I don’t know what happened to my sister’s necklace but I cherished that ring. When I saw a relationship near its death, when my pride was hurt, or whenever I felt anxious or desperate, I would unconsciously fondle that ring. When I had to pick a side, or found myself suffering the urge to destroy something, I would twist the ring on my finger. That fidgeting allowed me not to make a fuss. It allowed me not to express violence. This ring I had for seven years just disappeared without my ever remembering where I had taken it off. Being one of my few jewels, I’d rarely removed it from my hand.
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