You can see it in this picture! That's my mannish-looking hand fanning out some George W. Bush playing cards at a Michelle Obama rally in
Gainesville, FL.
I love that little ring. It was not expensive. It is not some superior designer-quality show piece. It is a silver and blue topaz (my birthstone) and a little bit big on my finger.
When we had come off the road (we had spent much of the fall of 2008 selling
merch at political rallies across the country), we sorely needed a vacation. We decided on
Alligator Point, FL because it is super-remote and very laid back. We rented a little house on an aquatic preserve and spent our days fishing and shelling. It was lovely.
A few days into our vacation, we went to Angelo and Son's, a huge seafood house in the middle of nowhere perched above the
Ochlockonee Bay. I was busily stuffing my face with my
second plate of raw oysters and dipping into my third painkiller cocktail when The Boy said he was stepping out for a brief smoke.
I couldn't have asked for a more beautiful day. We had spent the morning fishing, the afternoon walking on a totally deserted beach chasing great blue herons. At Angelo's, we had chosen a comfortable table on the expansive balcony overlooking the Bay. As I sat there alone and waiting for him to reurn, I was perfectly happy (this almost never happens), satiated and getting a bit tipsy from the rum.
He came back to the table and sat down. He pulled a small silver box out of his pocket, saying "I got you something." This Boy really likes to surprise me and I was delighted by a small gift during our perfect early-bird dinner. I opened the box to find the ring inside. I put it on; it slid about my finger loosely. I admired it, telling him what a lovely and thoughtful choice he had made.
We sat there in silence, warm breeze blowing off the ocean, both of us staring at the ring. "Do you like it," he asked?
"I do very much. Its very pretty," I said. More silence.
"I've never bought anyone a ring before," he confessed. We smiled at
each other. We looked over the water, quickly finishing out drinks. We paid our waitress and left the restaurant holding hands. Walking across the street, we decided to get a bottle of wine at the bait shop. We picked up a few more live shrimp for the evening's fishing, too. When we got back to our house, he got down on his knee and asked me to marry him. I knelt down and said yes. We both smiled and promptly started to forgot about our convoluted pasts. It was good.
Months later, when we were integrating our households, the ring was damaged during furniture moving. My large sofa slipped coming through the
living room door, crushing my hand and trapping my
ring finger (with ring) between the itself and the door frame.
The ring was badly bent, the stone loose. I haven't worn it since. I still feel it on my finger everyday. I attempt to move the phantom ring around the designated finger with my left thumb. I don't have a ring or a band for the wedding. Neither does The Boy.
Somehow, I don't think it matters.
