I walked away quickly, checking that I had everything as I went, when it struck me…
My neck was bare.
Rushing back to the guard post, I asked him if he had my necklace. I dropped to the floor and looked all around his station.
Standing, he said he had found it. His stand was hollow inside, with one hole at the end. My necklace laid at the bottom of the stand, having fallen down that hole, very much out of my or his reach.
He smiled, saying he didn’t have a key, but his supervisor should. He would call him.
He shooed me off to the side as others entered the building. I stood, waiting anxiously as he checked them in. After the mini-rush died, he still had made no call, either on a phone or over a radio.
“Um, Sir, when do you think you’ll be able to get my necklace?” I explained I was in the building to work and would need to leave soon. He took down my name and phone number.
And then his supervisor approached. I hoped I would not be long parted from my jewelry. But this new man just reiterated with the first had said. They’d call me when they’d retrieved my necklace, saying instead of the key, which no one knew where it was, they would use a clothes hanger to fish it out.
I walked away, anxious. As I sat waiting for the rest of the crew, I found it hard to think about anything but my necklace.
There was no way for these men to understand how much the silver at the bottom of their stand (which by-the-way, WHY IS THERE A HOLE IN IT!?!), no way for them to comprehend how much that object means to me.
The necklace itself is chainmail, bought at my first kink event. On it is a charm with the Chinese symbol for love and a ring, silver in color but certainly not the type of metal, a piece of costume jewelry from a relative who died many years ago.
My profile picture for most everything is a shot of my necklace (less the ring). What people don’t know, what I don’t talk about much if at all, is the name I have for that picture.
True, the necklace is a “chainmail collar”. I have had people ask me up front if I’m owned. (More on that in an upcoming podcast.) I tell them no, I am not. But that is only half true.
The name I gave to my profile picture is “I Own Me”.
When I was with the Ex, the one way he managed to show affection and give me some reassurance was through a necklace, his necklace which he put on me. It was made of black and red beads with the symbols of his clan. (He’s one of the Pensic folk.)
Absentmindedly, throughout my day, I used to play with that necklace. When I was stressed, I often stroked it, remembering there was someone who cared for me and would be there when I got home to make things better.
When I broke up with him, he knew what was coming before I even opened my mouth. I held his necklace in my hand, having only previously taken it off to shower. I gave it back to him that day, ending whatever we were.
I’ve worn the Chinese character around my neck since college. In my mind, having the symbol for love about me would be my quiet beacon out to the world, hoping someone would hear the call.
I put down the charm when he gave me his necklace. I put it back on when I left him, reminding myself there was more in this life than my time with him.
Now I keep it on, wearing it for me. My kink life. My openness. My freedom. My caring, affection, love for others. I feel like, in some small way, the charm works/worked.
When I finger the ring, I remember Aunties, Uncles, and Ella, a family passed on but not forgotten. So much of my life with three people so long gone…
When I rub the symbol, I remember that I am loved, that I have so much love to give, and that there are those who want and deserve my affections, both known to me and the yet-to-meets.
So yes, I was very anxious, and nervous, and downright distraught when my necklace dropped down that hole. I wear it everyday. I sleep with it on at night. I take it off only when I shower, and only rarely don’t wear it out.
Thankfully, thirty minutes later, I got the call. They returned my necklace with both the ring and charm in tow.
Comments are disabled on this post