there will be silence or there will be Words

I’ve just discovered that a friend’s girlfriend has completely destroyed the first piece of jewellery I ever made. In and of itself, that would mean very little. It was non-descript, a choker that didn’t generally deserve a second look. However, the pendant was the only thing I carried with me from Toronto, from Joseph, the first time I ever fell in love, the first time I ever discovered that I capable of being happy. It was transcendent, I had never properly smiled before, until then.

She took it to a park after he fell asleep and smashed it into pieces with a ball peen hammer because she believed her boyfriend was sending me love letters. (He wasn’t).

I am, shall we say, unimpressed.

She wasn’t the one to tell me, he was. He said he felt physically sick to see what remained after she was done. The leather had been cut, the metals scattered, the pendant twisted, all the stones pried out. I asked for the pieces back, only to discover that they may have been scattered wildly in a dirty park downtown. The only saving grace remaining is that perhaps, possibly, she kept the stones. He has begged a couple of days from me in which to bring it up with her, as he is almost certain she doesn’t realize what she’s done. Personally, I am failing to see it matters, but for our friendship, I’ve agreed, though I was loathe to do it. My immediate reaction is to find out the precise spot she did this and go comb the grass right away. That someone might come across one of my polished garnets is nigh unbearable. They are only polished because I wore them for so very long. I never should have allowed him to borrow it, I suppose, but trust is trust.

There are very few objects I have ever cared for, but this one little thing remained on the top of the list.