Michelle had borrowed our car and stopped by home for me to drive her home. Before we headed out, Richard offered a short list of things he needed picked up on my way back: more wraps and gauze pads for his still-healing foot.
Sure, no problem.
I dropped her off, waved goodbye… And somehow just didn’t feel like going to the drugstore. I examined the thought, wondering: lazy? Tired? Dinner time? It would be a quick jaunt and done, if through a bit of rush hour traffic.
My car headed towards home as I argued with it but I felt no particular angst over going that way. Eh. I can go after dinner. Or maybe I need to make sure I’ve got a full list from him as to what he needs, yeah, that’s it.
Right, because smartphones can’t text–I didn’t even think of the phone or any of that.
I pulled into my own driveway, put it in park, had almost turned it off.
When I saw it.
The little yellow light icon that looks like a key broken in half with a squiggly line in between. Why…and then it staggered me what had just happened. Wait, how did it keep running if my keys were still in her purse?
Sometimes, said my sweetie after I asked him that question, it’ll keep running if it’s already on when the key leaves.
Had I gone straight to that drugstore I’d have been stranded with no way for either of them to reach me. And, turns out, I’d left my phone home. Where everybody’s phone numbers were stored. At rush hour, at dinner time, when it would have been maximum inconvenience to anybody else to come to my rescue if I’d even been able to figure out how to reach them.
But instead I’d gone straight home to where the second set of keys was.
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