
A dirty little secret
A dastardly deed
A hidden desire
We all have a bad side......
the hallucinative saga of a wild woman
Wearing that ring.... By JL Denman 5/4/05
"Wearing that ring don't make you special! It makes you stupid!"
I remember her saying that so clearly now. But I never listened. I don’t know why I thought it was somehow different that time. Maybe I thought she had lost her mind, gone old and senile, stupid herself. Maybe I thought it was jealousy just eating its way from her decrepit half-live corpse into the fresh tenderness of MY youth. It’s not like you can tell with old folks, crabby counter weights to the rash blush of youth.
"Wearing it shows what a piece you are. You can’t tell your head from your as sor your heart from your piss whole. Girly, you’re making a fool out yourself wearing that trinket."
"But, Gram it’s 5 karats. Look what else he got me."
"Girl, that ain’t nothing but a bright, gilded leash. He don’t mean you no good!"
"But, Gram, he asked me! What could he possibly want? He’s already got everything. And Gram, He’s not like what people say. Look, just yesterday he... Gram, he’s kind!"
"Girl, stop that school girl nonsense. HE is exactly what people say."
"Gram, you taught me not to listen to other folks’ gossip, not to believe it all!" Believe me < gram, I know him better than anyone."
"You don’t know squat. That man is nothing but a snake lying in wait. He’s cold blooded and just as deadly. And all he’s gonna do is wrap you up in that life and strangle life and goodness out you. Won’t be nothing left for him to but choke you back up and spit you out like a rotten, empty egg shell. He’s a thief low down, belly draggin’ thief. And wearing that ring makes you his next target. You wear it proud like you accomplished something great. Like some how it makes you special! Have you come up in the world, missy? Have you earned your stripes? Have you even figured out what it is your fine fancy gent does? No, miss Mighty britches. You saunter in here after I’ve worked hard to raise you! You saunter like God give you wings’ cause that no count leashed you. That ring, wearing that ring don’t make you special. Warning that ring proves I raised a senseless concubine! I’m ashamed of you"
"But, Gram..."
"NO! Wearing that ring... stupid, not special, baby, stupid."
I thought Gram was going to kill me. I’d never seen her eyes bulge or her neck veins flare so much. For sure she had gone apoplectic. Years dragged by in that few seconds. Gram stared at me. I just watched her wide old hip, turn and waddle out towards the kitchen. Somehow she seemed smaller, stooped like the ring somehow drained every once of strength that held Gram together.
What did it matter? Gram was just melodramatic and old. She never wanted me to have fun especially if SHE couldn’t have any.
16 years later Gram was right. The ring was gone, he was gone, and any shred of dignity I had was long since gone. Mistresses, murders, death threats.
I heard myself replay Gram’s defeated angry speech when Marissa swept through the door- 2 months pregnant by Jimmy the Blade Cristo. "Wearing that ring don’t make you special, it makes you stupid! Marissa! It makes you stupid!"