Some Mornings the Key Doesn't Turn

Some mornings the key just doesn't turn.

You go out to the shed at the end of the garden at seven, for the bag of salt. Frost on the grass, frost on the apple tree, and the padlock on the shed door is white with ice. You put the key in. Nothing. You look into the keyhole and there's a small block of ice sitting in it, clear as glass.

You can pull. You can push. You can stand there and say a bad word to a shed door. The ice doesn't care.

Your neighbor is out on her step in a coat over her pajamas, waiting for the dog to come back in.

“Don't force it,” she says. “You'll break the key off in the lock, and then you've got a real problem.”

She goes back inside and comes out with a cup of warm water. Warm, not hot — hot water on cold metal is a good way to crack a lock. Warm is slower and better. You pour it over the padlock, count to twenty, and try the key again. It turns.

The salt is where you left it in September. You put some on her path first.