Heart of Pearl

Call me sensitive, I don’t care. The ache still hurts a decade later. An ache that accompanies pain that drives the wedge between me and my family. I don’t think forgiveness is in my future, even if I do find it, it won’t be theirs.

But at least maybe after today, I’ll have closure. 

I-5 is a nightmare at noon. Traffic rarely stood still unless there was a cop doing road splits, but I got lucky today because an accident had me stopped at the Presidio exit. It had been months since the last time I drove this far north. I no longer went to school and there was no reason for me to be go to RSM, save for the pawn shop. To be honest I had given up hope of ever finding it. I left work early after receiving the call.

12:24pm. Ugh. 

My stomach hurts. A mix between anxiety and hunger. I checked my phone again. 

There it was. My pearl ring. The ache bloomed painfully in my chest, but I swallowed it down, changing my music to something with a little more…razz. The picture of some lo-fi channel my friend sent me popped up in my recommended list. Its gentle sway accompanied by a pink frosting doughnut and a cup of coffee. An artists rendition of white foam swirled inside the cup to make the channel more appealing.

“Oh, I could really use a doughnut.” I was right there, near an old favorite shop. Pulling off the exit, the draping hills green with winters rain turned into colorful shops of pizza and fashion. Age decorated the small city well, with old buildings maintained the way you dreamed they would, and new buildings matching the adobe-like structures and theme of this lovely little beach town. RittoShak was on the main road. The parking meters on either side was jam packed with cars, dull compared to the lively blue greens and sunset blends of the buildings. The parking lot was full as well, and there happened to be a line. 

Slight irritation wormed its way from a pinch in my chest to buzz my brain. A quick massage to my temple and a puff of air out my nose followed by the dull sharp ache of an empty stomach. I’m just hungry. 

I found a spot a little further down the hill towards the beach. Not that far a walk, and the sidewalks were maintained wonderfully. Tourists don’t flock here unless they are part of a timeshare. The foot traffic was nothing compared the cities up north and down south. 

A few kids, armed with a guitar, a set of drum sticks and a massive yo-yo looking thing walked past me, heading down the hill to the beach. One kid caught my eye, meeting my gaze as we walked past each other. While I was trapped in the exchange, confusion bypassed my brain and went right to my face as he grinned revealing a missing front tooth. His brown eyes glittered with specs of gold, the noon sun hitting us just right in between white fluffy clouds. The corners of his mouth spread, squinting his eyes and pinking his cheeks in a polite, yet kind smile. 

“Is that a cat on your shoulder?”

“Totally is, wanna pet him? Names Roscoe.” The cat, purring loudly and eyes shut in contentment barely blinked up at me from his spot on the boys backpack.

“I used to have an orange tabby too, they’re feisty and fun.” I say, “you guys play?”

The boy pet Roscoe with one hand and took a bite of his burrito with the other, “yea down at the retaining wall.”

“Very cool,” I say with an enthusiastic nod, definitely showcasing my age. “Have fun, it’s a beautiful day!”

Sorry kids, but I’m hungry and can only be so polite. 

I get slight waves and nods as I continue walking past them, hurrying to the door of the busy shack. The bell dinged, loud and dramatic as I pushed open the door, just as another patron was walking out hurriedly and their face in their phone. 

By the time I get in there, there’s only a few people ahead of me and I am hungering for more than just a doughnut. California, shredded chicken, surf n’ turf? Oh the possibilities to quell the acidic anger in my gut. 

It isn’t until I’m in line looking at all the food that the smells hit me. Sweet chocolate glaze, tangy fruit jams, savory meats, fresh tomatoes and cheese. I have to swallow my spit as I finally get to the register. 

“Good afternoon, how are you?” She asked with a bright but tired smile. Her name tag read ‘Amanda.’

“Hungry, you?”

“Tired,” she answered, her smile less but her eyes still bright. “I’m off in like, 45 minutes.”

“Lucky,” I say, really extending the ‘ee’. I rub my neck with one hand and reach for my wallet with the other. “I won’t keep bugging you then. I’ll have a surf n’ turf burrito, extra shrimp and a glazed doughnut.”

“Anything to drink?” 

I thought about the water I had in my car and shook my head, “no, thank you.”

“Does your order look right?”

I glance down at the card reader. The tablet attached read my order back, with the total being $20.77. I groan. 

Amanda’s face changed from exhausted customer service to worried customer service. “Are you okay?”

“Just…feeling myself die a little inside, that’s all,” I mutter as I tapped my card onto the reader. 

She offered a sympathetic smile, “one hours work doesn’t even pay for a burrito anymore.”

My lips pursed into a grimace, “what a world, what a world,” I quote. 

I sat down at a table, looking out into the light street traffic and clusters of people eating, walking, laughing and drinking. Solace. A moments peace. I looked at my phone again. 

I almost couldn’t believe it, but there it was. A pretty little pearl ring with two tiny diamonds on either side of it anchored by a white gold band. 

My mom gave me that ring when I was little. She gave each of us a ring, but in the middle of a rushed move I thought I had left it behind or lost it. I had friends and family ask about it, but never any luck. The old room mate claimed she had never seen it. In my heart of hearts, I know she was lying. 

Yet, ten years later, long after I abandoned the search and gave up hope I received a call from an older woman who had found a note with my number somewhere, she didn’t say where. 

Her voice was old, yet cheery as we made small talk, and turned into empathetic broken words when I began to cry at the picture she texted me. Beyond the manic excitement in my chest, hope flourished.  

The door bell rang two more times before my order was called. Rubbing the heat from my eyes with scratchy knuckles, I thanked the Amanda for my order, “get some sleep!” I call with a wave, as the bell jingled for my departure. 

I love burritos. 

They are the perfect meal. The texture of the shrimp was crisp and plump, mixing with the juicy thin steak in a blend of cheese and sour cream that made the mouth feels go: Wowza. The Mexican rice was top tier, their blends of spices and peppers bound with the perfect amount of queso. 

And what’s better than having a hand held meal? Can’t snack and drive with crunchy tacos. Makes a mess. But burritos? If you make a mess, you’re the problem. Easy.

Happy for food I munched the rest of the way up to Mission, the traffic having cleared somewhat by the time I got on the freeway. It only took twenty more minutes. Time wise that wasn’t bad. I didn’t start to feel that feign vein of excitement and nervousness until I pulled into the parking lot of Meema’s Pawn Shop. The blend of the two were getting to me. 

Like steeling myself for disappointment. This had never happened before, what if it really wasn’t her ring? What if this was just a cruel prank? 

I couldn’t imagine anyone wasting their time like that. But, I’ve known some insane people. 

Out of habit I readjusted the rearview mirror, glossing over my blue eyes down to my tongue working through the food stuck to my teeth. Once clear, I reapplied my lip gloss, blowing myself a kiss in the mirror. 

The shop was a large, well lit room. Long glass display tables lined the room, filled with jewelry, knives, and the occasional trading card. There was a stale smell in the air, not quite moth balls, but definitely not fresh.

“Are you Charlotte?”

None to gracefully, I screamed. 

A little old lady with a large wrinkled forehead and even larger hair smiled up at me from behind the glass display. 

“Yes!” I gasped, my face and ears burned. “I…sorry, I didn’t see you.” Her laugh lines deepened, and her crows feet scrunched. Wrinkles were a wonderful thing. Lines formed by our very own skin to tell the stories of our lives, the good, the bad, and everything in between. The tension in my shoulders eased. 

She waved me over to the counter. I got there before her, being as jittery as I felt, and suddenly my stomach was very heavy. I wish I hadn’t eaten that whole burrito. I could feel it coming up as she bent over, and then placed a box before me. I found myself frozen with my hands on the glass, slight perspiratory fog lining my fingers. 

“Kind of like the cat in the box, you won’t know until you open it,” Meema whispered. 

I swallowed the mass building up my throat, the outline of my hand already disappearing from the counter as I picked up the box. It was light, as I expected, dark red with Meema’s logo etched in gold. 

“Ten years,” I whispered, closing my eyes and flipping the lid up. Exhaling I opened them, and had to cover my mouth when I saw it. 

There it was. Untouched. Beautiful as the day mom first put it on my finger. It didn’t fit anymore, my ring finger had grown, but, here it was. In my hand. A pearl, shimmery and clean, its two diamonds on either side and the white gold band. 

I didn’t realize I was crying until Meema handed me a tissue. I sniffed, wiping my mouth. “How much?”

“Oh, sweetie, with a face like that I think it’s yours.”

“Thank you.” I almost didn’t want to ask. As she said, like the cat in the box, you won’t know until you open it. But there was a power in the unknown. The possibilities were endless in how my ring got here, and it’s been so long I don’t even think it matters. 

Looking at my treasure, I decide I don’t care. My life won’t change whether or not I know. And I’m okay with that. Meema meet’s my smile, warm, with some light sparkles in the corner of her eyes. “Can I have a hug?” I ask.

“Of course!” She was already bustling around the counter. As tight as a woman of her size could, but it was the warmest, most loving hug I’d had in a long time. It was like hugging my mom again. And it felt good. 

I felt good. 

I was okay. 

And I’m going to get my ring sized.