My Ring Is Gone!

              “I can’t believe it. I can’t find it anywhere.”

              “Where did you put it?” my friend Georgia asked.

            “That’s it, I can’t remember. I hid it so well when I went to Africa, I’ve no idea where.”

            ‘The it is a ring’, not an expensive one, but one that for some reason had meaning for me. It was purchased for me by a man I was dating. We were walking down a street in lower New York City when I spotted something I had never seen before.

           “Look at that. That guy is selling something on the street and it’s not food. Let’s go take a look.”

“Do you want it?” Larry asked. Do I dare? I don’t know him that well. I have to.

           A magnet pulled me into the gutter and across the street. A ring, one amongst many, attracted me to it. The only thing I could see was the mosaic it was made with. Not fine mosaic you might find in Italy, but rough. All blue and white, with a pink rose in the center, I fell in love with it.

           When the vendor removed it from its place in the black velvet case for me to try on, I was puzzled by the large and ugly shank.

           “Look at this,” I whispered, “it’s big enough for an elephant’s toe. It’s ugly.

           “Don’t worry about that,” Larry said, “I’ll take care of it. “Do you like it?”

           With a nod of my head, he bought it for me and had a gold wedding band soldered on by a jeweler. That was thirty-five  years ago, I treasured the ring and wore it daily. It was different and brought many compliments throughout the years. Now I was without it and my finger felt strangely empty, missing its long-time companion.

           Six months ago and three years after hiding it, I was rummaging around in a box of stuff in the garage. I come upon a plastic bag. I open the bag to find ornamental rocks I put in the garden to brighten it. Something made me rummage around in the bag and there it was, my ring. I slip it on the finger that has been waiting so long and my heart drops. It’s ruined. All of the center stones have disintegrated into the dust. I could taste my disappointment and removed it from my finger. It goes into a special place it in a drawer. Years later I still couldn’t make myself throw it out.


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