In large room that rested above the main floor, in a house on a little street known as Pine Hills, there was a vanity. The vanity was nothing spectacular and was a rather odd shade of green with white countertops and cupboards to its sides. A faint smell of a lacquer would seep out from the door of the right cupboard every so often; reminding the owner that she had yet to decorate her nails to another style. On the vanity were many things, ranging from makeup to that of simple accessories, varying between hair and neck. A ruby iron lay to the side, unplugged and cool, waiting to be used for the next occasion of straightening the womanâs hair.
In the other cupboard though was something different. It held nothing. Nothing but a box that was coloured in amber with a gold lining. The box was falling apart at the back hinge to the point that without the snap in the front, the top would come off. It wasnât a big box either. Quite small in fact, small enough to fit a few pairs of earrings and nothing more. It didnât hold earrings though. It held something of much greater value.
And that is the thought that stirs in Chelsea as she sits in front of her vanity, fully dressed and beginning to touch up her face. Her motherâs words run through her head as she does so, echoing the usual sentiment.
âNot too much makeup. You should never flaunt what you have but complement it. This is what makes you more appealing.â
She only wears eyeliner and mascara to make her eyes pop and nothing more. She doesnât taint her lips because she finds them to be perfect the way they are. No cover-up or foundation goes on her face, because that gives her pimples and her face is already clear. Make for Chelsea is simple and refined, just the way she likes it and just the way her mother is.
The sun peeks in then, streaming through the window and illuminating the red hue of her hair as she proceeds to put it up into a bun. Her fingers are delicate and weave through the strands with ease. She reaches for a pair of earrings then, nothing too complicated either but simple and refined, once again.
Once that is done Chelsea reaches for the left cupboard, her hand entering into the darkness and pulling out the amber box. She places it in front of her but doesnât open it. Itâs the debate she has with herself every day, whether or not she wishes to wear them.
Chelsea considers herself to be a vain person for she loves telling people about her latest style, her outfit, hair and whatever else they may wonder. They ask and she will happily answer. But theseâŠthese are different.
Chelsea finally lets out a breath of hair and opens the box. Nails coated in crimson reach for the snap and flick it up. Then with gentleness, her dainty fingers lift the lid revealing a moss green inside. The sun sparkles on the glittering objects and once more Chelsea debates whether or not she wishes to wear the rings.
Finally, she decides. She reaches in and tenderly lifts out the first ring, slipping it onto her right pinky. It isnât anything spectacular and from a distance, to the untrained eye, it would seem like nothing more than a gold band. However, on closer inspection one would see that there is more to it than meets the eye. In the middle of the band there is a heart with a C in the middle. Flowers dance along its edges and donât stretch too far away.
Chelsea smiles briefly as the memory sweeps through her mind. Her grandparents had found the ring on a beach and knew immediately that it was meant for her. They sent it over for one of her younger birthdays. However a frown appears on Chelseaâs delicate face, for she cannot recall whether the C was carve in with the flowers or if the ring was found exactly that way.
However it didnât matter so Chelsea moved on to the next ring. This one she did not put on right away, but rather admired it in the sunâs glow. A deep blue stone resting on diamond petals, with the golden stalk reaching out beneath, enough to form a circle around a particular finger.
This ring was her only family heirloom that she currently owned and it made her think of her granny, and how the older woman was fairing. Last time she had checked, her Granny was not doing too well and in blunt honesty, was dying. Soon this ring would be all that Chelsea would remember of the woman.
Some days she wondered if she should give it to her mom who wanted it when she was a young girl. But then her mind reminds her that the ring was meant for her, that her Granny wanted her to have it, and she decides not to.
And with that though the ring slides itself onto her right middle finger.
Now she has one more ring left and this ringâŠthis ring as more meaning than anyone realizes and Chelsea questions whether she should put it on today. Sheâs worn it before but not with questioning herself first.
Gingerly she pulls out the ring and fiddles with it in her fingers. The ring is held at her irises and she can see in the mirror that the ring is a treasure amidst the oceans of her eyes. Chelsea sighs and sets the ring down on the vanity and stares at it. All she does is stare, for what seems to be five minutes at the least. The ring of purity.
A purity ring that calls on her beliefs, dares her to live her faith and what she stands for, asks her to walk with confidence and a head held high.
All of this representation, in a single piece of jewelry. When did something so small become so powerful?
She realizes that it has always held this message to the world and herself and the commitment she made is something she very well plans on sticking with. But the judgement that comes reigning down like hail and thunders as a vicious storm, swirling around her with cruel words and ignorant thoughtsâŠ
Sometimes itâs easier to not wear it at all and forget, for a moment, of the commitment she made. Or if she does wear it, does she dare to answer the questions they ask? Or will she choose the cowardice route and not speak up at all?
Oceans stare at the treasure, crashing onto its golden band, threatening to consume the blue topaz nestled between two diamonds.
But then Chelsea stops and remembers the promise she made to herself and her God. She picks up the ring once again with great care and slips it onto her ring finger. Chelsea raises her hand till it is encompassed in sunlight and smile briefly as the rays smile upon the ring.
The buzzer on her phone goes then and the brunette grasps her jacket, throwing it over her collared shirt while slipping on her heels. She grabs her bag and dashes out the door making her way to the bus. She enters on and takes a seat, her hands folding over one another on her bag. A stranger comes up and sits beside her and she shifts her bag a little to make more room for him.
âDo they have any meaning?â
Chelsea stares at the man, oceans crashing onto the green shore, before she turns her gaze to the window.
âOh? Care to tell me about it?â
Her eyes turn to his again and she tilts her head before looking down at the rings as if they will tell her what to do.
The boy nods and the rest of the bus ride is spent in silence with Chelsea regretting every moment of not speaking up. But the moment has passed so she can no longer bring it up without making it awkward.
She took the cowardice way out yet again. Maybe one day sheâll finally tell someone what they mean. But today is not that day.
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