No Key

It didn't happen very often, but on that day I was walking home to an empty house. I had been told this was going to happen. I had been given a key and instructions and expectations. There were things I needed to do once I opened the door, both before and after my brother got home from school. He wouldn't get home from Smith Elementary for about 45 minutes. The problem was, when I dug my hand into my dark blue Wranglers I realized, I did not have my key. I was walking home to a house I couldn't get into with a list of chores I could not do.

In the short walk home I checked every pocket, in my jeans, in my jacket, even in my backpack. My pace slowed, as I realized their was no point in rushing. Eventually, though, I did get there and face of the house smirked at me.

I wasn't going to sit on the steps waiting. I needed to get in. I tried the front door, which was mostly used just to get mail, but it was locked. I tried the main door on the side of the house, and it was locked too. The big sliding door in back, locked. The last door was on the fourth side of the house, it was an old door, which hadn't been opened in probably two years. As I approached, though, my mind started to make other plans. I began to hear spy music in my mind.

A few months ago, the family had been locked out of the house. I don't remember how that had happened, but I remembered we broke in. My Dad had pulled out a ladder and took it to this side of the house near the old door; directly beside the window of my brother's room. He climbed the ladder and in just a few moments was handing the screen down to me. Then, using the ends of his fingers he pushed up the heavy glass window, using the top of the thick frame. Then, with just enough space to wiggle through, he had me climb through the window and go around to unlock the door.

Now, alone, I stood looking up at the window listing to the phantom beats in my mind and I thought to myself, I can do that. I crouched and looked around to see if I was being observed, No one watching. I toe dashed to the garage and pulled the ladder out and dragged it to the place I needed it. The screen came out more easily than I would have thought. I let it drop to the ground. I put my hands on the pane of the window and tried to lift. It didn't move.

I dropped down and moved to the back of the house where I could think unobserved. I looked around for a tool. I dismissed a hammer and a pry-bar, thinking I might accidentally break the window. I found a stick, which was strong, but had a narrow edge I could lift the window using the top frame, but stand on the ground where I could get more leverage.

I walked in the shadows back to the window, with my improvised tool in hand. I propped it against the window and lifted. I could only get it to move half an inch, but it was a start. I got a second, small, stick and used it to keep the window from falling as soon as I removed the lifting stick. I then climbed the ladder, listening for traffic on our street, wedged my fingers into the small opening I created and lifted as hard as I could. With a few tugs I got the window half open. It would have to be enough.

Head first I dove into my brother's messy bedroom floor. As I dragged myself across his dirty socks, pulling my legs and feet through the window, I knew my skills as a spy or cat burger had been secured and I couldn't have been happier.