Gold

by

My mother called me two weeks ago. She was out of breath with excitement.  “I took a handful of old broken gold chains, rings, earrings without mates, that kind of stuff to the coin shop in Woodbook Center.  You just wouldn’t believe,” she said.

“What Mama?”  I asked, not quite understanding what she was talking about. She was always the one to wear jewelry.  She loved those gold chains when it was fashionable to wear six or seven with a different charm on each one, or those add a bead necklaces in the 70’s.  She had a ring on every other finger and I never saw her without earrings.  She liked to sparkle.

I have never been much for jewelry or fashion.  Mama wanted me to be. She had the girly-girl thing going on.  She enjoyed dressing up, wearing makeup, lipstick and perfume.  Her shoes matched her purse and if she thought she could get away with wearing gloves, she did that too. 

I prefer jeans to dresses, ball caps to hairstyles, purple and green striped knee socks to silk stockings.  My mother has spent her life shaking her head at me.  She tried to help, buying  me all kinds of baubles. I thanked her and  wore them enough to let her see, then put them away in boxes.  I had hopes that my daughter would take after her and enjoy them.  I had sons.

So she called me two weeks ago,  excited that she had visited the coin shop with her handfull of gold. 

 “Did they repair them for you?” I asked.

“Heavens no, TW,” she said.  “They weighed it and gave me over a thousand dollars for the piddling little amount I had.  Can you believe that? One thousand dollars!”

“You sold your jewelry?” I asked, not believing.

“Of course I did.  At that price, I’m looking for more to take.”

“Wow,” I said.

“I wanted to call so that you could go through your things and find all that gold you don’t wear.  You could get a fortune for what you keep in boxes.  I know the man at the coin shop, so I can get you a better deal.  Let me know when you have it all together,” she said.  We finished talking and I hung up the  phone.

I opened the hinged velvet containers, and laid all the pieces out on the bed in front of me.  I remembered birthdays and Christmases, High School Graduation and the birth of my first son, a trip to Reno and another to St. Augustine. My mother’s smile and excitement sparkled in each gold gift before me.  I’ve never worn them, any of them, but I could never sell them.

I boxed them back up and put them away, for my granddaughter I think.

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