The Earrings

I am standing at the jewelry counter at Saks Fifth Avenue, visiting a pair of earrings. This is my third trip to Saks. These earrings are haunting me. 

There is a tall, fit, distinguished looking man standing just beyond my reach. He wants to surprise his girlfriend with a necklace, or maybe a bracelet and matching earrings.

“Is this a special occasion?” asks the sales associate.

Maybe she’s dying, I think.

He wants to surprise her with a gift when he takes her on vacation next week.

 “Where are you going?” asks the sales associate.

“Don’t say Paris,” I whisper. 

“Paris,” he says.

I consider slamming my head against the counter—instead, I text a friend.

“He’s perfect,” I tell her. 

“I’m about to get a mammogram,” she replies. 

In solidarity, I lean forward and press my foobs against the sterile, glass countertop.

I leave them long enough to create two symmetrical, 425 cc oval shaped imprints.

“Is there a price limit?” asks the sales associate.

“Nooooo,” his voice echoes.

Swiftly, I shift left, straddling the view of my favorite Italian designers newest collection.

The sales associate shifts right, and with eyes fixated on mine, dips below the counter, unlocks the casement door that is directly in line with my crotch, and removes a tray of gracefully displayed precious stones set in luscious, hand engraved gold.

I cannot bare witness to what unfolds next. In defeat, I retreat to the sanctity and solitude of my home. 

It is Thursday, the day Dora cleans my house. I open the door and reflect on how fortunate I am to have someone clean for me. In addition to the standard service, every so often, when the mood strikes her, she changes and IRONS my bed sheets. Today is that day and this feels extra sweet.

I go to my closet and there, in my hamper of dirty clothes, on top of my dirty sheets, is a pair of men’s cotton briefs. 

It’s been six months and seventeen days since I’ve shared my hamper with a man.

It’s been six months and seventeen days since I’ve gained 50% more closet space.

It’s been six months and seventeen days since he left me behind.

From the beginning

I knew meeting could only

End in parting, yet

I ignored the coming dawn

And I gave myself to you.

                                                                             Japanese poet —Fujiwara no Teika

I live in a river of change. I no longer resist change.

It was a crisp, early autumn evening when I accompanied George to Lincoln Center for a searing performance of New York City Ballet’s ‘Balanchine Black and White.’ 

There is newness to his touch, a freshness to his kiss. I awaken to the warmth of his body next to mine. But our hearts are not aligned.

I will buy my own jewelry.

I will vacation solo.

A woman who has never been wounded can never heal.

Now that I am broken, I can blossom.

xo, MonkeyME