Bonding with a Stranger

Bonding with a Stranger

I waited until the young woman delivering my groceries was back at the bottom of my front steps, a safe distance away, before opening my door to call out a thank you. 

‘It’s a great help,’ I said. Telling me she was glad, she looked up with a smile, then surprised me by bringing her hands together and bowing her head as she said,

‘Merry meet.’ 

Taken aback, I stammered out the same. She smiled more widely.

‘Happy Halloween!’ (which it was, in this Hemisphere, and even the exact rather than the official date). ‘Blessed be.’

I returned the greeting more confidently this time, but was still puzzled.

‘So how do you know this about me?’

‘You’re wearing the pentacle.’ With an even broader grin: ‘You can’t hide from your people.’ 

‘Oh of course,’ I said, my hand going to my throat.

I wear it all the time, even in bed, where I shorten the adjustable cord so it can’t get tangled while I sleep. The delivery was early, I was still in my pyjamas, which revealed the silver pendant at my neck – so much part of me I forget it’s there; and not tucked under a t-shirt, hidden, as it sometimes is. 

‘I’m very glad to meet my people,’ I said, smiling back.

She left with a cheery wave.

‘See you next time.’

‘I hope so.’

a greeting

eases isolation

we connect

Pentacle: a 5-pointed star (pentagram) within a circle; often worn by Pagans. Frequently used to represent the element of Earth, it can also be seen to represent all the elements.

I'm sharing this piece, a couple of months after the event, with Writers' Pantry #27: We're Halfway There! at Poets and Storytellers United.

The Ring [Prose]

The Ring

I was there when they arrived — rings from eBay, for her craftwork: for adorning wands or suspending pendulums.

‘Choose one,’ she said. (She was always giving me things.)

Among the silver and glitter, one was different — copper, engraved with symbols, the large oval stone aslant, deep blue with two tiny white spots: polished sodalite. I put it on.

I looked up sodalite. Sure enough, the perfect stone for things I was learning, things she’d urged me to work on.

I wore it constantly. One day I noticed the white spots enlarging.

‘It must be a magic ring,’ someone said.

I could hardly wait to visit her, to tell her. Her eyes shone!

‘What’s the white in sodalite?’ she asked. I Googled.

‘Calcite.’

‘What does calcite do?’

‘Various things — including cleansing and transmuting other people’s energy.’

I’m a healer. We decided it reflected my focus on helping others.

Soon the whole stone was white, only the outer rim dark blue.

One day I noticed a new blue line.

‘I must be getting self-centred,’ I thought, shifting my focus back to others. The line disappeared.

Her eyes shone even brighter when I told her that.

She was my teacher and guide, sometimes shattering my preconceptions. Sometimes I let her.  But when she said I should be her PA and get off the Age Pension, I explained that writing is the focus of my time and energy, and going off the Pension would lose me the Government-subsidised home I love. Disappointed, she accepted.

She’d been sick a long time but we believed she was mending. Suddenly she died.

Later, a reader said, ‘You’ve come to the end of a phase. No-one can ever again tell you what to do; you’re free to make your own choices.’

The ring got a little tight. One day the band broke neatly, centre back. ‘Now it’s adjustable,’ I thought.

But soon, abruptly, it fell off my hand, snapping next to the stone.

Then I remembered. ‘If a piece of jewellery someone gave you gets lost or broken, the karma between you is complete.’

The pieces rest on the shrine I made her.

Now I’m my own teacher and guide.


A 369-word story for Writers' Pantry #11 at Poets and Storytellers United.