true
love or one person being meant for someone since before they were born. That was all sorts of fate, destiny and
cosmic-juju stuff that, at the time, I’d had no experience with.
But if there was such a thing, I
knew my parents had had it.
It had never stopped me of course,
from dating the women I was physically or intellectually drawn to, and I would
continue to date and try to find the woman for me.
But I wondered if I’d ever be
content unless we had that same connection together as my parents had: a bright, fierce, powerful love that could
stand the test of time.
And even death.
I turned the ring this way and that
in the dim bedroom light as the garnet flashed and winked at me. I didn’t keep the ring in my jewelry box,
though probably I should have.
I kept it in this drawer because
I’d kept meaning to wear it.
The ring was pretty fancy for
someone like me. I like long, clean
lines and a minimum of fuss with my clothing, including a minimum of
colors. My favorite color to wear is
black, because it’s classic and classy, and orchestra members wear a heck of a
lot of it. In my down time, I wore
black skirts and black turtlenecks and tights and shoes. I wasn’t much like my mother in that
regard. She loved frilly, fancy, pretty
things, the more colorful the better, the more frilly and fancy the better,
exactly like this ring. It was much
too fancy for me. I don’t even really
like to wear jewelry, could hardly be coxed into the two slim silver hoops I
put into my ears for performances.
But after the events of the past
few days, after all the life-threatening crap that had recently been happening
to me…it kind of felt like a good idea to put on my mother’s ring. Maybe I was being superstitious and I
thought this tiny piece of my mother’s would give me a little luck.
But, mostly, I just wanted
something comforting to hold onto.
If the last few days had proved
anything, they’d proved this:
Life throws a hell of a lot of
surprises at you. And things you could
never, ever predict can change your life forever.
Like an accident.
And a bodyguard.
I held up the ring to the light and
took a deep breath as I stared at the blood-red stone. And then I slid the silver ring down the
third finger of my right hand. It
nestled there comfortably against my skin like it’d been made for me, the
garnet still flashing in the dull light.
I turned off the lamp. I turned my pillow over to the cool,
unrumpled side and placed my cheek against it with a sigh. I closed my eyes, listening to the soft hush
of the rain. The storm was dying down,
it seemed.
And, unexpectedly and peacefully,
the ring growing warm against my skin, I drifted off to sleep.
—-
I woke up to the smell of scrambled eggs and
perfectly cooked toast slathered in melted butter. The smell was particularly strong, because these things were
right in front of my nose.
Literally.
It was morning, it had to be,
because the sun was out, and its bright, warm light suffused my bedroom,
spilling over me and my comforter. I
opened my eyes and blinked at the sight greeting me. The lamp on my bedside table had been pushed back, and a tray had
been set on the table. The tray, an old
wooden one that I usually kept my potted begonia and watering can on, now held
one of my china plates heaped with golden scrambled eggs, dark rye toast coated
thickly with butter and blueberry jam, and a big, rounded spoonful of cottage
cheese heaped neatly on a lettuce leaf.
The lettuce leaf was really what
threw me. It was something a diner
would do, serving cottage cheese on a leaf of lettuce, but, somehow, here it
was on my bedside table.
Layne stood in my open bedroom
doorway, leaning against the door jam with a very smug grin on her face, her arms
crossed, and her biceps curving just a little as she tilted her head at
me. She was wearing a skin-tight blue t-shirt this morning,
love or one person being meant for someone since before they were born. That was all sorts of fate, destiny and
cosmic-juju stuff that, at the time, I’d had no experience with.
But if there was such a thing, I
knew my parents had had it.
It had never stopped me of course,
from dating the women I was physically or intellectually drawn to, and I would
continue to date and try to find the woman for me.
But I wondered if I’d ever be
content unless we had that same connection together as my parents had: a bright, fierce, powerful love that could
stand the test of time.
And even death.
I turned the ring this way and that
in the dim bedroom light as the garnet flashed and winked at me. I didn’t keep the ring in my jewelry box,
though probably I should have.
I kept it in this drawer because
I’d kept meaning to wear it.
The ring was pretty fancy for
someone like me. I like long, clean
lines and a minimum of fuss with my clothing, including a minimum of
colors. My favorite color to wear is
black, because it’s classic and classy, and orchestra members wear a heck of a
lot of it. In my down time, I wore
black skirts and black turtlenecks and tights and shoes. I wasn’t much like my mother in that
regard. She loved frilly, fancy, pretty
things, the more colorful the better, the more frilly and fancy the better,
exactly like this ring. It was much
too fancy for me. I don’t even really
like to wear jewelry, could hardly be coxed into the two slim silver hoops I
put into my ears for performances.
But after the events of the past
few days, after all the life-threatening crap that had recently been happening
to me…it kind of felt like a good idea to put on my mother’s ring. Maybe I was being superstitious and I
thought this tiny piece of my mother’s would give me a little luck.
But, mostly, I just wanted
something comforting to hold onto.
If the last few days had proved
anything, they’d proved this:
Life throws a hell of a lot of
surprises at you. And things you could
never, ever predict can change your life forever.
Like an accident.
And a bodyguard.
I held up the ring to the light and
took a deep breath as I stared at the blood-red stone. And then I slid the silver ring down the
third finger of my right hand. It
nestled there comfortably against my skin like it’d been made for me, the
garnet still flashing in the dull light.
I turned off the lamp. I turned my pillow over to the cool,
unrumpled side and placed my cheek against it with a sigh. I closed my eyes, listening to the soft hush
of the rain. The storm was dying down,
it seemed.
And, unexpectedly and peacefully,
the ring growing warm against my skin, I drifted off to sleep.
—-
I woke up to the smell of scrambled eggs and
perfectly cooked toast slathered in melted butter. The smell was particularly strong, because these things were
right in front of my nose.
Literally.
It was morning, it had to be,
because the sun was out, and its bright, warm light suffused my bedroom,
spilling over me and my comforter. I
opened my eyes and blinked at the sight greeting me. The lamp on my bedside table had been pushed back, and a tray had
been set on the table. The tray, an old
wooden one that I usually kept my potted begonia and watering can on, now held
one of my china plates heaped with golden scrambled eggs, dark rye toast coated
thickly with butter and blueberry jam, and a big, rounded spoonful of cottage
cheese heaped neatly on a lettuce leaf.
The lettuce leaf was really what
threw me. It was something a diner
would do, serving cottage cheese on a leaf of lettuce, but, somehow, here it
was on my bedside table.
Layne stood in my open bedroom
doorway, leaning against the door jam with a very smug grin on her face, her arms
crossed, and her biceps curving just a little as she tilted her head at
me. She was wearing a skin-tight blue t-shirt this morning,
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