A few weeks ago I went to a resale shop near my apartment. I was looking for a coat, but, as always, was drawn to the jewelry.
I love me some baubles, ya'll; rings, especially. I have...several...rings. I think they are fun. I don't spend too much loot on them because I am fickle and a ring I am obsessed with at one time, will soon make me think, why did I love you so much? I don't have too many pieces of significance either. I have a ring which belonged to my grandmother and recently, two very kind people gave me a key necklace with the word strength engraved on it. That really matters to me, but most of what I have is very on-again, off-again.
Of course, the meanest pieces in my jewelry collection are those with whom I am still in love, but which no longer fit. And yet I still keep them in my collection, foolishly thinking that at some point, my fingers will...become slim? Sure. My clothes are pretty standard (I never met a neutral I didn't like and black is my jam), but how I like to dress it up is with my jewelry.
I was looking at the rings and a "gold" ring caught my eye. It was very sparkly and kind of delicate which isn't usually my go-to. I like chunky and large rings. I favor those pieces which might could also serve as weapons. Multi-functional accoutrement, humans. That is how you make your money work for you.
Anyways....
The delicate gold ring was very pretty times and sparkled under the glass case. I asked the saleswoman in the store if I could see the ring. She obliged me and I do what I always do: put the ring on, turned my hand this way and that, took the ring off. Looked at it more. Tried to imagine what outfits I owned which would go with the ring.
Here is a thing about me: I have often selected my clothes for the day based on jewelry I want to wear. I think sometimes what takes me longest to get ready is determining which pants, skirt, or top would go best with the ring, earrings, bracelet or necklace that I have decided to wear.
So I was trying to think of what outfits I own that lend themselves to "gold" jewelry and if I could really make this more delicate ring, me. I wasn't sure about the ring. It was very pretty, but I don't necessarily go for that. I mean, I don't want my things to be ugly, but this seemed more feminine that I usually feel I am. I was being real, real indecisive, you guys.
The saleswoman tolerated my lengthy decision-making process and picked up on my on-the-fence-ed-ness. She decided to do her part:
"It's very pretty."
"Yes, it is," I said with hesitant admiration.
"I really like it," she replied.
"Me too?" I responded.
I thought I liked it, but was I IN LOVE with it? The time I was taking probably should have been my answer, because there are moments when you see a thing or put on a thing, and you just get a feeling like, THIS. THIS is perfect and I love it and it shall be mine forever and I could never have more love for anything in the whole wide world as I do for this most divine item which heretofore I could not have even imagined but now know I can't ever be without.
I am materialistic.
I didn't have that moment with this ring, but it was pretty. It shined so in the sunlight. It looked nice on my finger. And the saleswoman said it was nice and no one else will have the same ring BECAUSE IT IS A RESALE SHOP AND IT IS UNIQUE. I could probably only find another one like it if I visited several nursing homes in the area, comparing my newly bejeweled hand to those of other women who I would assume are from the same era which produced this trinket.
So I bought it. It was $10. I lectured myself for the extravagance. As the saleswoman rung me up, she said:
"You can tell people Denzel gave it to you."
And that, that right there, almost made me say no deal.
At first, it made me feel old. Like, Denzel is my demographic? Isn't he like, 50? But then I also thought, "what makes you think I want Denzel?" And then it was like, oh yeah. I am black and so is he. Duh, Liantonio.
And that isn't a thing, right? It's just an assumption people make. The blacks marry the blacks, and the whites the whites, and the Asians the Asians, and the polygamists everyone.
Except, since my ma and pa were of different races, I don't often make that assumption. And there are even times when I am more surprised to see two people of the same race together. I always assume it is who you are attracted to but I also think you have to be brave because it isn't really the norm. People stare and people make comments. People of all the races make comments. My most-lovely grandmother once told me how it doesn't work to have two races inter-marry. And I was like, um, hi Grandma! I am the product of that afromentioned travesty.
I don't know that I really have a type. I will say that I don't often imagine I would be with a black man. I have yet to encounter one who makes me feel as much love as Johnny Depp or Ray LaMontagne, though there have been moments of glorious awe with Sydney Poitier. I am not opposed to it. I always felt like it would be the person that I felt connected to, that I could really talk to, that I felt the most comfortable with, who really saw me. That person, would be my person. I pretend on our conversations or jokes or travels or outfits; I don't often envision the color of his skin.
I haven't really ever been set up with anyone. Once someone tried to encourage a relationship with a man from Africa. That...was not successful. A year ago, my friend told me that I should marry a white guy. She felt they would be a better fit for me. That made me laugh out loud. When I was a teenager, my mother told me that I would probably marry an older man. I remember being appalled at first, and then she said she didn't mean an OLD man but that he would probably be older than me.
At the time, I agreed. I didn't really see myself getting married very young. Then, I didn't see myself married because I have many issues and fears which now I see as being kind of dumb, but they were them. Those feelings shaped my choices at the time and I don't know that I regret them. I regret some of the things I said about them to others, definitely, but in some ways I feel like those feelings kept me safe from trying to feel lovable with someone who wouldn't have really loved me because I didn't know enough yet; enough of me or life, to choose well.
I try to imagine my life with a dude. Sometimes it seems so nice and other times, I shudder and make a yuck face and feel grateful for my solitude. There are times when I wish very much there was someone to hold my hand or help me choose. And there are other times when I am so proud that I get to choose on my own.
It is how everyone, married or single, must feel. Sometimes the gig you have is great and other times, there is this lack. Sometimes there is longing and other times there is yuck face.
I didn't say any of this to the saleswoman. I smiled at what she said and I still bought the ring. In the times that I have worn it, there hasn't been the opportunity to tell someone that is from Denzel, OR Johnny, or Ray or Sydney, or anyone else.
Interestingly, I don't even want a wedding ring. I already have so many that I figured I would just alternate and wear one of those or get one that matched my wedding dress and wear that until I was sick of it and found something else. Then if the opportunity presented itself, I could say, this ring is from someone I love who loves me back. I adore it and hope to have it even when I am waiting for my fingers to get slim again.
And if I ever master things, I might be able to procure a ring for myself and say that last part, even now.
