It’s never fun when you know within thirty seconds that the date’s going nowhere. He bought me a drink and we walked and talked and he said he would text me and I said don’t bother.”
“WHAT?” Lisa jumped forward so hard her seatbelt locked and jolted her back. “What’s gotten into you, what was wrong with him?”
“He’s like a VP or something, all smooth talking corporate America. I could feel the mergers and acquisitions vibe—I will not be merged with OR acquired.”
Lisa raised her eyebrows, “I mean, maybe a little M&A would help you relax…”
“NO!” Tracy said, laughing.
“Listen, Tracy—real talk, okay? I feel like you’re trying too hard. Stop chasing! Let love find you, let it knock you over the head, you know? I feel like you’re gripping on to your life so tightly, just relax!”
“I can’t relax, Lisa. There are so many wasted moments, if I can just get everything to line up right then—”
“No, don’t finish that sentence. You are waiting. Waiting to live, waiting for some arbitrary deadline that’ll never come. You’ve got plans and schedules, and you’re missing out on living your life for you. All plans go out the window anyway once you get married, if you are looking for a man who will follow your choreography for life, you’ll never find one.”
Tracy pulled into the parking lot near the jogging path over the bridge, and sighed. “If I don’t chase how will I find anyone?”
As the morning sun started to intensify into an afternoon heat, Charlie paced under the bridge. It was a Saturday— “Straturday” as he had begun calling it, the day he allowed himself to strategize his ascent. With a job, he could start saving, could start paying some of his debts, could start rebuilding some kind of life. What he needed was a haircut, a shower, and some nice shoes to go with his suit. What he needed was a lucky break.
Charlie chuckled under his breath. “Need” and “luck” don’t work well together. What was the saying? ‘Luck is the confluence of opportunity and preparation’? He needed to get prepared, and make some opportunity. No opportunity would find him under this bridge.
He peered up at the underside of the bridge—joggers running back and forth over the wooden boards, creaking and groaning with every step. All that separated him from the people up there was one lucky break. He stepped out of the sun and into the shade under the bridge, and paced. Opportunity and preparation.
Then, something jingled, scraped, and knocked him over the head. He caught it in his hands before it hit the ground—a set of keys.
As Tracy and Lisa jogged the path towards the bridge, Tracy suppressed the intrusive thoughts that always dogged her on the bridge. Throw your phone into the river, it seemed to call. She shivered involuntarily.
“You okay?” Lisa asked between breaths, as they climbed the bridge.
“Yeah just—intrusive thoughts you know?”
Lisa laughed, “My anxiety has been so bad with my littles, imagining every little thing that could go wrong—”
“How do you turn that off?”
“I don’t think you do, I think—” There was a jingle as Tracy’s keys fell out of her pocket, a scrape as they slid between the wooden boards, and a faint “OW!” from below the bridge.
Tracy froze, and Lisa’s hands flew to her face in shock.
Charlie held the keys in his hand for some moments, puzzled. Should he be mad? Should he laugh? His strategic reverie had been thoroughly derailed, and what more could he do?
A few minutes later, when two women wearing brightly colored ‘athleisure’ wear stepped tentatively down the hill, he connects the dots. It’s their keys.
One of the two women kept her distance, eyeing Charlie and the two or three other homeless below the bridge. The other woman strode forward, head held high, and said, “I dropped my keys earlier, have…have you seen my keys?”
Charlie stood, transfixed. In the late morning light, it looked almost like a sunbeam was falling on her, her hair tied neatly in a ponytail, her eyes bright and daring. Is this an opportunity? Am I prepared? He knew that if he gave her the keys she would walk away and that would be the end of that—the moment would be gone.
“Funny you should ask, I was just hit in the head by a set of keys.”
“I’ll take those please,” the woman held out her hand.
“I’m Charlie,” he said, holding out his hand.
“I’m impatient. Can I have my keys please? Don’t make me ask again.”
“How do I know they’re your keys and you’re not trying to rob someone?”
“Oh, they’re hers—” the other woman said. “She drove me, I—”
“There’s a key to a Toyota on the key ring, a silver house key, two smaller keys, and a Hello Kitty keychain that’s aged badly. It’s mine.” She thrust her hand out again.
Charlie turned, pulled the keys out of his pocket, and examined them out of sight of the women. Sure enough, she had described it spot on. He had one last trick up his sleeve…
He turned back around. “You’re right, I guess these are yours.” He tossed the keys to her.
She fumbled the keys and dropped them in the dirt at her feet. “Thanks for that,” she muttered, picking them up. “I’ll be going now. Thank you for the keys.”
She began to turn around and walk away, and Charlie threw caution to the wind: “Anytime,” he said.
She paused, turned, took one last look at Charlie—now curious instead of defiant—and smirked as if she thought of some funny joke. “Nice to meet you, Charlie,” she said, and walked off with her friend.
After their jog, Tracy and Lisa returned to their car, and Tracy unzipped her pocket. When she pulled out her keys, something felt unfamiliar.
Charlie had clipped a business card onto her keychain. It said, “Charlie Landon,” and he had crossed out the business and the phone numbers and address and replaced it with “under the bridge”. On the back of the card he had scribbled, “Nice to meet you, Impatient”. She pulled the card off the key ring and tucked it into her pocket
Lisa asked, “Is everything okay over there?”
Tracy smiled, and unlocked the car.
(1,780 words)
Thank you for reading!
Your feedback helps to improve my writing. I would really appreciate a comment with your thoughts on this writing exercise. Consider telling me your thoughts about:
What’s your favorite cheesy romance movie?
What’s your favorite meet-cute you’ve read on substack?
When was the last time you lost your keys?
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy! Paid subscribers, don’t forget to check out the Craft Chat about this exercise!
Have you taken a look at the section called “The Volume” recently? All my longer-form stories are kept there! Be sure to take a look and catch up on any stories you’ve missed!
Thank you and God bless!
So. Much. Cute!
Can there be a sequel??
Finally read this. So cute! It needs a sequel!