The translucent hue of a pearl encapsulates many things for me: the brilliant color of Maggie’s coat—the horse I lease—after washing her with quicksilver or the veil atop the ground holding millions of unique snowflakes, blinding me when I look out.
When I see the set of pearl earrings in my jewelry box I am overcome with a flow of memories.
I reminisce over being a little girl gazing up at my mom as she carefully placed the pearls in her ears. I watched her fingers fumble as she put the backing on the stud, and I would count the days until I could finally get my ears pierced. As I waited to grow old enough to finally get my own earrings, I filled in the missing gem on my ear with stickers or a carabiner I found lying on my mom’s desk.
I remember the painstaking and back-breaking process of washing Maggie’s coat, ensuring all the dirt had been washed away. Afterward, my fingers resembled a raisin and were colored purple from the shampoo. All my hard work would go unnoticed, for the second I put her back in the field she would roll any evidence that she was once white.
I am transported back to the age of eight when school was out and the world felt like a snow globe
I am transported back to the age of eight when school was out and the world felt like a snow globe. The moment my eyes opened in the morning, I ran to my sister’s room, dragged her out of bed, and began the extensive process of pulling on our winter wardrobe.
After emerging into the open, we would create a new world filled with fantasy and magic. My sister took the role of an enemy from a faraway land. Snowballs were catapulted across our battlefield, and as each one came my way I ducked behind the “castle” made of snow that had been built moments prior.
When the battle was ended, all that remained were fingers colored red from the cold and toes so frozen they could barely move. We trudged up the mountain-like hill and made our way inside. My mom greeted us with a cup of hot cocoa—sometimes so warm our tongues would burn—that I sipped on until I was warm again.
Pearls can take years to develop into their final form. Much like the pearls in my jewelry box, the memories that make me who I am have taken years to evolve into what they are today. Each layer of my pearl makes up a memory from my past. A pair of earrings used to just be a reminder of what I did not have; now they are a reminder of all that I am blessed with.
