Elephant of the Ring

Two things that I’ve learned:

1) Clothes don’t make the man, jewelry does.

2) Elephant ghosts are persistent.

The one item I’ve found in all of my thrifting finds that stands the test of time beyond any pair of shoes, pants or winter sweater is one single ring bearing the likeness of an elephant head. That one ring has been in my possession since October 2015. The story that led me to the treasure can never be forgotten.

I am an actor. In the late summer, early fall of 2015. I was cast as the lead in a play by Tearrance Arvelle Chisholm entitled Bhavi the Avenger with Convergence Theatre Company. It's about a young boy of 14, African-American and Indian descent. Through divine interference, he becomes spiritually and emotionally attached to the ghost of a dead elephant. The elephant in question was hunted and killed one-year into the standard two-year gestation period for the beast. Bhavi, the sanskrit word for future, was my character. From the time he was a young boy to adulthood, the audience sees Bhavi navigate the world of American corporation, having returned to the states after his father died and his African-American mother felt out of place. The play is about identity and memory, most importantly remembering who you are.

That’s where the ghost of a slain elephant comes in. The creatures never forget but what I came to discover for myself through the language both physical and verbal in the text is that a ghost, our ghosts, can be dogged with whomever it is they have chosen to protect or whatever person they have deemed should never forget them. The elephant symbolizes for me, the actor, the importance of being true to myself and my craft. For Bhavi, the slain mother is a reminder of where he came from and that there will always be forces that seek to destroy pieces of us, that prevent us from being whole, that kill the births of our potential.

For two months, all I thought about was elephants. I watched two castmates create an elephant behind a giant screen. I researched them. I almost prayed to Ganesha, the Hindu elephant god, a few times. (True story, I bought a tiny golden Ganesha statue well after the show ended.) Out of respect? Maybe. I felt more respectful donating the piece to someone else. I think you get the point, though. I played a man at the intersection of who he was forcing himself to be and who he wanted to be. At the meeting point of the intersection, there was death, memory and a nagging elephant mama.

Intersections. Crossroads. There’s irony here. In every major city I’ve lived in, there is a Crossroads. Carve the symbolism out of your head. I mean the actual Crossroads Trading. I’ve seen them in San Francisco, New York City and one of my favorite cities and second home, Washington, DC. Picture it, late afternoon. October. There’s a chill in the air. The place was 14th Street, a bustling corridor. On the same block as the restaurant bookstore, just two storefronts down, was Crossroads.

I looked for new pants, maybe a shirt. I’m pretty sure I bought something else that day. Then came the checkout line with jewelry and knick knacks. The quick grab circle of consumer poverty. I saw it. I became Gollum and this silver beauty became my precious.

I promise you it was only days after the show ended. I barely had time to grieve the show I’d given mental and physical toil to. I was simply shopping for discount pea coats for the winter or a sensible fall sweater but noooo. That elephant refused to leave me alone. As much as she was fictitious, she was a full-blooded manifestation of memory imploring me to never forget. Here was the perfect vessel--a ring. I had never bought jewelry for myself beyond international trips, for souvenir purposes. How fitting that the first chance I saw to purchase a trinket for myself, it was a fast grab and a descendant of Bhavi and his ghost.

Beyond the metaphysical reasonings, you can't deny that the ring is indeed beautiful. My favorite component is that one tusk is shorter than the ordered. Backstory: maybe it was cut off in an attempt to harvest the ivory for profit. Maybe it's hereditary. See? I couldn't just except that the tusk was short because the silver broke and that's potentially why it was brought to Crossroads in the first place. No. Phantom Elephant wouldn't dare allow me to oversimplify. I can't imagine how I looked gawking over the piece before I asked the store's employee to retrieve it from the glass case. I put it on and while I didn't defy the laws of physics and reality and become invisible, the effects were just as alchemical. I felt a power that only myself, my castmates and the viewing audiences might've been able to comprehend. Still, no one could understand my connection like I could.

And it was only $10! Come on!

Every time I put on the ring, I am reminded. I am memory itself.

And I promise myself I won’t forget.