The Lost and Found Box

In the small drawer in the middle of the top row of my mother’s cherrywood dresser, there was a small pink box. When I opened the lid, the box lifted up a tray and revealed a compartment underneath. In both of these spaces lay shiny and sparkly wonders. My mother knew of my visits to her jewelry box and allowed them. Perhaps she even enjoyed my magpie behavior. There was the glittering brown heart necklace from Texas, the elegant crystal necklace, and the the delicate diamond ring, with a bit of dainty filigree on each side, a former possession of some deceased relative. One day in the eighth grade, the ring fit my finger. It was so pretty. I thought I would wear it to school and return it to its pink box at the end of the day. I had gym that day and in the locker room among the cacophony of the girls getting dressed in their gym clothes, I very carefully removed the ring, put it in my makeup bag and locked it in my locker. After class, we all got dressed and there was NO ring. How could that happen? “I’ve lost my ring,” I cried to those in hearing. The gym teachers’ office was just across from my bay of lockers. “I’ve lost a diamond ring, has anyone seen a diamond ring, has anyone turned in a diamond ring?” “Ha,ha,” they chuckled, “if only we had a diamond ring.” This was the end of my life. At lunch I sat at the table with my girlfriends, glum. They knew of my loss. At the end of the day, I went home to face my mother. I told her, and she said, “Have you asked at the office? Maybe it’s in the lost and found box.” That was all. No, I hadn’t. Mrs. Ashby haunted the office, gliding to and fro behind the shoulder-high counter like the Queen of the Nazguls - that is, when she wasn’t stalking the halls seeking those walking without a hall pass. I had three minutes to get from one class to the other without getting into TROUBLE. Who would give me a hall pass for a stop into the office? Or would I just take a chance that I wouldn’t get caught by the tall thin woman with short black hair and thin lips that remained a straight line except when commanding “Stop!” or “Show me your pass!” That’s all my mother wanted me to do. Walk into the very gates of hell. I made it to lunch the next day, without visiting the office. But here came two girls with shining faces and bouncing steps carrying my makeup bag to our lunch table. They had stopped by the office for me! I unzipped the bag. NO ring! Why was I still unhappy, they wanted to know. They had restored my makeup bag to me. I looked at the faces around my table. The cool girls. I lifted my eyes to a table across the cafeteria. I saw some nice girls, smart girls, not necessarily cool girls. I carried my tray in that direction. “Can I sit with you?” “Yes.”