Guarding
the Nightstand drawer
Guarding
the Nightstand drawer
The futile search for the extra set of car keys has
boiled down to the unlikely bedroom nightstand. Sitting on the bed, the rummage
begins: a half-finished paperback mystery place-marked with an old Target
receipt, a fingernail clipper, an empty PEZ dispenser, a tissue – hard and
crusty at one end, three Phillips triple-A batteries, a pair of ear buds for a
Sony Walkman no longer in commission, a desiccated orange peel, three ball
point pens – two with ink, a cat collar with a tinkle bell for a pet no longer
in commission, a black comb, an errand list in pencil, dry and yellowing
listing a dry cleaner long ago scraped away for a condo development, a
wallet-size photo of a granddaughter in braces – she hated it, an instruction
pamphlet for an electric alarm clock-radio no longer in commission, one Tic-Tac,
a Smith & Wesson .38 special Chiefs Airweight revolver with a two-inch barrel.
No car keys; scribble a note to “Self” – ‘Clean out
nightstand drawer.’
The final, last straw search perimeter includes the coat pockets in the
downstairs hall closet.
Summer jackets are all hung on the front pole. Hats are
on the top shelf stacked to form a column of strange brims. Begin feeling outside
pockets and groping inside pockets. Discover half a Wendy’s burger bun without
meat wrapped in a napkin, a key to the back door that hasn’t been locked in 30
years, the other Tic-Tac, last year’s summons to have the car emissions checked
by the State – approved, two ticket stubs to Iron Man III, a Petsmart fish food
coupon for a goldfish no longer in commission, the box cutter that went missing
last Easter, graham cracker crumbs wrapped in tinfoil, matchbook cover with
penciled hospital phone number for mother – no longer in commission, a red dot
laser pointer toy for de-commissioned cat, leaning against the closet wall –
one .223 caliber Bushmaster assault rifle with laser night-vision sight, thirty
round magazine and muzzle bipod.
As the search concludes, husband returns home from an
unannounced errand to buy a part for the lawn mower, passes hall closet, pauses
at the hall table and deposits car keys in the decorative ceramic key bowl brought
back from Mexico. With the keys dumped, he unclips his Glock Model 17, 9mm
semi-automatic pistol nestled in its Gucci spring latch holster and places it
along with the matching extra 10 round magazine pouch in the hall table drawer.
He waves to me and heads down the hall to the kitchen for a cold beer.
I snatch up the keys, drop them in my purse and unzip the
pocket on its side. From the hall table drawer, I remove my Taurus Judge
.410/45 Colt nickel-plated revolver, slide it into the concealed purse pocket,
zip up and head for my book club meeting at the library to discuss Aldous
Huxley’s book, Brave New World.