Len didn’t trust anyone, with good reason; he had the patience of a fly, buzzing around from deal to deal. I could tell by the look on his face that he’d rather watch paint dry than deal with me. This made me nervous and more anxious than I already was. I finally managed to find it deep in the front pocket of my disintegrating pants and placed it with trembling fingers on the counter. Len took his time and picked up the ring in his boney hands, finger tips yellow from years of smoking, and eyed it with such disinterest. He shifted it in the light, turned in sideways, looked at it from different distances. I was growing impatient. Not only was he scrutinizing it with extra care, but I was in pain. With every nanosecond that passed the rock of ache grew more and more in my belly. I could feel its icy claws feeling me over, scratching my back and digging itself into my skin. I felt prickly all over and started twitching a bit, knowing a wave of nausea would hit me soon, and I would lose control of my limbs.
“For fuck sake!” I grumbled. Len stopped what he was doing, and glared at me, hard and full of hate, “excuse me?!” he asked with such venom in his voice. He put the ring down, placed both hands on the counter and stared me down.
“Nothing.” I said awkwardly, wondering if I could fold into myself, vanish into thin air and block out all sounds and sights. I hated the sobers. Those people who think that just because they left the vicious circle they were better. At that moment, I felt a surge of anger rise up in me, through the pain, and I wanted to hurt Len. I wanted to yank his righteous tongue out and strangle him with it. But I had neither the strength, nor the courage. He remained still, his eyes burning two red holes into my chest, turning my bones to dust. My own eyes refused to focus and darted all over the small store, and I avoided his face with the determination of mold. I kept my head down and hoped he’d resume his examination of the ring. I suddenly wished I’d polished it before coming here, and was embarrassed by its lackluster appearance. Time became thick glue, running everywhere, obscuring light and space; and I didn’t know what time it was. I searched the walls for a clock, tried to look beyond the counter if I saw lights of a digital one. But time didn’t exist here. Not only here, in this store, but here, on our block, in our neighborhood. Time was a yellowing piece of paper, crumbling at the corners, fading like dusk. How long had I been here? It seemed like several centuries had passed me by and I was still stuck in the middle ages while hover cars zoomed by outside. Where people were no longer human, but pod-like beings that avoided contact and stewed inside themselves, letting out poisonous gasses and rank odours. I stared at Len’s hands with such intensity; I thought I would be able to dismember them with my thoughts alone. He had finally shifted his focus onto the ring and off me. I was stuck in a painting, constricted by the borders and afraid to let go. I looked outside of myself and saw the sunlight for the first time in years. Everything started spinning so fast I fell to the ground; I fell through the floor, down dark tunnels and rusty pipes. I was surrounded by ancient screams of tortured animals. My entire existence running like sewage through the universe. Broken fireflies burned around me, lighting my descent. In that dank room, under the intense scrutiny of a former sinner, the air began to thin and I was disappearing again. I wished with all my heart that Len had an oversized mirror somewhere. A safety object to capture my physical state. If my hands were moving, I couldn’t feel them, and once again bits of me fell away to whispers. Len’s voice found me, out of a dark abyss, noises echoed in my head. In my catatonic circumstance I couldn’t respond, couldn’t react.
“Hey!” a scream, several pitches above inside voice. I snapped back to reality, to the present. To Len’s pawn haven, awaiting his verdict: was my ring worth anything? I looked straight at him. How long had he been calling to me? My stare held him captive for a small eternity; two million light years and we shared a peaceful moment. Saw each other as humans trying to claw our way out of the gutter. The spark in his eyes faded and he was angry again.
“This ring, where did it come from?” he held it up and light should’ve hit it and it would’ve shined, raining stars on us. It had been a long time since I used words, communicated vocally, that I wasn’t sure I was up to the task.
“My mother.” I managed finally. I didn’t want to elaborate. Suddenly, I felt bad about myself. I felt like an un-flushed piece of shit, floating with no purpose. Lingering with disgust. My mother’s image shot into my brain and I remembered how she cried.
