To Have a Thing

To have a thing or to give it up for money. To sell it for less than its worth then use the money for something you think you need but then you miss it. The thing, that is.

It was a high school ring. Asserting success, artificial amber colored stone set deeply within deceptive metal trying to be important with its date and place, a chorus of completion. What did I need the money for anyway? A trip to the mall where my succulent lips could peruse waxy colors? Where my friends and I could giggle and saunter in trendy shoes and claim all tomorrows as our very own? Was that why I sold my graduation ring to that man who looked like Stephen King, black oily hair drifting over one side of his thick glasses? I don’t remember why. I only remember his ad in the paper, CASH PAID for memories and unimportant reminders, the one my parents said they could not afford but I whined like a stranded seal pup until I won. What a waste. What a shame. How is my daughter ever going to find her mother’s adolescent badge, an antique now probably melted down. Once there. Once a thing to have. Now magma.