WELCOME TO LATCHKEY TOWNSHIP

a newsletter by jacinta bunnell

Why this, why now?

You are receiving this missive from me because I have migrated my contacts from Mailchimp to Substack.

Substack makes it easier for writers and artists to interact with their friends, supporters, secret admirers, and the occasional zealot. If this is not your jam, you can unsubscribe anytime.

latch hook rug by Jacinta Bunnell

What should you expect?

You will receive a newsletter from me once in a while, just as you previously had been through Mailchimp. SAME JAZZY NEWSLETTER, DIFFERENT PLATFORM.

I will occasinally send out some writing, invites to events, and a sundry of art pics. You don’t have to pay for any of this, but if you become a paid monthly subscriber, you will get special fringe benefits now and again: more art, more stories, more access to my crystal cave of ideas and art.

In this first Substack newsletter, I am including an excerpt of my short story that appears in the new anthology LATCHKEY TOWNSHIP which you can order here. Thanks for joining me. I appreciate your company.

LATCHKEY WITHOUT A KEY

We never locked the doors to our house, with the exception of the two weeks every year when my mother and stepfather would travel to distant corners of Canada to go fishing and drink beer in a large orange tent. When door-locking did occur, it was with a brass skeleton key that could fit a hundred thousand doors of homes built in the early 1900s, Sears kit houses just like ours. I didn’t have a secret key hidden on a nail like so many of my friends. I didn't wear a lanyard door key necklace to school. No matter my key status, I was alone after school on many evenings and most summer days. 

I had self-adjusted to aloneness as a base point at an early age. I was self-directed, self-soothing, and highly entertaining to myself. I had a freedom that was unparalleled to most. My mom’s only two rules were: 

1. Don’t track mud into the house.

2. Don’t ever, ever say “I didn't ask to be born.” 

Beyond that, you were safe to come and go as you pleased, just make sure you call at some point. Even a prank call was fine. I didn’t know just how unorthodox my childhood was until I reached adulthood and talked to other people about their lived experience. Our house was one part lawless party the cops sometimes had to bust, one part group home, one part circus with no curfew — but it was also full of love, delicious food, kindness, and daily laughter. There were late-night keg parties at our house most weekends. What is fun for adults isn’t always fun for kids, and I had a deeply buried desire to be more connected and more engaged. I wanted to be at fewer parties.

mixed media by Jacinta Bunnell

When I had the house to myself, I would pull up a stool in front of the microwave, heating up Saltines topped with cheese-filled hot dogs, washing them down with iced tea made from a sparkly powder. I had all the time in the world to watch reruns of Three’s Company, M*A*S*H, and What’s Happening!! There were so many reruns. My mother and stepfather were frequent customers at the Dalton Saloon after work, and there were no restrictions on TV. The constant flow of quirky television characters provided entertaining companions from afternoon until nightfall. I wanted Ricky Shroder to be my boyfriend. And there was something so very interesting about Jo on The Facts of Life.

When I wasn’t watching TV, I had my own deeply curated inner world made manifest by choreographed roller-dances in the driveway heavily influenced by Fame and Olivia Newton-John. I latch hooked rugs. I laminated handmade bookmarks and designed stationery for my three-member stationary swap club. I made gelatin desserts, malted milk shakes, chip dip, and strawberry milk from mixes with step-by-step instructions. I was very good at following instructions.

I did my own laundry and reorganized my closet so it was ascending from shortest to longest garment. I numerically ordered my Nancy Drew book collection. Where most kids went wild with their freedom, I longed for structure and created my own because I wasn’t ever sure where the compass needle would land some days.

The best days of my latchkey life were spent with my best friend, Amy Shinkman. Our mothers were also best friends, drawn to each other by a loose, unboundaried parenting style, love of wine that could get you slowly drunk, shared trauma, and a trust that their children would make the right life decisions completely on their own. If I could make my way over to Amy’s house, either by bike or adult drop-off, we would spend days at a time unsupervised. We were prankish and profoundly rude together, bolstered by each other’s roguish silliness. We spent whole afternoons constructing haunted houses in her spider-webbed basement, cajoling the neighbors and her brother to pay us for a haunted tour of brains in jars, severed hands, dead bodies, and ketchup-soaked stuffed animals. We frequently made prank calls to strangers from “radio stations” with “quiz questions.” Because the phone book also listed addresses, we would mail small prizes to the winners.

Jacinta and her BFF Amy in a photobooth

When my best friend was at my side, I was thrilled to not be home alone sorting Jell-O boxes by flavor. We navigated a Latchkey Lifeboat together, sharing the weight of the anchor and the duties of the captain, unsinkable and broken free from the primary vessel.

In future newsletters, I will introduce you to some of the other Latchkey Lifeboat passengers I picked up along the way, recognizable by their radio beacons and familiar flares.

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