I rub raw the space on my right ring finger where the cheap ring he bought once sat. The stone was cheap, but the sentiment, the presentation so sweet, hidden in a bag of children’s jewels, the ones that came in bulk at the Disney Store, hidden in a pot of mums. I remember being touched, truly touched and pleased that day, content with only the flowers and the pretend jewels from my daughters, prodded to find the ring deep inside.
I took that ring off yesterday, and don’t plan to put it back on.
It’s meaning is less than one which would rest on a left ring finger, vein to the heart. That meaning is carved onto my wrist, a forever which never came, but did at the same time, in the form of two small persons. I stare at it, my Mobius, my idea so long ago, and wonder, should I cover it? Change it? Leave it in stasis? I can’t just take it off. Unlike a wedding ring, I can’t heave it at his head or drop it down a drain.
But I could take that other ring off, once a symbol of love, now, just another cheap piece of metal and glass, lying forlorn on my writing desk. My hand absently looks for it, to twirl around my finger, to fiddle with. But it doesn’t miss it. My hand might gasp a startled question at itself, forgetting for a moment it’s not there., but it shrugs and moves on. That ring was a ghost, a cypher. Obligation made round. A reminder for me, of the burden I always was.
A reminder as well, that my future will include, eventually, someone who wants to buy me a pretty ring purely because it will make me happy, bring a smile to my face when I look at it. A reminder that I want in my life only someone who will look at me and smile, happy with their life, with me.
A reminder that the good things, the happy things in life should be so great, so many, that I will hardly remember each one. A reminder that love shouldn’t hurt.