time passes. i keep waiting for time to heal this wound. grief. when i am happy my heart beats like a hummingbird, my blood flows freely through my veins. each platelet healthily rushing along. no plaque or clotting in sight. when i was a little girl, 8 or so, my aunt took me to solvang. it’s a little tourist town in california that’s all danish and hans christian anderson themed. very cute. there was this stall selling oysters where you could find a pearl. she bought me one. i didn’t know then that every oyster had a pearl inside. i thought i had picked a one-in-a-million oyster. my only knowledge of oysters, truth be told, before this was from the alice in wonderland cartoon, actually. but i had never won prizes at fairs, so this seemed to be a lucky occasion. she had them put my pearl in a silver ring. i thought it was the best thing ever. we went to anderson’s split pea restaurant in buelton on the way home. i put a bit of all of the toppings from the platter in the center of the table on my soup. back then, the brown, pea soup and yellow interior seemed amazing, almost magical. close to disneyland. time would make it tacky. age would make it sentimental, wonderful, again. this memory, every memory, of her, is tied up, locked up, in that phone call. the call years later from childhood. telling me that she’d killed herself. and for years after that i’d simply not answered my phone for fear that every call would bear news of death. of another abandonment. another failure on my part. blocked numbers, still, are best sent straight to voicemail. you never know. ignore all calls, think of pearls. time will tell.