The Miracle Bracelet: Found, Then Lost and Found, Times 2
It’s Official: I Believe in Miracles
Late summer, 2011. The economy continues to sink … employment figures (including mine) remain stagnant, with literally no job growth for August. The fall looks equally dismal. I remain underemployed, despite my best efforts to stimulate interest in the many benefits of leadership, empowerment and wellness coaching, and to audition, submitting myself for – and taking – even low-paying acting jobs … However, gold prices are surging, heading towards $2,000/ounce, an historic high! This prompted me to check my jewelry box, see if I had any old, broken, unloved gold rings, necklaces, bracelets, et al, to turn into cold hard cash.
Let me preface this story by noting that when it comes to precious metals and stones, I’m one of those people who have no luck whatsoever. I’ve never owned much, but the little I do have I tend to lose, break, leave behind. One of the beautiful Tahitian black pearl earrings I bought in Moorea, the gold hoop I got from my mother for Christmas, the watch I received for my birthday - gone. Somewhere. Lost. The gold necklace, the gold bracelet, the gold ring – broken. Stones missing, chains split, clasps dodgy.
I did find a few broken baubles I can bear to part with. More importantly, during my excavation I discovered a long-forgotten, delicate and lovely little gold bracelet. I don’t recall when I got it or who gave it to me. (I’ve never bought real jewelry for myself; it must have been a gift from my godfather Uncle William and Aunt Judy back when I was a teenager.) Just a simple three-strand piece, understated and elegant. Something I can leave on always, even in the shower, as I do with my godmother Aunt Celia’s gold necklace with the rose charm. (Since receiving it, I’ve managed to wear this much-complimented piece continuously without a problem – knock wood.)
I soon discovered the bracelet had a wonky clasp that periodically popped open. I tried to manually jigger the little latch, hoping to find the sweet spot where the clasp would stay closed.
I really liked my new little bracelet. It replaced an ugly, obstinate yellow strip of cloth that had been tied onto my left wrist by a poor person welcoming me to Salvador de Bahia, Brazil, in February of 2009. (Legend has it that if you wear the strand until it rots or falls off, your wish will come true. 18 months later, mine had become tattered, dirty and kind of gross. I finally “coaxed” the stubborn thing off when I just couldn’t take it anymore. My wish remains unfulfilled.)
I wore my new bracelet around the apartment as a test run, and the clasp seemed hold. Alas, much to my chagrin, during my first foray out of the house – some time while I worked at the “coffice” (a.k.a., Joe’s Art of Coffee), walked along the Hudson at sunset, ran a few errands - the bracelet fell from my wrist. I covered several miles from 85th to around 59th Streets between Columbus Avenue and the river; the bracelet could have fallen anywhere within these parameters, at any time between 4:00pm when I left home and 8:15pm when I saw it was missing.
I was disappointed and upset when I discovered my naked wrist. Great, I thought - I’m denied yet another precious little thing; something else lovely is found, then taken from me. I tried back-tracking a block or two, then retraced my original route for the rest of the walk home, searching the pavement and sidewalk in the waning sunlight. I remember my frustration. I remember my annoyance with myself and with you-know-who/what. I remember saying out loud that if I ever found the bracelet, it would be a miracle. And if I ever found it, I would begin believing in miracles. I really would.
I continued scanning the darkened sidewalks like an idiot until I’m nearly home. It’s now 8:30. Joe’s was closed; Anna and Ollie were inside, counting out the receipts behind the locked doors. Defeated, dreading that it would be an exercise in futility, I nonetheless knocked on Joe’s window to ask if anyone happened upon my little bracelet. And lo and behold –
Anna holds up my bracelet. She or someone found it and decided not to keep it.
I’m awestruck. I can’t believe the bracelet turned up, and at $2,000/ounce with a gold buyer right next door, was turned in. Miracles do happen. Sometimes two at a time.
So it’s now official: I’m a believer. Decades of doubt are replaced with yes, yes, yes, it’s possible. Anything, everything. “Being realistic” just limits the scope of possibilities we allow for ourselves. Invite – even expect – the miraculous, and see what happens. For a few days, I really did revel in this magical thinking. I felt a sense of peace, of potential; as sense that everything will be fine. I spread the good word via Facebook.
And then, the bracelet disappears again, this time during a sleepover playdate with my goddaughter Isabella.
It goes missing at some point between leaving the house and exploring the Heather Garden, Ft. Tryon and the Cloisters up in Ft. Washington. Maybe in the subway, I don’t know. I realize just as we begin our visit to Cloisters, so we back-track up and down the entrance stairways, up and down the bathroom stairway … No, the Security Guard hasn’t seen it; no, it hasn’t been turned in at the Reception Lost and Found.
Oh, well. The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away. So much for miracles. Apparently they have a short shelf life. My new-found faith is shattered; I feel like some sort of divine plaything. I’m ready to revert back to my original doubting-Tess self. I decide to let all that go for the moment and just enjoy the beauty of the Cloisters with Isabella.
We later decide to stop for a snack to hold us over until lunch. We sit in the pretty cloistered café with our banana and coffee, and my annoyance with myself and you-know-who/what returns. I dig into my purse for my cellphone, saying, “you know, if I find that bracelet, it would really be a miracle.” And I feel something at the bottom. A chain of some sort. My mouth drops. I pull out my little bracelet, and Isabella’s mouth drops, too.
The latch must have tripped, and the bracelet must have slipped, as I pulled my wallet out to pay for the subway or the museum entrance fee. Whatever the explanation, thanks to the miraculous double-dip, I’m once again a believer. And the skies look brighter. Because anything is possible. Indeed.
(Another miracle that day in the cafe: we discussed vows of silence taken by religious people who live in cloisters, and I challenged Isabella to take one. She managed only 20 seconds the first try, but lasted 20 minutes the second. A true miracle!)
I now sit, full Harvest moon streaming in, a-musing about Manhattan this Sept. 12, 2011, 3651 days after the 9/11 attacks. Has TimeWarner or some conglomerate hired me to coach their tired, huddled, cringing employees? Not yet. Have I landed a career-making role in an important, high-profile production? Still waiting. Have I met the man of my dreams? Decades later, still looking. Have I received an inheritance? Seems less and less likely. Still, every time I look at my pretty little gold bracelet, or I touch it on my wrist, I feel lighter, brighter, calmer, more hopeful. Because anything, everything’s possible, truly? Or because I’ve decided it’s so?
Whatever the answer(s), I’ve since fixed the clasp.
© 2011 Theresa Quadrozzi
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