A Simple Silver Ring

A new development for me - I've started the 2nd Block on my OU course which is Creative non-fiction, I'm quite enjoying it as a genre and have created this for my first writing exercise.  Although it is about me, I've written it in the 3rd person because it felt too personal to own those feelings as I was writing.


A Simple Silver Ring

It was a cold Saturday just before Christmas 2005, and the sun was trying to break through the clouds that had settled over the jewellery district of Birmingham. The day was overcast and as grey as the blocks of buildings on either side of them, but that didn’t dampen their spirits in the slightest. A warm glow felt only by them stopped the cold from penetrating their thick coats. 

They had visited several traditional Jewellers, looking in the brightly lit windows at rings that seemed too showy, rather overblown, for the simple commitment they wanted to honour. Both recently divorced, they weren’t ready for the big diamonds that would be more appropriate for an engagement, and all the eternity rings they’d seen so far had been gold.  She was insistent that she wanted silver: all her jewellery would be silver from now on. The wedding and engagement rings she’d stowed away in her trinket box after leaving her husband had both been made of beautiful, durable gold - a symbol of everlasting love - and look how that had turned out.

He was beginning to wonder if she’d ever find what she was looking for. He’d brought a large sum of cash with him, ready to splash out on an ostentatious ring to show how much he loved her, but she wasn’t finding it easy to choose. It was early days, and while she was sure he was the right fit for her, she didn’t want to look as if she was after his money.

They had come upon an alleyway, with a shop halfway down on the right that sold jewellery.  Not a Jeweller’s as such, it had more of an accessory feel about it.  The bell on the door announced their hesitant entry over the threshold and he quickly closed it behind them to keep out the chill.

Can I be of any help? The shopkeeper’s still unfamiliar accent made her smile. She’d always said Brummie was the worst accent in the country, and here she was falling for someone from the Black Country – to her Eastender ears the two accents sounded much the same, no matter how much he protested they were different.

No thank you, we’re just looking.  There was no ‘just’ about it, their looking was charged with symbolism for her.  But she didn’t want to be pushed into anything. This time she wanted it to be just right.

 Then, there on the counter she saw it: a simple silver ring in a wavy design, with two lines etched across it, and a tiny diamond chip nestled between them.  Asking if she could try it on, she held her breath until it was out of its box and on the ring finger of her right hand. Although the chip was small it shone under the bright lights of the shop, like a small but persistent ray of hope.

 I think this is it. She could hardly believe it. It fitted her perfectly, and felt like it could have been sitting on her finger for ever.  Are you sure?  He had been expecting to pay 5 times the amount the ring was priced at, and worried its simplicity wouldn’t be enough.

She was so certain, they bought it without taking it off her finger, the shopkeeper simply placing its box in a small blue plastic bag with the receipt.  They left the shop with smiles on their faces, holding hands despite the chilly wind whistling down the alley, on their way to find a pub to celebrate, and to lay the foundation of a partnership that would be strong enough to ensure the next ring they bought would match both their expectations.


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