Summer Charm
The shape of each bead from the bracelet you gave me is molded into memory, as are the tears from the day it broke, exactly thirty two beads tumbling off my wrist onto the concert stage. Don’t worry, I found twenty eight of them. They sit in a jewelry box on the dresser; someday I will restring them I say. But the string has been snapped, and there’s no way to go back and retie it. Instead of the bracelet I carry this bead with me, in the back pocket of my wallet. It goes where I go; it brings with me the joy of the sweltering summer of childhood. And yet, as I turn it in my hand, I taste a tangy tartness, like the lemonade we once tried to make in your kitchen.
It’s funny how a silly plastic trinket transforms from one hand to another. This little bead, small and light in another’s hands becomes heavy with meaning in mine. It brings me back to my house, though it isn’t really mine anymore I suppose. But in my hands, the faint lilac hue becomes lively with memories of a tiny house for three, a garden beside the front stoop and four front steps that I would watch from my window, waiting for you to come and play. This bead is filled with our carefree games in the park down the street, our late night whispers when we dared to stay up past ten, every scoop of the Orange Swirl ice cream we loved, each little note we wrote. It is our friendship. When I feel the familiar bump in the back of my wallet, it evokes the magic of birthdays, of the wonder within streamer covered walls, the excited chatter of friends, and the smoky scent of a wish. The light that shines through it becomes the rainbow of our childhood, colorful and lit with bright yellow busses, sharp green bushes, and cute purple dresses. These vivacious colors have dulled into my everyday surroundings now. The brilliance of childhood is gone. But when I hold this, the clock turns back to the day when I got it, a few minutes before I got in the car, five hours before I would reach my new home, a forever before I could hear from you again.