He couldn’t remember when it was exactly, the date she took off the
ring and put it away for good. A couple years for sure, maybe four? He
did remember the way she shimmied it off her finger spitting out the
words “This isn’t mine!” and how she buried it under the tangle of
earrings and cheap jewelry she kept in a small bowl by the bed.
There was nothing he could do about it this time. Nothing.
The afternoon when it first had been placed in his hands he’d felt a
strange mix of unease and relief unwrapping the small blue velvet box
out of plain yellowed paper. The ring had an almost magical way with
light, dancing as if trapped inside. It was certainly far nicer than
anything he could have afforded. The gesture from his mother-in-law
had felt like a blessing, a way to set things right.
She had offered it to him a couple weeks after they’d given her the
news of their engagement. For thirty years, the ring had been sitting
untouched in the recesses of her upper dresser drawer. Letting out a
little laugh she had handed it to him with an eyebrow halfway raised,
“That’s not much of a proposal, not in the traditional sense. Not
without a ring.”
He’d planned on buying one. That’s what he told her. On credit. He
just hadn’t really worked it all through.
Imagine that, she said, thirty years in the dark for such a lovely ring.
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4 responses to “The Ring by Doug Bond”
So telling of their relationship, this symbol of what’s supposed to be love.
That’s so sad. Marriage isn’t about the symbols, and if they make it that way then it’s doomed. Very well done.
Well-played. Leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, a sadness. Peace…
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