Ring of Truth

A long time ago a young man went to the bank and cashed that bond from grandma. The store was on Granville Street and they'd been there together. You would have thought the bond would cover it but no the deal could only be done after he crawled past the mushrooms growing in the floor of the Camaro to find those last few dollars among the spare change slipped beneath the bucket seats.

Credit cards were something unknown.

Almost immediately he went to his girlfriend to ask she excuse herself from her 4th floor office. She scowled harshly and they took the ride down in the freight elevator. "What do you need money?", she asked.

Out came that ring. You asked me to marry you.

In that moment you shattered the myth that I'm the sensitive one. A good start to this marriage, I'd say. That you would transform that bitchy girlfriend into your wife is always with me, I know you didn't know that. I'm not one to say marrying you has made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world, thank god. Marrying you gives me what I need, counterpoint. The opportunity with each day to save myself from myself.

I am one to put on airs, for sure. Sensitivity, intellect, responsibility. All those years ago I chose a diamond ring in an antique shop that I thought was a good choice. I loved it, especially that first day, but I never wore it. It seems diamonds are something I admire but not something I wear. A few weeks ago I checked the black velvet box and it wasn't there. I can't remember when I last had it but despite that I'd say I'm heartbroken. It screams callousness to have lost track of something most women guard with their lives. It saddens me to be without this piece of that day. As a talisman of lives together I most comfortably sit, instead, adorned only by the plainer gold band from our wedding day. But I'll keep looking as, apparently, I just never seem to know where things turn up.