Young Writers Society

Stress and time have never been friends of mine. They constantly test and mock me. I think they secretly hope for the day I lose my balance on life and fall down. I cannot help but instinctively twist the small metal band that resides on my finger. I grace my finger along its rugged edges and I become calm. This had become my way of coping with anxiety, my way of blocking out the overwhelming negativity of the world. This simple motion of fiddling with the silver and gold band calms me since it makes me think of him. I imagine him placing his hands on my shoulders and whispering what he likes to call “sweet nothings” into my ear. “Baby girl”, he would smirk, “everything is going to be alright. Look how far you have come already. Just remember I am so proud of you.” Remembering these phrases this way was the only way I could have that same sense of security I only felt with him. My mind can’t help but drift to him when it is in need of comfort, I guess that is what happens when we live so far apart.

Some days I miss him more than others. He has been my best friend, my support system, for longer than I can remember. The first time we met was all the way back in sixth grade. At first we would just exchange glances here and there, nodding to each other while slightly smiling to say “Hi.” His crystal blue eyes were the thing that originally made my knees go weak. His eyes were aquamarine stones that shimmered in the sun. They seemed like they were almost crystal clear. The only imperfection the outside world would see is the tiny brown spot on the outside of his right eye. To me his eyes were perfect. I do not know how many countless times I have found myself lost in them. I just remember the feeling of my cheeks getting hot and my heart starting to flutter.

A few days after we first started talking, sometime back in middle school, was when we had our first exchange with that special little string. That small piece of cotton was something that was so ordinary, so common. The only reason I saw it clinging against his sweatshirt for dear life was due to the color contrast between them. His sweatshirt was pitch black, which always slimmed his image down into his twig shape. The string seemed like it was something off of a bright white cotton shirt, probably from the marching band t-shirt he always had to wear on those football Fridays. Without thinking, in the middle of whatever small talk conversation we were having that day, I reached out and slowly peeled the two different fabrics apart from each other.

Thinking back at the situation I cannot help but smile because, before he realized what I was doing, he looked at me like I was doing something absolutely crazy. Pulling back my hand I twisted that pure white innocent string between my fingers and just gently smiled at him. Before we knew it that is where we made our first subconscious promise to each other. This promise, held in a tiny ring made out of string, would be the start of our deep connection to each other. Looking down to the fragile little thing in between my fingers, I formed a circle around one of them and closed it with a tiny little bow. From then on the boy, with his captivating crystal eyes and bushy brown hair, and I would be forever connected to each other. Only when I look back at our first relationship I see how naïve we both were.

To this day I still have that small piece of string. Currently the innocent string hangs off of a small red thumb tack in my room. The cotton material loosely encloses the small tack in a small circle, the only thing holding it together was the small bow intertwining the ends. Time had definitely taken its toll on this poor little thing. The once pure white thread no longer holds the same color, it now has different shades of brown and black, almost like it was saved from being burned. The ends of that simple little string are so frayed that it looks like different branches on a tree that are reaching out in all different places. I no longer try to wrap the weak string around my finger, for I am too scared that it would break. The only thing that was now keeping it together was the small knot in the middle where the two sides of the string shared a common space, wrapped around each other in that tattered bow. Six years has definitely taken its toll on this frail little thing.

Then again, most of the damage to the string did not start until I pushed him too hard. The string had connected the two of us together, it would grow stronger with ever one of our interactions. The problem was when I started to drift away from him that the string started to stretch out and fray. I wish I would have stopped it from fraying when I first noticed it, maybe then things would have ended differently. I think of all the things that small string had gone through. It has been trampled on, kicked around, and even thrown in the trash. I even misplaced it for a while when I thought it was completely lost. If I would have taken better care of it, treated it better, I wouldn’t have lost him for those two years. For the longest time I tortured myself with blame. It was only with his forgiveness that I was really able to start fixing the way I saw myself.

I still keep that old little string, for it helps remind me of who I used to be. That broken piece of cotton is a reminder that at one time I was too naive. One time I thought that everything I wanted would just come to me. That at one time in my life I did not think that anyone would truly understand what I was going through. It was only when the string was lost that I realized I was totally wrong. When I stumbled across the string again it was entirely broken and it was beyond repair. Even though I cannot take that poor little string with me anymore, I still think of it every now and then. The people that this string connected together no longer exist. The connection they used to have was not strong enough. Now there is a piece of metal that I wear in its place. This metal piece with its uneven edges and silver and gold coloration, however, no longer has the same meaning as the reminder I hang on my wall.

The reminder on the wall was the connection between two people who no longer exist. Both of those people from our past grew and changed. So why would I want to keep the string if it was only reminded me of how weak we were? The string is more important of where he and I started. That little piece of cotton is the reminder of a promise we made to each other. The promise to stand by each other, through thick and thin. The promise of a love story that could last through anything. No matter if we were five miles or two hundred miles away from each other, we would still love each other and be together. With this metal band I look to the future. The silver band shines brighter than the broken old string and it gives me a new sense of hope. I promise to fix the mistakes I had made in the past and to take care if this band in a much better way than the string on my wall. I think of my band’s matching companion when I twist the silver metal band around my finger. I wonder if he looks at his the same way I look at mine. There have been so many times that the band on my finger has been so happy, like its slender frame was supposed to wrap itself around my fingers. I just cannot help but smile looking at it and drifting off into daydreams about what our future holds.

As I look through the center of the silver and gold band I think of all our simple little spontaneous adventures. Some involved going to see movies, a simple dinner date, or normal trips to Target. One of our meetings sparked a passion in me that I know I would never forget. Equipped with only my imagination and my camera we walked his dog through a park by his house. Through my camera’s lens I was able to see the world in a new perspective. With a few clicks of a button I was able to capture a type of beauty I had never seen before. There was a sense of purity in the air, like the world could do no wrong. Looking through a simple lens my soul felt free and swept away. Only after we were done taking pictures could I truly understand that feeling he felt. I was seeing the world through his eyes.

The way his eyes interpreted the world in those few moments were indescribable. His love for the world was shown through just the way he graced across those pictures. That’s when I realized how he saw me. I was a hero to him. He looked at my scars from a broken past, both including and excluding him, like they were a piece of art work. Sometimes he would call them my “battle scars”, showing me how much I had grown as a person and where I still had room to grow. It was love in its purest form, a numbing feeling of happiness and joy that just filled every part of me. It was that feeling where I knew I never wanted to let him go, not like I had before. That feeling of protection and knowing I would fight for us every day and I would never give up. Sometimes I wish it was only happiness, love and passion that were the only emotions this little band would pull out of me.

Rage and darkness clutter my mind when he and I fight. His perfect image grows dark. Sometimes when this anger is provoked I cannot even look at him without wanting to burst into tears. The atmosphere would change and we seemed to be at the end of oblivion, the world burning uncontrollably. All we could do is stand with our backs to one another, like the person behind us is just another stranger. Sitting so far away from his dark brown hair and comforting smile, I find myself alone in darkness. The metal band around my finger looks down on me, it blames me when I am weak. The metal band begins to blame me for losing him the time I decided to walk away. Such a small little symbol would fill me with such disgust that I would just want to throw it against a wall. I begin to hate it, for the image of the future turns into an image of something that is too far away. My band no longer has that perfect shine it once had.

Once again, time started to become one of my biggest enemies. The inscription I carefully chose to put on the top of it is no longer comprehensible. “I will always be with you.” That was the phrase I chose because at the time we were both scared about what the miles between us would do. This was my way of insuring him that I would always think of him, that he would have a piece of me. Some words I can still somewhat see, probably since I knew what the saying was in the first place. I have dropped it so many times that I am surprised I have not broken it yet. Sometimes when I accidentally drop it, I feel my breath catch in my throat. It is almost like the world goes into slow motion and I cannot help but think, “What if this is it?” What if when it hits the floor this time I would only be picking up those tiny broken pieces like before?When these thoughts trample into my mind all I can think is that the band would become just another reminder of a broken past, just like the string. When the resilient little metal band bounces up off the floor is when I can see it mocking me. When I go to pick it up sometimes all I can hear is him saying, “Did you really think you could get rid of me that easily?”

I sometimes sit back in my chair and twist this band in between my two fingers. I think about its journey, it sure has seen a lot. However through all the fighting and all of the hardships, the ring has never left my side. Yes, it may be scratched and damaged, and yes it will never go back to being this perfect thing. This perfect example. However, at the end of the day it is something real, it is something that can last day after day being three hours away from the one true place it wishes it could call home. This metal promise is something that has lasted through the struggles and the hardships. This little metal band is my reminder that there are bright things for our future. This promise holds the idea that maybe, just maybe, this small little string and metal band can once again be replaced with not only a ring that shines like the stars, but also with the promise that he and I will be together forever and always, till death do we part . Sometimes at the end of a long day I look down to that tiny metal band and I find myself saying, “Just to think it was started with a simple piece of white string.”

A string, something that most people would ignore, became something that I would want to hold onto forever. That small frayed promise string shows me time and time again how much I have changed over the years, how we both have changed. At night I place the metal band next to its sister string. I cannot help but think about the journey he and I have gone through to get where we are now. We grew together as people. He helped me find so much of myself that I would have never found on my own. Those promise rings remind me to be a fighter, to never give in or throw in the towel. They are the reminder to work hard to stay connected to one another.

Those rings are the reminder that there is someone waiting for me back home and that they will have my back through thick and thin. That, through all of the “You guys will just drift apart” and “He deserves better than you” I can proudly say he loves me for who I am, even if we don’t always see eye to eye. They are the proof that we will not fray and fall apart again. Our love for each other will never change. I know that when I feel weak and when I feel lost that we will find each other again. Our commitment to each other has always been there, even when I can’t see it. The kind of connection he and I have is not only specific to the two of us. People just have to be willing to look for it. If people look hard enough they can find it, in the end love can be found. I should know, we found it all in our promise.