Hello Gydle peeps. I have a story for you.<\/p>\n
I read this out loud as a contestant in the May edition of the Vancouver Story Slam. No, it’s not true. It’s just a story!<\/p>\n
Lost and Found<\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cRyan\u2019s perfect for you,\u201d Marie had said. \u201cA good job. Good looking. Just broke up with his girlfriend.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA rebound date?\u201d I\u2019d said. \u201cNo thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n But in the end of course I went. Marie is very persuasive.<\/p>\n That\u2019s why I was sitting on the toilet in the restaurant washroom, staring at the floor \u2014 bits of toilet paper, dust, stains in the grout \u2014 and trying not to hyperventilate.<\/p>\n See, despite the fact that I\u2019m tall and skinny, which our culture currently translates as \u201cattractive,\u201d deep down I have the confidence of a hedgehog. In the spotlight, I freeze and bristle. So after ordering a glass of wine, I\u2019d escaped to muster up my courage. And that\u2019s when I saw it, a glint of gold behind the little metal trash bin at the back of the stall.<\/p>\n I knew right away it wasn\u2019t an ordinary ring. Strange symbols and tiny flowers were etched on the worn band, the creases black with age. A big opal was embedded in its broad, round front.<\/p>\n I abandoned my breathing exercises and went to the sink and washed it off. I slipped it onto the third finger of my left hand. A perfect fit.<\/p>\n Why not leave it on for a little bit? <\/em>I thought. What could be the harm? <\/em><\/p>\n My panic attack had vanished. Odder still, I didn\u2019t feel like a stick insect, like I usually do. I felt fabulous. I looked in the mirror. I looked fabulous!<\/p>\n #<\/p>\n Over dinner, Ryan held forth on something called \u201cfin-tech,\u201d which he said would be to banking what driverless cars would be to transportation. \u201cRobots can make excellent financial decisions!\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cThese driverless cars,\u201d I said, playing with the ring under the table. \u201cWill they have robotic arms that come out and flip each other the bird?\u201d<\/p>\n When I reached for a piece of focaccia, he saw the ring. \u201cYou\u2019re married?\u201d he said. \u201cI thought \u2014 \u201c<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t panic. I just shrugged and dragged the focaccia through my alfredo sauce. \u201cLong story.\u201d<\/p>\n The temperature between us shifted, then. A curtain came down behind his eyes. He left with a tight smile after we split the bill. I was sorry, but only a little.<\/p>\n When I got home, I called Marie. \u201cTotal disaster,\u201d I said. \u201cBut on the bright side, I found an amazing ring in the washroom.\u201d<\/p>\n She took one look at the ring the next morning on our run, and told me to get it assessed. \u201cThis could pay off your college debt,\u201d she said. \u201cYou could finally crawl out of your parents\u2019 basement flat. It\u2019s about time, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t do that,\u201d I said. \u201cIt belongs to somebody.\u201d<\/p>\n I put an ad on Craigslist. Within an hour, I had 200 emails. It took me two more at work to get through them, but not a single description matched. I pulled the ad.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n That same evening, in the antique shop, I told the man I had inherited the ring from my aunt.<\/p>\n \u201cExtraordinary,\u201d he said. \u201cQuite remarkable.\u201d<\/p>\n He also said he\u2019d need to keep it for a day or two for the assessment. I tried to pull it off and give it to him, but it wouldn\u2019t budge.<\/p>\n \u201cI have something for that,\u201d he said. \u201cJust a minute.\u201d<\/p>\n I swear my legs moved of their own accord. By the time he\u2019d returned, I was already a block away.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n In my flat, which is lovely, by the way, I rubbed some soap onto my knuckle. But the moment the ring passed over the joint, my stomach heaved and a stabbing pain shot up my arm and into my brain. I quickly shoved it back down. The pain subsided.<\/p>\n I know what you\u2019re thinking. This story is going to end with me as a withered crone, crouched in a dark, dank cave, muttering: \u201cMustn\u2019t let them see us, precious!\u201d Don\u2019t worry. It doesn\u2019t.<\/p>\n I did what I always do when I\u2019m panicked. I counted my breaths. Breathe in – it\u2019s only a ring. <\/em>Breathe out – it\u2019s only a ring. <\/em>By the time I reached 15, I knew what I had to do.<\/p>\n Back in the restaurant, I sat at the bar nursing a glass of merlot. I watched the way the ring caught the light and trapped it, milky and swirling, in the depths of its stone.<\/p>\n A little girl climbed up on the stool next to mine. \u201cExcuse me,\u201d she said to the bartender. \u201cDid anybody find a ring in here? I lost it, and it was my mom\u2019s. I have to find it.\u201d<\/p>\n I froze.<\/p>\n The bartender reached under the counter and pulled out a box. \u201cYou can look in here,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n Of course the ring wasn\u2019t in the box. I turned and watched as the girl went over and sat down, small and defeated, across from a man who was sitting alone.<\/p>\n After a minute, I got up and walked over to their table, twisting the ring on my finger. It came off, smooth as butter. Not even a twinge.<\/p>\n I crouched down next to the girl and held it out in the palm of my hand. \u201cI think this belongs to you.\u201d<\/p>\n Her face lit up with the light of a thousand dancing fireflies. \u201cSee, daddy!\u201d she said. \u201cI told you she would send it back to us!\u201d<\/p>\n I looked at the man sitting across from her. His sad eyes caught the light from hers and trapped it, warm and swirling, and sent it bouncing back to me.<\/p>\n And that, you see, is just the beginning of my story.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Hello Gydle peeps. I have a story for you. I read this out loud as a contestant in the May edition of the Vancouver Story Slam. No, it’s not true. It’s just a story!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true},"categories":[9],"tags":[110,320,107,277],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p1R58n-Eu","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gydlepublishing.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2510"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gydlepublishing.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gydlepublishing.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gydlepublishing.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gydlepublishing.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2510"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/www.gydlepublishing.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2510\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2522,"href":"http:\/\/www.gydlepublishing.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2510\/revisions\/2522"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gydlepublishing.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2510"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gydlepublishing.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2510"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gydlepublishing.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2510"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}