The Ring

The ring was too big and now it was gone somewhere in the tide flats. The extensive tide flats of North Beach were like a primordial brine soup in the summer season. Eel grass, kelp, Dungeness crab, sea snails, dogfish, sand, rocks, barnacles, boulders, and bi-valves of all sorts, and not an inch of it remained the same as the tides came in and out in their relentless cycle of the season. And now, somewhere in the soup was her too-large engagement ring. She had gone back and forth over her beach route ten times now and knew it was hopeless. The ring was gone. With one startled wave of her arm, she saw the ring fly off her finger and sail through the air a good ten feet before she heard the blip of its contact and descent to the shallow and shielded bottom of that one out of thousands of tide pools. She ran to what she thought was the exact spot, got down on her knees, and raked the bottom of the area with her now naked hands until they were ripped with small cuts from barnacles and sharp shards of glass and rock, but of course, there was no sign of the ring.

One of the things about North Beach was that even on a perfect summer day, like today, the beach could be empty. Surrounded by stunning beauty and not a soul in sight, Becky continued to dig in the flats as the cuts on her hands grew. She could not bear to go back up on the beach and to the house where the rest of the family was getting ready for the afternoon happy hour ritual, the family that she was not sure she wanted to be a part of, the family that held this beach and these tide flats in reverence. The family would be preparing crab cocktails as they would do every day while the crabbing season was open. She didn’t even like crab. But by now the tide was coming in and her hands were a scratched and painful mess and her left-hand ring finger was without promise.

Becky sat on the bulkhead delaying the inevitable. The grey herons squawked above as they looked for the perfect spot for their afternoon tidal feast. Becky heard someone coming down the path from the road and looked up. It was Eric who shouted: “Becky! Come On. It’s Happy Hour! Everyone is waiting for you.”

“I can’t,” said Becky

“What are you talking about?” asked Eric “Come on, let’s go.”

“No, I can’t Eric! I think I need to go home.”

Eric walked down the path and joined Becky on the bulkhead. “What’s wrong, Becky?” Eric asked.

Becky held up her hands which were now swollen with white and red slices of flesh, and there was no longer an engagement ring on her finger.

“What happened?” Eric asked

“I was out on the tide flats, out at the end on the sandbank, and this clam squirted up into my eye and my hand flew up and the ring flew off and I spent an hour or more trying to find it until the tide came back in. It was too big, Eric. I just flew off my finger, and I don’t like crab, Eric. Everything is too big maybe? I don’t know. I am so sorry. I just need to go home. Really, Eric. I can’t go in there and face that whole clan. I can’t. I’m sorry. I tried really hard to find the ring. I did.”

“I can see that,” Eric said. “I’m sorry I didn’t make sure it was the right size. I’m sorry about your hands, but what can I do about my family? They are who they are.” Eric said sadly.

“I know. They’re not your fault. It’s my problem. I feel overwhelmed in their hearty, healthy, opinionated presence. I feel like I don’t belong. I’ve got to figure this out. I can’t lose myself like I lost the ring, do you understand?”

This was followed by a very long silence. The herons were lined up, standing sentinel until the silver glimmer of a stickleback caught one's eye and a quick lunge brought the first taste of tidal happy hour. The sun was still high in the summer sky as another heron stabbed something gold this time, but Eric and Becky didn’t see it.

“OK,” Eric said. “If you really need to go, I’ll drive you to the bus.”

“Thank you,” said Becky, as she got up and walked toward the car.

— DanielSouthGate