The assignment I chose, out of Gwen’s list, was to write a 500 word story that begins with ‘Alice tried to remember who had given her the key.’   It’s a tad over 500… forgive me!  It is below.  Enjoy!

Alice tried to remember who had given her the key. She knew when she had received it. It had been a Tuesday, because under a rocky, gray sky she had been on her way to Steiny’s to eat a creamy bagel sandwich. The same sprout-laden, cream cheese covered delight was still offered only on Tuesdays, and she still went as often as possible. In New York, having a good deli with a friendly young buck behind the counter ready to whip up a specialty you’ve waited for all week was almost like having a family. You just went every week without exception, even if it was the busiest time of day on a Tuesday.

The afternoon she’d been handed the key, which she now wore every day around her neck, the traffic had been busier than usual. She was pushing through the streets, worrying before she’d even left the office that she would be late returning.

“Hella hella, Purple yella!” a brown, weathered man sang over the twang of his guitar. His foot tapped against a black felt hat on the ground before him. “Don’t you want a fella, sugar?” She slowed for a moment to listen, dropping a dollar in his hat and giving him a smile, but moved along quickly. She was determined to get her lunch and flirt with her deli boy a little, in as unhurried a way as possible. His smile was warm and thick behind the glass counter; his eyes were golden brown. She found herself humming the man’s tune while deli boy’s tan face filled her mind. Her steps were light on the pavement. She was having a little daydream when the Cadillac roared around the corner, just as her leg extended into the street.

She and two other people were hit, but she bounced the farthest. She didn’t lose consciousness immediately, and so was able to experience the weightlessness of being tossed through the air. The feeling of hitting the pavement, though painless, was vivid; she felt like a rug might, being beat against something to free the dirt.

As she lay twisted in the road watching the clouds shift through the sky, a face appeared in her field of vision. It was the singing man, and for a moment his wrinkled, dirty face was beautiful and comforting. “You look all right,” he said, laughing. He looked to the right. “She might need a little help next time, eh? Maybe something to keep her safe?” She looked away from him and saw he was speaking to a squat, small-eyed man, equally dirty. He nodded.

When she woke in the ambulance, by then feeling the pain from her splintered shin, the key was in her hand. Etched into one smooth side was the word ‘Safety’ in loopy script. “Watcha got there?” said the EMS man, checking the blood pressure monitor.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “A key, I guess.”

“Hmmm… For what? You were holding onto it pretty tight. I’ve never seen anyone bounce off the pavement like that and still have something in their hand,” he said, adjusting a knob on the monitor.

“I don’t know. I think an angel gave it to me,” she said. He raised his eyebrows and wrote something into a notepad.

“Well, you’d better hold onto it then. Might be important,” he said. She closed her eyes and drifted off, trying to capture the faces of the men who’d hovered over her in the street.