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Band of Gold

How could you forget about me?

By Barb DukemanPublished about a month ago 6 min read
One of us

Sometimes you were just a few feet away from me. I was always there, right where you tucked me away three years ago. I remember the day, too. It was frightfully cold inside and out, snowing and icy, and you wanted to go snow tubing with the family. You looked at me, still faithfully around the ring finger on your left hand. The cold made your finger feel smaller, and you were so afraid of losing me on the snow slopes. You slid me off your finger and stashed me away in a pocket of some sort. I thought it was a purse or a coat. I heard the zipper.

I had never left you before. Your husband put me on your finger, and you were supposed to keep me there. But I understand; you didn’t want to lose me. I get it. I’m sure you had fun on the snow tubes and hanging out by the bonfire. I wouldn’t know. I was stuck in this pocket or pouch for the next three years.

I felt movement from time to time. I heard you talking, laughing, playing with a dog. It sounded like you were really having fun. I heard music all around, like “Silver and Gold” and another song about me and a random assortment of things including “…five gold rings.” One singer asked “Santa Baby” for one more thing, a ring. I must be a popular gift this time of year. From time to time, however, I felt clothing squishing up beside me through a thin membrane, but I never left my post. I stayed exactly where you put me. My twin was probably still safe on your husband’s finger. I don’t believe he’s ever left his hand.

A week later I felt an electric jolt of some kind…it’s hard to describe. It went right through me. Then I felt hands blindly feeling around me, and I know it wasn’t you. You usually smell quite nice, and this was awful. Sweat, rubber, solvent? I’m not sure. Wherever I was, I felt as if I were being tossed or thrown around. I could hear other jewelry around me; don’t ask me how. I don’t have ears, but gold knows gold.

Things went quiet for a while, maybe an hour or two. Then the most unusual sensation followed. I felt almost like I was being formed again, gold in a heated vessel, pressure, noise, followed by intense cold. It was the most disturbing feeling knowing you were probably far from me, worried about me. I stayed perfectly still, hidden safely away where you left me, for another two hours or so. The pressure around me changed again, and movement began. I heard voices, and a truck or something…maybe a car? Rough, tumbling, rotating-all these sensations. It was no longer cold.

I heard your voice! You found me. At least you found the thing I was in. I could hear you laughing and swearing, and I could hear wheels up close. I figured you would get me soon, and we could hang out together again. I looked good on you. A week was a long time to be off your hand.

That week turned into months. I could hear you nearby rustling though things. After the initial swish of clothing, the clopping of shoes, movement behind that membrane, things would get really quiet again. About ten feet away, I could hear you again. You sounded perplexed.

“Damn it. Where is it? I can’t tell him I lost my wedding band,” you mumbled. “Maybe in a drawer?” I could hear you opening drawers, tossing clothes around. “Shoes? Maybe it fell into a sneaker from the dresser.” I could hear shoes being thrown about, sometimes mere inches away. "Maybe a coat pocket?" I’m right here! Right where you put me for safe keeping? Don’t you remember?

You would get silent for hours, and those hours turned into weeks, into months. Then you did the unthinkable; jewelry gets jealous, and I heard you ask your husband to put ANOTHER gold ring on your finger. You said it was plain, but you definitely wanted him to put it on your finger. You made an eternal promise with ME, not that imposter. I was pretty lonely there; not a thing around me there in the dark.

In the months in between, I heard you shuffling items around again. You were still looking for me. You knew I was somewhere, but just didn’t know when or where I “disappeared.” I heard you take the drawers out of the dresser; the scraping of wood on metal, and more swearing. I heard you come back toward me. I heard you most mornings, too. You just didn’t notice. Or remember. That hurt.

One day you said something peculiar. You talk to yourself a lot, by the way. “Tony, Tony, look around. Something’s lost and must be found!” I think you were referring to me! You said it several times. Perhaps you were talking to someone? “Mom? I still can’t find it. Yes, I said the prayer. No, it didn’t work.” Then you paused a moment. “WHAT?” You sounded confused. “I need to do WHAT? A string with knots in it? What does that do?” You got silent again. “Mom, who told you that? Do you really think that tying knots in a random string around my doorknob is like tying knots in St. Anthony’s penis? Did gramma put you up to this? That’s crazy.” I was intrigued now. “And tying those knots will make him more likely to listen to me because it hurts. Ok. This is why I’m Lutheran now.”

However, I heard you moving around again. You opened another cabinet as you mumbled again. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” I wish I could see what you were doing, but I have a feeling you were tying knots in a string. Do you realize how bizarre that sounds? No more bizarre than a sentient wedding band, I suppose. But knots? Really? How Italian do you have to be to believe something like this?

Maybe this helped you find that Christmas card from your grandmother, too.

Did you really tie a bell to the end of that string? It sounded like a sheep in the meadow. I had to listen to that all day, but at least I knew you were near. Every morning, I could you hear doors opening close to me. I could hear clothing, hangers flicking, something being hung up. Sometimes you’d be mumbling again. I couldn’t make out what you were saying. At the end of the day, I heard the bell again. Ding a ling!

One glorious day, I heard you shriek. “I think I know where it is!” you exclaimed. I heard your steps getting closer, and I felt a jostling movement again. That thin membrane brushed against me. Then I felt your warm hand – your fingers reached around me and pulled me out into the light again. “I found it! It was in my suitcase pocket!” You took off that ugly plain ring and placed me where I belonged. “I remember now. I took it off when we were up north three years ago. I thought I might lose it on the slopes and took it off for safekeeping.” You looked down at me, fingers splayed, and I knew you were happy. St. Anthony, though, not so happy. Or should I say KNOT so happy. Anyway, I’m glad I’m back where I belong.

Home at last

Short StoryHumorHolidayFableAdventure

About the Creator

Barb Dukeman

After 32 years of teaching high school English, I've started writing again and loving every minute of it. I enjoy bringing ideas to life and the concept of leaving behind a legacy.

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  • Shirley Belkabout a month ago

    Well done!!!

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