I have been going through a jumble box of keys.

Jumble box has been sitting in the thing drawer for months, untouched, and it seemed it was about time I figure out what’s what. Jumble box is a red cardboard box that once upon a time contained thirty-six delectable squares of chocolate. On the front, in gold and embossed, it says: Cailler ~ Frigor ~ Recette Originale. There is a small drawing of a dark-haired man in a black suit embracing a blond woman in a red dress. She has red earrings, too. Her eyes are closed and her face is turned up to him like bliss and abandon. The inside and back of the box explain: Frigor, le chocolat passion.

The box of chocolate was picked up two or three years ago from this one candy stand I know to go to when I am trapped in transit at the Frankfurt airport. Other things I know about the Frankfurt airport: There are free Internet terminals, and often a queue; being plugged into one’s iPod helps with the queue. The McDonald’s upstairs plays the same five songs on a reel; being plugged into one’s iPod helps with the same five songs on a reel. The pharmacy on the main floor sells lipbalm in kitschy packaging. The newsstands sell Magnums in many wondrous flavors, including Yoghurt.

So,

but.

The jumble box of keys. How did all these keys get here? Why so many? And do they have answers to all my questions? I have been in and out of my apartment testing all the locks. There is a grand feeling of success when a door opens. On the other hand, it is a little discomfiting when I find a key that corresponds to no door. One such key is stamped, unevenly: 33 99. Color me perplexed, I don’t know what to do with myself. Somewhere there is a door that opens to this key—but where?

There is another key, a largeish one, that is helpfully labeled ALL OTHER DOORS. We like this one a lot. It has a tingly weight of potential.