Marvela

So . . . I've decided that my writing websites Figment.com and Wattpad.com need to be dedicated to one thing and one thing only: my attempt at a novel in the outside world.  I only have one book on Wattpad, so there's no problem there, but I do have a short story called Marvela posted on Figment.  I think I'm going to delete it off of Figment, but I still want it to be somewhere where I am on the internet.  So . . . I'll post it here:

My back pressed against the earthy ground.  I closed my eyes and pretended I was somewhere else.  I was in a different country perhaps.  I tried to convince my body that it was in Europe on some grassy knoll, hiding so that the world couldn’t see me.  But my body persisted that it knew I was lying in my backyard; It knew I wasn’t blissfully somewhere more exciting than my home.  I opened my eyes disappointedly. 

Rolling over onto my stomach, my fingers gently threaded themselves through the grass.  My lids closed again and I imagined I was running them through the earth’s hair.  I liked how small it made me feel.  My hands moved back and forth, as though they were shampooing the grass.  I gave a little start when they tripped over something.   Fearing a harmful, bug-like foe, I pulled my hand back abruptly, but then I scooted forward, searching for the object again with my eyes. 

The sun picked it out for me, gleaming off of the round edge of the thing.  I delicately caressed it with my fingers, wanting to make a ballet out of picking it up.  It was a necklace, I thought.  There was only about three inches of chain clinging to it desperately, unwilling to leave the pendant no matter what.  I let the broken length of rustic colored metal rope slide across my fingers. 

            The pendant was beautiful.  Tiny pink pieces of shell were arranged to make a pretty little rose.  The same rustic metal from the chain looped around the rose, framing it ornamentally.  I liked the little pendant.  It wasn’t like any of the other junk that one might find left behind in the dirt.  It felt real.  I doubted any of it was plastic, and I was glad.  It was too pretty to throw away.  I wondered whose it was. 

            I extended my arm with the necklace hanging from my thumb, index, and middle fingers.  Beneath the pendent I could envision a woman with dark coloring.  The color of the rose would suit that pigment well, I fancied.  The necklace could go with nothing better than a nice white lace dress meant for summer. 

            “Who do you belong to?”  I asked the necklace out loud because I am a hopeless romantic and I loved the story in hearing my words out loud; as if I were sitting in a novel right now.  

Maybe a girl’s boyfriend bought it for her because he really loved her.  Not that petty high school stuff.  (I’m not saying you can’t have a real relationship in high school that’s not petty, all I’m saying is that the majority of high school romances are one-week-ers; Four-month-ers.  All I’m saying is that they're terminal.  They will most likely end.)  Maybe they were dating, maybe they weren’t.  Maybe it was a long time ago when he bought her the necklace.  Maybe she never knew he existed and he loved her from afar.  I sighed and relished in the feeling of holding this treasure in my hand.  Maybe she hadn’t ever received it. I wondered if he knew I had it now.           

But, what if he had died?  Surely this necklace couldn’t be that old, and I knew it hadn’t been in my backyard that long either.  That raised the question of how it had gotten here.  The yard was surrounded in a tall wooden fence.  I tried to remember the last time there had been a large storm.  I could see the thing tossing it’s way to my home.

 “Did you ride a giant gust of wind here, my friend?  Were you accidentally abandoned by the boy who bought you before he could bestow you to his one true love?” I whispered.  I hoped no one could hear me.  I was too embarrassed by my whimsical self to let these musing be heard by anyone with ears to hear. 

A piercing ringing came to me from the house.  “Marvela, It’s Stella.  She says she thinks she left something here when she was over last weekend.”

             “Yeah, okay, I’m coming.”  I hefted myself up from the grass and clomped my way to the kitchen.  Mom handed me the chunky pink plastic 1940s phone with the thick looping wire to the wall.  I loved this phone.  I stared at it admiringly for a second or two until Stella’s muffled voice brought me back to the present.

             “Marv?  Marvela, are you there?  Are you staring out the window thinking about your old swing set?  Marvie!”

                       “I’m here Stella.  Why would I be thinking about my swing set?  I swear, Ella, you’re ridiculous sometimes.  Now, what were you calling about?” 

            “Right.  I think I left something at your house.”

                       I didn’t ask her where she thought she’d left it.  We were always in the backyard.  She talked while I contemplated things.  “What does it look like?”

             “It’s a necklace.  I think the chain broke when we were watching stars.  You do so much shifting around on the grass, I can’t imagine what you’re like falling asleep.”

             My heart dropped into the bottom of my stomach and started to sour there.  My necklace that I had found wasn’t the icon of my fancies and stories.  It was just Stella’s.  She had probably bought it in the mall.  Even worse, it most likely wasn’t from an indie store either.  There was no originality to it anymore.

             “Marv, are you okay?” Stella asked.  She knew me well, but I couldn’t let her know I’d already found it.  She knew how much things could mean to me.

                       “Yeah.  I just got distracted.  You know me,” I laughed.  The next sentence almost pained me, but I pushed it through my teeth, knowing I had to let her know I had her necklace.  “Is it a pale shell pink rose with rustic colored metal looped around it in a circle?”

             I didn’t take in any air for an eternity and more.  I’m sure in the two breaths she took to answer my heart beat a million times.

             “No, it’s a little cross.  You’re sure you haven’t seen it?”

             “No, no.  Thank the heavens, I haven’t seen it.”

             “Marvela!  I really like that necklace!  Please tell me you’ll look for it.”

            “Yes, Stella.  I’ll look for it.  I’m sorry.  I promise I’ll start looking for it as soon as I can.” 

            We clicked off at the same time, and I put the beautiful pink phone back on the wall, hugging the rose necklace with my fist.  I went to my treasure strung room and found a long thin ivory ribbon and threaded it through to replace the broken chain.  It tied neatly around my neck.

             Maybe he wasn’t so old, I mused to myself.  Perhaps the boy was still a boy and was looking for the trinket.  Until then, I would keep it safe for him to find again.

The necklace Marv finds.