Not Even Not Zen 421: Biomythography - Note 132: The Earring, Part IV

The Earring, Part IV

After Thanksgiving, college students had a couple days left on break. During my remaining time, I drove to the mall in our hometown. It was an act of boredom but also one of hope. I was searching for gift inspirations. I knew I had to do Christmas shopping before I returned to college. Of course, the mall was putting up their decorations. I saw a pair of workmen half-heartedly assembling a Santa's Workshop display, where lines of children would gather. I wandered through hundreds of glass-fronted shops on multiple floors. I rode elevators. I shuffled through music stores and the bookstores. And I made myself march through the department stores, the anchors at each end, for an hour. A few times, I took notes about my gift ideas for family and friends.

When I'd had enough, I headed to the eastern doors of the mall. As I passed the last hallway of displays, someone I knew from high school dashed over. She was a girl I sort of recognized although she had never talked with me much. Now, she didn't seem flirty or friendly. She wore the kind of urgent expression usually reserved for warning people about natural gas leaks near the house.

"A gang of teenagers has been following you," she said. She held a tiny, white purse in front of her. I could envision her holding schoolbooks in the same, protective way. I tried to remember more about her. "They want to fight you about your earring."

The comment made me laugh. Except for the occasional annoyance of pouring alcohol on my ear, I'd forgotten about my piercing. My father tried occasional comments but I filtered those out before they registered. My brothers had come down on the side of it being cool but, to them, I was just me. They didn't think much about fashion and they wanted to play card games or board games. So no one cared. Until now, and until these teenagers.

I asked her for her name and she nodded, looking slightly offended. Still, she wasn't totally surprised I'd forgotten. After we chatted for a moment, I remembered the teen gang.

"Who is it?" I asked. I turned and headed back where I'd come from, looking for them.

"I don't know their names." Her voice rose in alarm. "Why are you going back?"

"I want to see who it is." I knew I probably wouldn't know them but it would be interesting if I did. Next to me, I could her my friend's feet do a little dance.

"They want to fight," she reminded me.

The idea made me smile. After all, this wasn't about me throwing rocks at their car. I hadn't insulted their moms. It was about something so small I had literally forgotten it. And I was bored. I'd heard three or four threats this week with nothing coming from them. A fight would be something to do. As I approached the corner in the mall corridor, a set of five teenagers vacated it, headed the other way. They walked into the Hecht's department store. I didn't get a good look at them but they seemed to have the bodies of junior high school students. One of them was a girl, maybe, or had a blonde mullet and skinny arms.

Next to me, my friend gestured in their direction. Now I wondered, just for a moment, if she were putting me on.

"Are you sure they want to fight?" I asked as we slowed down. Beside me, my friend barked a nervous, slightly bitter laugh.

"Well," she said sheepishly. "Maybe not really."

So there was a theoretical gang of nearly-teens who might have wanted to fight about my earring but maybe not. Maybe they just wanted to talk tough. Maybe my high school acquaintance simply liked drama, too. Some folks like to play up every confrontation. Between my relatives and the fight threats, though, I decided I was going to keep the earring.

The gold stud had been nothing but an annoyance. It needed cleaning. It needed attention. It was like having a very tiny, very boring pet attached to my head. The moment someone — or possibly no one — wanted to fight me about it, though, I felt fine to go all in over it.

A day later, I headed back to campus and, in the morning after my arrival, I met a couple young women I knew. We lined up at the outside doors of the dining commons.

One was short and blonde, the other taller and brown-haired. I'd had a crush on the brown-haired one during the previous semester. She gave me a hug. The shorter one patted my arm. Both of them stood back for a moment as they studied me.

"Is that new?" asked the shorter one.

"Yeah."

We walked through the doors and into the warmth. My better friend seemed thoughtful.

"You look good," she said a moment later. The line of people ahead of us paused. She turned and gestured that she wanted to look again. I moved my head for her. She caressed my earlobe. "How do you like it?"

"I'm thinking of getting a gold hoop." Friends had brought it up. It wasn't really my idea. Now it seemed right, though.

"Like a pirate!" the other woman exclaimed. "Yeah, even better."

"Mmm." The fingers returned. My old crush touched my ear and neck. "Christmas is coming up. On you, the gold looks good. Maybe I'll buy you a hoop."

I remember realizing, oh yeah, I've made the right choice.