Combinations

Perhaps there’s no more intimate a gesture for an eighth grader than telling your friend your locker combination. Bryan’s locker was two down from mine, and between classes I got into the habit of opening his first. I was proud to know the three numbers needed to unclasp Bryan’s MasterLock. I also liked his three digits better than mine: my chunky 32-4-14 just wasn’t as fluid as his slick 28-18-12. One day, I decided to switch my lock with Bryan’s. To my chagrin, he didn’t find it funny, and categorically wanted his own lock back. I sheepishly acquiesced.

There’s something magical about a combination lock, and not only because of the mysterious mechanism itself. Through repetition, you become able to maneuver the dial counter-clockwise from the first number to the second and clockwise from the second to third so precisely that even while agilely spinning the dial as fast as possible you can stop on a dime at just the right place. The sound of the shackle being released after reaching the last number and pulling the case (or handle, if the lock is built-in) never ceases to be satisfying. I can only think to compare it to playing with a group of musicians with whom you really connect. You know that it works, but you don’t truly know why.

At my school, only the row of lockers reserved for the freshmen had built-in locks. Incidentally, the locker I had that year was next to the band room, and during my sophomore through senior years, I continued to unlock that locker almost as frequently as I entered that room. This wasn’t nearly as devious as the kids who would write anonymous love letters and drop them through the air slots of random lockers.

In eighth grade I actually had two lockers with locks, the other being in the p.e. locker room. These were reserved for those in sports, and I was imprudently in football and basketball that year. After basketball season ended, I kept my lock on my locker but never opened it again. I tried to open it, but somehow the correct numbers got squeezed out of my brain and I could not remember them.

My school had a very cunning policy: at the beginning of the year they would sell you your combination locks at $4 apiece, and at the end of the year they would buy them back for $2. This ploy worked only because at the beginning of the year, your parents paid the fee along with the others imposed by the “free” public school system, but at the end of the year the refund was given to us students when we gave them back with our books.

The last day of school, I convinced a janitor with a master key to unlock my p.e. lock for me. I also convinced Bryan to trade me locks, since he was just going to sell it back anyway. In order to be paid for the lock, you had to write the permutation on a piece of tape fastened on back. Realizing they didn’t actually check, I made up a number for the p.e. lock and got my $2. I kept Bryan’s lock and continued to use it for the next several years.

I don’t know what ever became of Bryan or his lock. I still have the last lock I used my senior year, but the number for it is 28-6-16. The first number’s the same, but some things are irreplaceable.