JANUARY 3-10, 2023
“Wonderfully Bizarre” – Bendigo Fletcher, 2018
I have this ring on my left index finger. It’s silver curve is engraved with tiny metallic droplets, inlaid with a large white gem. My grammy says it’s an opal, coincidentally my birth stone.
I got the ring in high school on a show choir trip in Portugal. A loved one and I exchanged rings we bought for each other. They are since out of my life, but I wore it as a reminder of them every day. It was symbolic. As a romanticist, I also kept it as a memory of myself before I left home.
The ring has since chipped and warped into my hand. Like most of my rings, I never took them off–a habit I actually picked up from them. And really, it’s a new habit I formed all on my own. It’s always been hard for me to let things go.
Reilly came to visit me in early January. A day after I left Madison, she hopped on a plane and flew right after me to Arizona. We had about a week together, camping near Lost Dutchman State Park, exploring the illustrious night life of Roosevelt Row and 4th Ave, and hiking our hearts out.
Quite literally. We stayed in an AirBnB in Oro Valley, made of Wisconsin wood at the edge of the Catalinas. Our host was a seasoned hiker and told us about Pusch Peak, a hardcore summit on this side of the mountains.
Reilly and I were a little more than amateur hikers, and we had our fair share of challenging hikes. We were going in slightly dubious, slightly unprepared. But we knew this from the start. What we didn’t know was that it would be one of the hardest hikes of our lives.
Acute altitude symptoms hit me hard. Reilly’s blood sugar took a low. We trudged the wrong way for an hour. The last hundred feet, we crawled up rocks with tears in our eyes. Our four-hour hike turned into eight. By some miracle, we made it down the steep rock-piled trail before dark.
We celebrated with nuggets, burritos and frozen yogurt–whatever we could to replenish energy. We fell asleep early watching Schitt’s Creek, determined we’d walk through 4th Ave once more before she left.
The next day, we piled into Walie and headed for the street. The collection of mom and pop restaurants and trinkety stores was warm, light and welcoming. The sidewalk was old and cracked; I remembered a vague memory my uncle shared of the siblings taking on the avenue bars.
We stopped in almost every other shop, oohing and aahing at everything dusty and adobe. We took pictures at the sandstone henge.
Reilly and I stumbled into this thrift store with old costumes and nostalgia pieces. My mom and her brothers went here to buy costumes for parties past and present. In one door, there were rings of all kinds lining a large finger-smothered case.
Reilly needed a new ring. We looked through them and tried on handfuls. I teased a few here and there. Eventually, Reilly found one that she wanted, and I took a second look at one she decided against. A thin band connected to a stone with delicate but mighty silver leaves. It was a malachite pupil with a dark green outer layer and lighter center.
In Greek, the word malakos means soft, which I related to its teardrop shape. For rock lovers, it’s a stone of transformation and growth, known to help discover opportunities and overcome emotional pain.
I didn’t know much of that at the time–it was a pretty stone. But it had its relevance.
I was hardened by my experience with the opal stone. I carried it with a lot of emotional baggage and confusion. I wore it with anger and guilt that hardened me. It was compensation for a lack of bravery and self-worth, something that lead me on this journey in the first place.
You may think, V, you drove solo across the country–that took guts. And yet I believe there are different kinds of courage. Among others, there’s the kind that sets you out on adventures into the new and unknown. And there’s the kind that stands you firm in place, bravely declaring who and what you are in this world. Each has potential risk and reward.
I nudged the opal ring across my joint and off my hand. I replaced it with the malachite. I let the opal take space in my palm, the warm metal turning cool and stale. I asked the cashier if she would take it to replace the new ring. She plucked it gracefully from my hand.
Reilly and I walked out of the store. I cried a little, but it was time.
VERONICA KUFFEL 