I Hear You Knockin'...(overture)

"Dad, do you still keep the key to the house in the same secret spot?" It was there ever since I was little. You get locked out, you know where to go. "Oh yes, it's still here. Just use it if you need it, luh." With that, Dad physically removes the key from its resting place, shows it to me, and then puts is back. This was last week. My parents are currently in Toronto. Turpin promises me food and a juicebox if I hang out with her for the day, so I drive around the bay on Saturday in order to see her. I arrive. I wander into the Turpin kitchen area to see Anne-Marie on the phone. I can't remember the last time I saw her - Christmas, I suppose. She doesn't get up. I like Anne-Marie. Is there a hyphen? I don't know if there's a hyphen in her name; we're not that close. Chris has his shirt off and there are tools about. He's being forced to do something because Anne-Marie is home. Extricate Turpin. Back to my yard. Time to get the secret key, which, although I won't divulge specifics, is nestled in one of the several nooks and/or crannies of the shed. I try the shed door, and it's locked. The shed door is never locked and I'm aware of no contingency. Thanks Mom and Dad. For a brief instant, I consider trying to 'break the door down', like they do in the movies, figuring that if I break my arm, Turpin can probably festoon a decent splint. I change my mind. I examine all surrounding areas of the shed. I refresh myself on where windows are, and how small they may be compared to my ridiculous frame. Evidently, I'm wider than I thought. Alas, the door's my only option. I then attempt to slide the door's small window open so I can simply reach through and unlock the door. The window begins to slide easily. As I'm doing this, Turpin asks, "Do your parents have an alarm system?" Getting into the shed of my own accord is important because there's a female present. Now, for the average male, Turpin is inexplicably quite captivating, and although, for me, she barely qualifies, a woman is a woman. I have to appear handy. I am not handy, which Turpin knows. The window falls out of the frame entirely, and shatters on the shed's concrete floor. Now there's glass everywhere. Turpin's very afraid of broken glass, and fittingly hangs back as she laughs hysterically. I enter the shed and act as though the broken glass isn't a big deal. I even try to replace the window in its frame, despite the fact that it will no longer protect against any sort of element. My father's rakes and shovels are now in jeopardy. I'm fumbling with the window, I'm acting like I know what I'm doing. I have no idea how I didn't slice open an artery while doing this. The key isn't there. It was there last week and throughout my childhood! I can't stress this enough: the key has never not been there. Now it's gone. I call my parents in Toronto about it, and leave a nasty message for them on their friend's machine. I circle the house and try to figure out how I might break in. I can't. Sheds, no problem. Houses, different story. Meanwhile, Turpin is saying that we have to hide because the Keeping daughter is lurking in the neighbor's driveway. I can't really remember the child, apart from the fact that she's a frigging urchin, and I therefore decide that I don't want to deal with her. Mom calls. Turns out Uncle Bill has the key. In case Uncle Bill needs to get into the house. He isn't even my real uncle. Earlier, during the drive to meet Sarah, I decided that it might be a good idea to get high and walk along the track through the middle of town. I passed Adam Powell's house, you see. Then I passed the track. Then I got all wistful-like. So, I drive us to the Amalgamated parking lot. The plan is to smoke a bowl and then get to walking. It's mozzy outside and this quickly evolves into a decent downpour.
An hour and a half later we drive out of the parking lot to get snacks. We do not take so much as a step onto the track. We go to Uncle Bill's and he asks us to stay and have a beer. I attempt to calculate Turpin's current capacity for chitchat. I can tell that it isn't high, but apparently I don't care.  We have a beer and we chitchat. We get the key.