The Jewelry Thief

My apartment seems to have developed a fondness for eating jewelry. Okay, maybe not eating, but snatching certainly. Last fall, when my high school friends were in town visiting for the weekend, one of my gold Banana Republic earrings went missing. My friend Meghan had borrowed them for the day and I watched her, home after our day out in the city, take them off one by one and set them on my dresser. Two seconds later, she was down on all fours looking underneath my bed, then my dresser. “What are you doing, Meg?” I asked. She looked up at my sheepishly. “One of your earrings is gone.”

“But you just set them down? I saw you!”

“I know! And now it’s gone! It doesn’t make any sense!”

“Well, we know it has to be around here somewhere, so don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’ll turn up the next time I’m cleaning.”

My friends were visiting in October. I have cleaned, dusted, swept, and vacuumed multiple times since then – always on the lookout for that one earring. It still hasn’t turned up.

Last night, after dinner, I took off my rings before washing the dishes. There are two rings that I wear every single day, one I’ve had since I was 14, the other I got on my 24th birthday. Yesterday I also happened to be wearing a fun oversized cocktail ring as well. I took all three off at the same time; I placed all three together on a little dresser in my living room that serves as a catch-all. I know that I did this for all three rings, I’m positive. Later, several hours later, when I was going to bed I grabbed the rings from the living room and took them into my bedroom. When I set them down on my dresser in the bedroom there were only two. Logically, I figured I must have dropped the third one – the one I’ve had since I was 24 and have worn every single day since and love so very much – somewhere in between my living room and my bedroom. Now, my apartment isn’t all that big so the area I needed to search was manageable. I walked back and forth, back and forth. I got down on my hands and knees retracing my footsteps. I checked my hoodie pocket on the off chance it had randomly fallen in there. I moved furniture, wondering if it’d bounced under something when I dropped it. Nothing. It’s like it vanished into thin air.

Rationally, I keep telling myself that this lovely little amber ring of mine has GOT to be somewhere. But where? Where oh where, in my little one bedroom apartment could a ring have disappeared to in a matter of seconds? Last night I blamed not finding it on being tired, my eyes already being half-asleep. I got up earlier than usual this morning in order to have time to resume the search before I left for the office. Still no luck. I fear the worst. What if my ring has gone the way of that gold earring? Never to be seen again. I tell myself not to sweat it; it was just a piece of costume jewelry, probably worth $30 or so. And I know, I know - it’s a first world kind of problem to have. But I. love. this. ring. After all, there’s a reason why I’ve worn it every day for the past eight years. I’ve been walking around all day today, rubbing the spot on my ring finger where my beloved ring usually lies. We’re not supposed to care all that much about material things, I know, but I can’t help it. For it feels like a tiny little piece of me has gone missing as well.