One day after school, perhaps in the 5th or 6th grade, I ran inside the house and down the steps to my room, tossed the house key onto the dresser and threw my books on the bed. I changed clothes and was about to bolt outside to play when something startling caught my eye and froze me, almost hovering in my tracks. The house key that I had lazily pitched onto the dresser was standing on it’s edge. I stood staring at it for a while trying to figure out how it was even possible and scrunched my face close to it to see where the key touched the surface. Giving up on coming up with a logical answer I tried to think about some sort of magical/spiritual significance or explanation. That thought process was even shorter, I had nothing. I still have nothing. Oh sure, I could attach artificial meaning to it, to give it whatever sense I wanted, but in a way that ruins what it was.
Later that day the key had fallen down.
