74//365

once

while I was washing my hands at the mexican place in nashville with the good tortilla soup and the rainbow string lights, I felt my grandmother’s turquoise ring slip off my pinkie finger. in a flash, it spiraled round the small white porcelain sink and disappeared down the tiny drain. I panicked just then, was sure it was gone forever, as there’s a sick permanence to things that disappear down drains. but I couldn’t stand the thought of losing it so I ran to the car to see what I could find in the way of retrieval. when I returned, I found a cook from the kitchen hunched over the sink with a wire coat hanger and my husband stooped over him with a flashlight. finally, after much angling and maneuvering, they managed to jimmy the treasured ring up out of that tiny black hole and I wanted to fall on the bathroom floor from joy and relief and the deepest, wildest gratitude, the kind that makes you want to plant sloppy kisses and hug people for maybe a few seconds too long, promise things you cannot deliver. but instead, I just stood there, said thank you. thank you, thank you, thank you. slipped the ring back on my pinkie finger, exhaled.