I shook the locket, trying to get it to open. “Come on ...” It fell under the weight of my grip and the chain broke. I gasped, startled, and covered my mouth. The glass of the locket, the one with the photo, cracked, spilling its contents out onto the brown dirt. I looked down, and a name jumped out at me, “Grace,” I murmured.
I picked it up and slipped it into my jacket pocket, next to the two other lockets I had found yesterday, along with one old photo left in them. I looked around and began walking down the road again. I knew what I had to do. It would be difficult, and I would be gone for awhile, but I knew that I had to do it. And I was running out of time.
I should have left already. My train wasn't until tomorrow, but I knew it wouldn't be hard to get one. I wanted to go tomorrow. I wanted to go today. I was just standing in an antique shop, looking at all the beautiful pieces, trying to decide on whether or not I should spend the extra money, when my fiancé's precious engagement locket jumped out at me.
I saw it laying on a blue velvet cushion, sparkling. On the end of it, a small gold arrow, with the letter “L” engraved right below the base of the arrow, and around the neck of the locket, an attached, ornate omega. I quickly picked up the other, smaller locket and flipped it over, briefly seeing the engraving there: “L.” That was for my fiancé Robert. I couldn't help but smile at that one.
I wondered how I could possibly buy both – not that I would ever fill them both with photos. I wouldn't let my fiancér leave me before I could meet him. I was promised to him, and I wanted to meet him, have dinner with him, and ask him to be my friend, instead of being left behind.
I always astounded myself at the thought of that happening. I wanted to meet him and have dinner for myself... just to see him. I wanted him to be perfect. It was impossible. None of the couples I knew were perfect, after all. So I didn't think about him as being perfect.
I realized it would be too much anxiety to take care of each one of the engagement lockets on my own, and I didn't want to break any more. I had promised to take care of them for Robert, and if he had one or two that I didn't like, I would know he didn't want me to have them.
I had to get out of the antique shop before I became one of these silly women roaming the antique stores. I grabbed my leather bag off the top of my coat and ran out the door, searching for the nearest train station. And yes, I did take the train – I had a ticket to Chicago.
The train ride was nothing. I sat there, looking out the window as my mind processed everything. I wondered how Robert was doing. I tried to imagine him, but it was too difficult to see him without actually seeing him, and I didn't know what he looked like. My fiancé was a single mother. She turned out to be one. She told me about her little boy one day, but I could never see him, and she was already married to someone else now, Robert.
She never told me anything about her high school sweetheart. She never told me anything about him, on their second date. She never told me how they met, or what he said to her the first time he kissed her, or anything. She had to have been close to him for a long time, because they had a child together.
I had pictures of her taken in the back of a limousine, with that same little boy in them. They were old pictures, and I wondered why anybody would want to show off their engagement ring on a hat or a purse, but she wouldn't stop doing it, and soon her ring and her engagement locket had both been worn down and tossed out.
I used to stare at them in other people's pictures. I thought if I stared at them long enough, it would have some kind of effect on me. But somehow, it just reinforced that this was the end, and Robert was gone.
I wanted to see him, though. I wanted to touch him, I wanted to pain for him, I wanted to breathe for him. I wanted to voice a kind word for him. I wanted to have him in my arms again. I wanted to have him in my bed again. I wanted to have him hold me in his arms again.
I thought maybe it was selfish, but who else was going to hold me? Who else was going to love me? I could never have a man, though, who loved me it was enough. It was better than that.
I just remembered him, and had to force myself not to cry. I hugged my hand tightly to my chest to stop the tremble. I didn't want to be seen.
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