Not Fancy Free

Out of all the scenarios to the standard interview question, ‘Where do you see yourself in five years,’ I certainly never thought I would be here - camped out on the floor of my closet staring down at the mess I created. Even though employers are probably looking at a generalized answer, it’s crazy to see where life brings you. Personally, my mantra has been regret free and fancy free, but a little remorse is seeping into my pores at my current predicament. 

This whole thing was becoming counterintuitive. The harder I tried to declutter, the bigger the mess became. The only way out and through the ordeal was for me to commit to the entire painful process.

In this case it was my standing jewelry armoire. The tall white cabinet that nestled against the wall in the small walk-in closet was full of my life’s collections: earrings, bracelets, necklaces, rings, watches, pendants and brooches. Yes, even brooches. Granted, those were given to me from my late grandmother. The problem was, that all of these things were no longer placed neatly in their respective slots but strewn about the floor. The gray carpet that I am sitting upon was swallowing up some of the tiny sets entirely.  

While in college, I developed a small obsession with finding wacky earrings and owl pendants, among other things. Now, nearly twenty years later, those designs no longer appeal to me. Because my jewelry cabinet was of ample size I ended up holding onto every precious piece including origami crane earrings, chunky Jesus cross necklaces and bulky cuffs. As of late my collection started to give way to simpler pieces, sets that were graceful but understated, blending into my outfits. I am a quieter person compared to what I was back then and maybe I wanted my jewelry to reflect that side of me. Someone who fumbled for words during conversations, or a person who read her books instead of enjoying another person’s company.

Frowning at the mess, I stretch out my arms and back, warding off the feeling of claustrophobia creeping up my spine. The clothes that were hanging next to me are pressing into my sides, making the tiny space that I’m sitting on seem smaller. The considerable amount of jewelry still needing to be sorted out tells me that I’m not going to be leaving this spot anytime soon.

I inhale deeply, reaching over to open one of the smaller drawers in the armoire and pull out one of the boxes onto my lap. Some of these containers I haven’t looked at in years and find that some pieces can go, but keep a couple I still owned from middle school. The girly beads drum up memories of packed hallways with rowdy teens, school bells announcing the end of class and the occasional paper notes underneath spiral notebooks. 

 I noticed the discarded bracelet then. I assumed the box was empty as it was hidden in the corner with many other items blocking it from view. My heart throbs and lodges in my throat as I pinch the chain between my fingers and pull it out of the box. Spreading the bracelet wide with my entire hand to allow the charms to rest on my palm, my mind entirely drifts back in my past to remember the fitful day I received it.

It must have been ten years ago that a sea of black clothes and solemn faces milled around me, the stench of stale air and burnt coffee tickling at my nose. Orange carpet laid at my feet stretching to meet brown panel walls. Couches straight from the eighties were shoved against the sides of the room with coffee tables and chairs to create several seating areas for guests. I was thirty at the time, a full grown adult but felt like a child again when faced with one of life’s greatest devastations. I was sitting on one of those couches in the main room with my dad, the pastel flowers sprouting from extravagant leaves print were warped from our weight. My black dress was drab against the vibrant colors of the cushions underneath, but it was worn appropriately. 

“Do you want some coffee,” I remember asking my dad, turning to him and holding on to his hand. It was a safe question and the role of hostess flowed through my veins. The need to see to his needs ingrained into me since his accident.

“No thanks dear, I’m good for now,” he answered. He rarely said no to that question but I guess the occasion was doing him in. Dressed in his usual special three piece suit, he was the picture of a grieving parent, except instead of dress shoes he wore his same black boots. 

Faces that I didn’t know filtered through my line of vision as they walked by, their eyes glancing at mine, but pulling away immediately. They didn’t recognize me, nor should they. I hardly knew any of them. I ended up giving up trying to find someone I recognized and just lowered my head entirely to look at the beige orange carpet.

I wasn’t really sure who I was here for, certainly not myself but absolutely for my dad. I could try to be here for the endless sea of unfamiliar people, but I really didn’t know how. Not that anyone ever feels comfortable at funerals but I am my most awkward self when attending one. This rings especially true at the ones where there is never a clear cut way on how to grieve. The most natural of my instincts is to try to make other people feel better. I could try to be funny - everyone needs a good laugh even when they are feeling their lowest. But somehow this was not the funeral to do this at. Should I cry? What if no tears come and then people judge me for not caring enough. Even if I do cry, would people feel it warranted? You didn’t even know her well, I could hear them say.

After all those years I really couldn’t remember what my reaction was at this particular funeral, if I cried or not at the service, but I do remember how I felt when my sister gave me a gift. Ashamed and unworthy.

For a while people whispered and cried around me until a pair of feet came up and stood in my line of sight between my knees. They refused to move and when I looked up, it was a familiar face standing there. I stiffened at the sight of her, seeing her long, brown hair flowing around red, blotchy eyes. Her glasses hid them well but I could still see. It was my sister. Theresa reached down to grab my hand, pulling me up from the couch.

“Come with me,” she said and without letting go of my arm she tugged me away from our dad. We ventured through the numerous clusters of people, and past the small intimate alcoves scattered about. My sister didn’t slow down and she was lucky I didn’t trip in my heels. 

She finally pulled me into one of the empty rooms. It had several smaller chairs with end tables adorned with soft lighted lamps. There was a table at the other end that held small snacks and next to it was a counter that housed the burnt coffee. The strong scent made my stomach lurch. It was then that she let go of my hand and facing me, she opened her purse to retrieve a worn white envelope. I narrowed my eyes, confused at why she was handing me a letter.

“Here, I thought you should have this," she said as she handed the package over to me. She gave me a knowing look through her glasses and a small smile graced her face as the weight of the envelope threw me off. My fingers had to catch up to clutch at the corner before it fell to the floor. I brought it close to my body, and shook the envelope upside down. This was no letter. I spotted some gold as the object dropped to my open awaiting palm. As I was looking up I watched as Theresa zipped up her purse and put it away, stuffing it under some coats. Before she walked out completely she closed the door to the room, giving me privacy, I suppose. 

I turned back from the door with wide, curious eyes to view what she had given me. Tiny ropes twisted around to form a gold chain. It was a delicate piece but something that a young girl would have picked out, evident by the charms attached to the chain. I pulled the bracelet taught in my hand, allowing me to study the charms that were flushed on my palm. Physically, they were not heavy, but my heart was. It was in despair at knowing so very little about the joys the figures may have brought to the previous owner.

Six delicate little trinkets stared back at me. One of the larger pendants was a dolphin in metal blue curving up as if to jump over a wave. Next to it was a smaller dolphin but in a more vibrant blue than the previous one. Did she like the water? Was she ever in the ocean? I loved the ocean, the steady waves providing stability. I used to live really close to the ocean, but I was a toddler so I took it for granted. 

The next two were a gold elephant and turtle with its legs moving under its shell. It wiggled as I gave the bracelet a little shake. Did she ever get to ride an elephant or was that just one of her favorite animals? I got to ride one once at our annual small town Falls Fun Fest that came every Labor Day weekend. My mom took me and we had to climb up stairs to get on. She was really excited because she loved elephants. We only went in a circle but for a kid it was awesome. Now, I just think about the poor elephant and how cruel it was for the animal, maybe it escaped into its own mind just how I like to do.

I glanced at the last two charms. One was a mock engagement ring with a solitaire diamond setting. She could have been celebrating her marriage. I didn’t remember how long that lasted. I was engaged too. Maybe our marriage will work. My eyes were stinging, as they blurred with unshed tears, but I took in the last charm. It was a solid, immovable turtle advertising an island getaway. I didn’t own a turtle but we once painted the back of one up at my grandparents cabin or maybe that was my cousins. Two turtles on this bracelet made me wonder if that was her favorite animal. It could have been the dolphins too if we were going off of numbers. I didn’t have a favorite animal, not one where I would collect figurines for. 

Did my half sister choose these charms all at once to be placed on this bracelet or were they collected over time. I didn’t have a clue because these were questions that I never asked. I was looking for answers that I would never receive from her. When I was younger I never really got the chance to.

It would be easy to blame my dad for the distance between my half siblings and myself; they were his kids after all. When my dad and his ex-wife divorced he should have done a better job of keeping in touch with them. It was his responsibility to stay close to them and make room for them within his new family, one that now included my half siblings and me. Those are things that a dad is supposed to do for his children. Keep them safe, spend time with them and tell them about the world and how it works. How it can still surprise us if we look closely enough. All of that was too much for me to comprehend at the time being sixteen years younger than the oldest of them. It was always too hard to stay mad at my dad though. It was even harder to blame him. He was never mean, just distant and aloof, almost like he didn’t understand when he was doing something wrong. It got worse after the accident but I was still like him.

When I was older I should have attempted to be a bridge. I could have reached out to bring us together, social media would have made it so easy. I just never knew how to start it out and the more time that passed, the less comfortable I was with the notion. So instead, I was here, at my half sister Chrissy’s funeral and I was staring down at this intimate piece of jewelry that my other half sister, Theresa, deemed me worthy of keeping. My mind was a mess as it screamed at me to unlock some hidden memory or recollection of why she would have chosen any of these charms. I really looked at it and shamefully… felt nothing. It was like I picked it up off the street and I needed to look for a lost and found box so that the owner could come back and claim it. 

Why did Theresa give me this?

I did not deserve to have this piece of Chrissy in my possession. I was a fraud of a sister, barely able to claim the right to be here today. I would regret keeping it for myself. I fisted my clammy hand around the piece of jewelry and marched out of the door with firm resolve. I’ll just give it back to her, I thought. I’ll claim that Chrissy’s daughter should hold on to it or Theresa herself could. They knew what the charms meant to her.

I started to create the same weaving dance we made just minutes before down the endless hallway, darting in and out of the sea of night black attire. I saw Theresa up ahead. 

“Theresa! Wait,” I called out to her and panicked as dozens of people turned to look at me at once. My voice carried in the room, disrupting all conversations. Shit. This was definitely one of those scenarios that you never see yourself being in five years down the line. You never know the amount of shame and regret that you can carry your whole life. How those things shape the person you turn out to be.

Theresa turned and faced me, but my mind was frozen on all those people that stared at me. All those faces that didn’t have a clue who I was because I was not a part of their life, her life. This place was full of mourning faces. People who would severely grieve my sister. Mourn the fact that she was no longer in their lives and no longer able to be a mother, or a sister. A friend to lend a listening ear or someone to sneak off with in the middle of the night for a glass of wine to complain about husbands. These were people that would severely miss my sister, who she was in life, who she was to each and every single one of them. They would miss her every single day, wishing she was there. Who used to spend holidays with her and all of the little moments that make up our lives. As much as it pained me to think it, I just wasn’t one of them, regretfully. My everyday life was not affected by her passing except knowing the pain it caused some of the people I loved. But I wish I could have been. 

Theresa was still looking at me, confusion was in her eyes as she stared at my outstretched hand, fisted around Chrissy’s bracelet. 

“Theresa, I can’t…,” I started to say because she was looking at me to say something. I should give it back, I thought. But I pulled my hand back, cradling it to my body. Chrissy’s bracelet was meaningless to me in the regard that all I could do was look at it and guess what she was like and who she was. It wasn’t until that very moment when I suddenly realized that guessing was better than nothing. I didn’t have anything from her. I had very few memories of our times together but I could have her bracelet and wonder for the rest of my life. I could pull this out and let my imagination run wild with stories of her. I didn’t want to have nothing of her, so nothing is what I said to Theresa. 

Realizing I was going to say no more, Theresa pulled me into a hug. Her body foreign and unfamiliar to me but a welcome to me at the time.

”You’re welcome,” she whispered into my ear, then pulled back and walked away. I quickly found my dad but said nothing about it to him.

He still doesn’t know. Ten years after that funeral, as I sit here in my closet, surrounded by all my things, I find that this bracelet may mean the most. Maybe life couldn’t be regret free and fancy free. Missed opportunities shape a person just as much as taking them does. How else can a person become a better human being without examples of what not to do. So while I do regret not getting to know my sister more, I don’t regret keeping her bracelet, so after twirling it through my fingers a couple more times, I decide to place it back into the box and tackle my mess once again.