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“Do I need a ring?”
Again I find myself in a junk shop attempting to discern if I should buy something.
I walk in, touch things, and once I feel something for an item, I look at the price.
I ask myself if it’s worth it.
I have visited this shop a few times before.
It was here where my brother and I met and became friends with an old priest.
We were in the shop and he was sitting talking to the proprietor.
Eventually after running into each other three times, he asked us to dinner.
It was very discerning as I have never had anyone just ask me to dinner socially.
“You guys seem interesting and I’d like to take you out to dinner.”
A simple answer to my unspoken question.
My brother and I called him back. We had dinner and an phenomenal friendship was born.
He taught how to enjoy a meal in a way only a summer in Florence could.
I also learned to get over my shock at hearing a priest cuss people out.
I move the ring in my hands.
It’s silver with raised bumps on the sides.
In the middle sits a black onyx ring.
“Am I a ring guy?”
I put it on to see how it fits.
I slide it onto my right ring finger.
It is loose and will need to be resized.
I grew up in an Italian neighborhood and guys who wore rings explained bocce to me.
I looked at their style choices with a level of jealousy. I wanted their confidence.
From the Brylcreem in their hair to their horsebit loafers.
"Am I ready to be a ring guy?"
I enjoy how it looks on my hand.
I like the ring. It reminds me of my own aesthetic, understated flair.
I take it off. Now my hand looks and feels empty without it.
I look up. The store keeper without stopping his polishing of a silver plated mirror says “$60.”
I can live with that. I pull out my wallet.
After I pay I have enough money to buy an egg cream down the block.
My ring clinks against the glass as I finish my drink.
I feel very in control. Cool. Calm. Collected.
I leave a 100% tip.