The gravel-voiced pawnshop owner, reeking of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne, holds the ring pinched between two of his thick fingers, admiring the way the blue sapphire sparkles in the light. “That’s a real beauty,” he tells the nervous customer standing on the other side of the counter.
The pawnshop owner gives him the once-over. This kid is scrawny and fidgety. He’s got a scar, which seems quite recent, just above his jawline on the left side of his face and a snake tattoo winding around his scrawny pasty-white arm. He’s wearing a loose pair of faded jeans that are belted tightly around his thin waist to keep them from falling. The kid smells like he hasn’t showered in a while, and his eyes look like he could use a good night’s sleep. It’s difficult to pinpoint his age, maybe he’s in his thirties, but his face is so filled with worry that he could be younger, possibly in his twenties.
When he tells the kid he needs his driver’s license so he can make a copy of it, the kid flinches. “Oh, okay, I um, didn’t know you’d need ID,” he says with a nervous smile. “The thing is, I lost my license.” He pauses, licks at his lips. “I don’t mean my wallet got stolen. Lost my license from a DUI, but um, I’ve got a state ID, that’ll do, right?” His hand trembles slightly when he hands over his ID. “My brother’s gonna be pissed, but Mom gave the ring to me, not him, so he can squawk all he wants.”
The pawnshop owner holds the ID at arm’s length, swiveling his head back and forth, looking at the ID, then looking at the kid.
“The ID’s legit. No question about it, that’s you.” He zeroes in on the birthdate. “Oh, I see you had a birthday two weeks ago. That makes you 24, right?”
The kid says “yup” and keeps talking. “So that’s a real sapphire in the center and those are genuine diamond chips. And the ring is made from real gold.” He turns away, coughing violently into his arm and getting splashes of gooey spittle on his snake tattoo. Slightly grossed out by his own sloppy spit, he furiously wipes his wet arm against his jeans.
“This ring belonged to my great-grandmother,” he says in a shaky voice. “She gave it to Gramma. Then it got passed down to my mother. I got no sisters, so Mom, before she died, gave it to me, she told me someday when I settle down and find the right woman I can give it to her. Mom told me to make sure, absolutely sure, it’s the right woman, because she wanted the ring to stay in the family.”
The pawnshop owner nods sympathetically, then says what he’s willing to give him for the ring.
“Could you do a little more, please?” the kid asks, scratching at the side of his face. “It’s just that I need money quick for, well, um, I just need money. And that’s a real sapphire and it’s been in my family for …”
“Yeah kid, I understand, but I’ve got to make a profit. Well, I can go a little higher.”
After some haggling, with the kid doing most of the haggling and the pawnshop owner barely budging from his original quote, they agree on a price.
“My friend, the one who told me about this place, he said sometimes, people come back and buy back the stuff they hocked.”
The pawnshop owner clears his throat. “Sure kid, sometimes people do that.” He clears his throat a second time. “Well, let’s get your paperwork started.”
The bell over the door clangs and both men turn their attention to the robust man breezing in with a vacuum cleaner. “Bought my wife a new one, figured I’d see what I can get for this one. Still runs like a champ.” The pawnshop owner smiles and points to three kitchen chairs arranged against the back wall. “Have a seat over there, I’ll be with you shortly.” The man drags the vacuum cleaner across the shop and plops down hard on a chair. The pawnshop owner shouts across the room. “Those chairs are for sale! The note on the wall says how much for one, but if you buy all three, I can give you a better deal!”
The man looks at the price, scowls, then laughs. “I’m here to sell, not buy. Just give me a holler when you’re ready for me.” He pulls out his phone, immediately absorbing himself in social media and blocking out his three-dimensional surroundings.
“Okay kid, let’s get the paperwork outta the way.” As they tend to the paperwork, the kid eyes the ring, picks it up and cradles it in the palm of his hand.
“Gramma used to call this her Easter Sunday ring. Every Easter she’d get dressed up for Mass in pretty blue clothes and put on this ring. Blue was her favorite color. She wore the ring other times too, but always on Easter. The first Easter after Gramma died, Mom wore the ring to Mass and then made a habit of wearing it to church every single Sunday. Then Mom got too sick and stopped going to church.”
The kid sets the ring back down on the counter. He looks down at his sneakers, unwilling to make eye contact. “I just need some quick cash. But I’ll be back, yeah, maybe as soon as next week, to buy back that ring.” He takes a deep breath, scratches at his arm. “It’s true what my friend said, about people buying back the stuff they hocked, right?”
“Yeah kid, some people do that,” the pawnshop owner says in a gravel-voiced whisper. He flashes a friendly smile, trying his best to give the kid hope. But they both know, the ring is gone for good.
