Ring

I’ve held the hands of this family for a hundred years, and families before them for a hundred more. Memories from my youth evade me, but impressions of darkness and potential and fire flicker in my forethought when I try to recall those times.

I’ve held these families’ hands on happy days and sad ones. I’ve felt the heat of passions and of fevers. We’ve savored the refreshing rush of cool Lake Michigan water on a hot summer day and mourned as their warm fingers grew cool, then cold in my grasp.

We’ve lived through the changing of leaves, hair, and wallpaper: all in accordance with their season. I’ve been present at the genesis of a relationship and seen the razing power of fleeting desires.

Through all these things, all these changes, I hold their hands. They do not know I watch. I’ve screamed and shouted and trembled into the night, praying that I may have a mouth to speak or that they may have ears to hear me, but to no avail. I’m cursed, blessed, to offer only the dignity of my witness and the comfort of my presence in their grasp.