The Emerald Engagement Ring

An emerald in an engagement ring has a special meaning. It’s supposed to signify good luck, peace and longevity in a marriage. Marissa sighed. A beam of sunlight was hitting the ring in a vicious sparkle, casting a green light on the wall. She fluttered her fingers so she could watch the green light dance on that cream canvas like a strange firefly. But all of a sudden, the sun went in behind a cloud, and the green light went with it. The jewel seemed duller, and no fluttering of her fingers could bring the brilliance back. Seemed an appropriate omen for what it represented. She sighed again as she let her hands fall to her lap.

She was in the study. All leather, musty pages and smoky decanters in hidden crevices. So much knowledge on the shelves it was almost suffocating. Almost. That oak desk. Beautiful, elegant, custom made. Everything was to his liking. This was his place. A place of fine conversations laced with intrigue and intelligence, dominated by his breath. The fireplace was cold and empty, the grating covered with a fine, black dust. She remembered the night it roared so brightly and bathed the beautiful angles of his face with warmth. He held her so tight, she felt herself melt into him as the embers disintegrated and their passion blazed on. He’d wanted her with an intensity she thought would never burn out.

Alex was a brilliant man. Too brilliant perhaps. Too wrapped up in his own ambitions and ideas to fully recognize her wants and desires. A man, like so many men, of action and solid things, unable to comprehend what was invisible between them. The seemingly ethereal, floating things just out of reach. Too flimsy to touch and yet yearned for, so desperately yearned for. With him, she would be a kept woman. Taken care of, provided for, something her own family had never been able to give her. He was an escape, a whispered promise, a protective hand on her shoulder.

He'd been so after her in the beginning. She didn’t think she’d ever been so religiously pursued. He fed her every romantic fancy. Spontaneous getaways fed by rasping sea air and warmed by wine. Picnics where they lay, their hands playing with each other, watching the clouds peak through the green light of the oak tree canopy above them, singing with the breeze. But when he had her. As soon as that damned ring had slid on to her finger, it was like none of it had ever happened. Because it didn’t need to happen. There were more important things to consider with such little precious time to do them. She was secured. She was a sure thing. She needed no further attention. For now, at least. ‘Later dear, later’.

“Always later,” she muttered to herself absentmindedly.

Was it foolish and naive of her to think later would come? That things would be as they were. She did not know enough of men to answer her own question. He’d plucked her when she was in full bloom. Was this something she’d need to accept, as so many had before her? Her mother would say yes, because she hadn’t made that choice and regretted it. To live in this beautiful house and have this beautiful life. Would it be shared or simply exchanged? Take this and do what you want with it.

Would that be enough? All these questions buzzed around her like mosquitoes wanting to drain her blood as they drove her insane. She held out her hand in front of her, no longer naked, no longer so innocent, and her face, neither beautiful nor plain, crumpled up like a piece of paper. A mixture of anger, confusion and despair. It felt like the ring was tightening on her finger, like it might cut it off completely. She wanted to be naked again and now struggled to get the fat ring off her slim finger. But it didn’t want to let her go, just as she knew he wouldn’t. She managed to fling it off, almost dropping it. There it lay in the palm of her other hand. She walked over to the fine oak table and set it firmly down. The sound it made was a sharp tap that seemed to echo. It filled the silence like a sentient being. But she didn’t know what it was trying to say.

There was a small mirror at one end of the room, gilded and intricate. She walked over to it and looked into her own eyes. So dark, grey edged with a darker grey. She ran her naked hand through her black hair. It was a bit disheveled and she tried to pat it into place. Her eyes could shine. When she smiled, her dimples marked her face with pleasure. She used to laugh so hard it would flush her cheeks and give her face an air that inspired desire. But it did not seem so full now. It was angular, withdrawn. She messed up her hair and pinched her gaunt cheeks. Her mind ran away with wild ideas of freedom. Of running away, making her own life, her own fortune. She didn’t need him before. He’d made her complacent. But he’d made her. She couldn’t remember what she was before.

Marissa smoothed her hair back down the way it was, left her face alone. Her wild thoughts were just that, wild thoughts. He loved her. In ways she didn’t have the courage to do for herself. She was not brave enough to live for herself, without him. She knew it deep down. He knew it, he’d always known it. He needed to be needed. The sun came out again, though it was lower in the sky. It caught the ring again. The green light shone on to her now.

She walked back over to the table. With slight hesitation, she picked up the ring and looked at it, praying it would miraculously give her the answers she needed. Speak now or forever hold your peace. There was a knock on the door. He wouldn’t wait for an answer. He’d walk straight in. She would have turned around by then, framed in fading sunlight. She would be standing there smiling, with the ring back on her finger, like she’d never taken it off at all.