The Diamond Bracelet

 © 2012 by Danna

Writing Assignment in Creative Writing

She sat down in her favorite chair and reflected on the night before while self-talk permeated her thoughts.

Eleanor was her light blue, tufted, comfort zone. The whole atmosphere of this corner of the world was her escape. She got lost surrounded by her books, comforted by her mother’s afghan, and protected by the shade tree outside the window. She reached for another Fig Newton from the half-eaten box and sipped on her warm, soothing chamomile tea. Life was perfect sitting in Eleanor.

Then it began. The self-talk was destroying her peace and anxiety was gripping her chest like a vice. The events of the previous evening rambled wildly through her mind. She and Randall had attended a fundraiser for the local library and were dressed in their best finery. He looked magnificent in his tux and she wore her silks and satins. She was Cinderella dressed for the ball, before and after midnight. But instead of losing her slipper, her diamond earring was missing. Randall was getting ready for bed when she discovered the loss and retreated to the car in hot pursuit. While searching for her earring, though, she found a diamond bracelet in the back of the car. It was hidden away intending never to be discovered.

She brought the afghan tighter around her shoulders and tucked her knees up closer to her chin. Anxiety was quickly replaced by dread. Her self-talk rushed through her thoughts just as out-of-control as any destructive hurricane.

He had worked late a few nights. He had a few overnight business trips. He had been very distracted lately. Oh, how could he do such a thing? Twenty-five years of marriage gone. What would the children say?

The day dragged on. She never left Eleanor; never got dressed. She ate every bite of the Fig Newtons. Pity is an ugly picture indeed. Late in the day she came to this conclusion—I’ll never cook another meal, I’ll never wash another shirt, I’ll never give another kiss to that man. She shut her eyes in despair and rested her head against Eleanor.

She heard his sweet, soft voice against her ear and was warmed by his closeness. Was she dreaming?

“Trudy. Wake up, honey.”

She opened her eyes, forgetting all the agony of the day. He was kneeling before her with something in his hand.

“Sweetie, I know I’ve been neglecting you lately and I want to make it up to you. Get dressed, we’re going out on the town.” He handed her a black velvet box.

She smiled and lunged for his neck, planting kisses all over his face. How could she have ever doubted her man?

       

Moral of the story:

Don’t listen to self-talk. We tend to exaggerate our understanding of the situation.     

Short story for Creative Writing Class at Bartlett Senior Center, Bartlett, TN