October 27, 2007

I turn 31 today.

I got a pretty ring from a more than pretty girl.  It is white gold and has a lovely square opal.  Too big for my ring finger-I find it fits just right on my middle.  That suits me just fine.  I will wear it with the proper angst on my middle.  The same place I wear all my other angst.

(It might be better to get it resized – that little ring had no idea what it was getting into.)

I have another opal.  It is oval and surrounded by six garnets.  Opal for me born in October and the six garnets for the day of my mother’s birth in January.  My father (at 20) bought this for her shortly after I was born in 1976.   She wore it every single day on her right hand.    Her left hand naked b/c they had to sell that little diamond for rent in 1978.

They finally divorced after 12 years.  Suddenly, that ring was mine.  My grandma had it resized to fit my ring-finger perfectly.  Every time I look at that ring, I cry inside about the meaning – the giving – the love that they no longer have.  I know, dramatic – but you should see the photos of them as young people in love.   It would actually surprise them.

I never wear that goddamn ring.

Honestly? I hadn’t thought about that ring for awhile until today.  Until my beautiful girl gave me an opal of my own.   Happy Birthday to Me (says my father…) My finger feels big inside of it, undeserving even.

I shall take better care of the finger (and the rest of me) that will wear it forever.


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