Spirit Ring
The waves of his tears finally subsided after threatening to overflow the dam of his determination. Searching through the mug books had finally brought it home. How could anyone by so callous? Karen had tried to comfort him in her own, cold way. “It’s only a lump of rock in metal,” she said after he had told her about the robbery. Technically, she was right, he thought. Nevertheless, she would never understand the ring was more than turquoise and silver. It had been passed down from his grandfather and was more than a simple ring.
Whenever he wore it, memories of the grandfather he barely knew, but felt an incredibly strong connection to, would flood through him. The times waiting by the front door for Boppa to come home and pick him up. There were the times they would go to the store and his grandfather would drive back with his knees as he fixed his cigar. They would also sit on the porch in the middle of winter bundled against the cold, biting wind, as Boppa would smoke his ‘icky gar butts’ since Mimi did not let him smoke inside the house.
“WHAT RIGHT DOES SHE HAVE?” he thought. Her comment still rankled him. Just because she does not understand, she has no right trivializing the theft. After the fourth mug book, the officer told him they were at the end. He was thankful because all the faces were morphing into a single collage of features leering and laughing at him, telling him he was wasting his time. Most likely, the thief had already hawked the ring and it had been melted down.
The officer drove him home where he spent the next hours remembering the other aspect of the ring. Not only did it bring the memories, but his grandfather was part of the ring. It had become his lucky charm. He wore it the night he went out with JD to the pool hall. He was untouchable on the table that night. He had his first cigar and first taste of 25-year old scotch.
Then there was the dart tournament. He did not win his match, be he threw the best game of his life and scored just enough points to move his team into first place. His tears finally overflowed the dam. He realized he would not be able to pass the ring to his children. The family chain had been broken by the senseless act of a lowly thief. “May Boppa bring swift vengeance!” No, that would be against his grandfather’s beliefs. “May Boppa twist your luck!”, he wished instead.
On the news that night, a story ran about the unfortunate circumstances that befell a pickpocket on the EL train. He had just taken the wallet from a lady’s purse when she noticed something awry. As she turned to see what happened, her bag knocked into the pickpocket who slipped off the platform. As he was scrambling on the tracks, he inadvertently touched the third rail and was immediately electrocuted. Maybe it was his thief, so it served him right.
As the story finished, he thought about the time he was riding through New Mexico on one of his cross-country motorcycle trips. As he rounded a corner, he found himself staring at what had to be the largest coyote in the region. In a split second, he had choices. The first was to hit the coyote and fight to keep the motorcycle from spilling. The second was to veer into the oncoming lane and hope no one was coming around the bend. The third was to take the shoulder and pray there was not much debris. He took the shoulder option and played a game of pinball with the guardrail. As he was hitting the guardrail, he felt Boppa’s hand on his shoulder steadying him so the motorcycle would not go over. After he came to a stop, he looked back at the coyote who gave him a wink and loped off over the hills. As he sat and recovered, he looked over the rail at the 250-foot drop. “Now, was it the bag or Boppa?” he thought.
Over the course of the next couple of months, he came to realize the theft might have been Boppa’s way of saying congratulations on becoming a man. He no longer needed an ever-present guardian angel, just one he could call on in times of need. There was no need to keep the ring because the angel would be in the item he held most dear, his heart
Whenever he wore it, memories of the grandfather he barely knew, but felt an incredibly strong connection to, would flood through him. The times waiting by the front door for Boppa to come home and pick him up. There were the times they would go to the store and his grandfather would drive back with his knees as he fixed his cigar. They would also sit on the porch in the middle of winter bundled against the cold, biting wind, as Boppa would smoke his ‘icky gar butts’ since Mimi did not let him smoke inside the house.
“WHAT RIGHT DOES SHE HAVE?” he thought. Her comment still rankled him. Just because she does not understand, she has no right trivializing the theft. After the fourth mug book, the officer told him they were at the end. He was thankful because all the faces were morphing into a single collage of features leering and laughing at him, telling him he was wasting his time. Most likely, the thief had already hawked the ring and it had been melted down.
The officer drove him home where he spent the next hours remembering the other aspect of the ring. Not only did it bring the memories, but his grandfather was part of the ring. It had become his lucky charm. He wore it the night he went out with JD to the pool hall. He was untouchable on the table that night. He had his first cigar and first taste of 25-year old scotch.
Then there was the dart tournament. He did not win his match, be he threw the best game of his life and scored just enough points to move his team into first place. His tears finally overflowed the dam. He realized he would not be able to pass the ring to his children. The family chain had been broken by the senseless act of a lowly thief. “May Boppa bring swift vengeance!” No, that would be against his grandfather’s beliefs. “May Boppa twist your luck!”, he wished instead.
On the news that night, a story ran about the unfortunate circumstances that befell a pickpocket on the EL train. He had just taken the wallet from a lady’s purse when she noticed something awry. As she turned to see what happened, her bag knocked into the pickpocket who slipped off the platform. As he was scrambling on the tracks, he inadvertently touched the third rail and was immediately electrocuted. Maybe it was his thief, so it served him right.
As the story finished, he thought about the time he was riding through New Mexico on one of his cross-country motorcycle trips. As he rounded a corner, he found himself staring at what had to be the largest coyote in the region. In a split second, he had choices. The first was to hit the coyote and fight to keep the motorcycle from spilling. The second was to veer into the oncoming lane and hope no one was coming around the bend. The third was to take the shoulder and pray there was not much debris. He took the shoulder option and played a game of pinball with the guardrail. As he was hitting the guardrail, he felt Boppa’s hand on his shoulder steadying him so the motorcycle would not go over. After he came to a stop, he looked back at the coyote who gave him a wink and loped off over the hills. As he sat and recovered, he looked over the rail at the 250-foot drop. “Now, was it the bag or Boppa?” he thought.
Over the course of the next couple of months, he came to realize the theft might have been Boppa’s way of saying congratulations on becoming a man. He no longer needed an ever-present guardian angel, just one he could call on in times of need. There was no need to keep the ring because the angel would be in the item he held most dear, his heart
posted by Chris Rapp at
6:10 AM
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