Did you know that you can Google "how to get rid of a wedding ring indent?" and there will be dozens of articles and advice tips in less than a nanosecond. I learned that today.
I was sitting on my porch, sipping tea, reading, sun just high enough to not be in my eyes, but still warm on my legs. and I look down at my left hand to see the dent on my third finger. To be honest, it took me a second to realize what it was, then another second to be mad, then sad, then frustrated that it was there.
I wore a ring there for a little over four and a half years. I took it off to shower sometimes, or to sleep if it was hot. I would take it off when my hands would swell if I was walking, or had eaten too much salt the day before. But for the most part, I wore it daily since the day in June it was given to me.
It was his grandmother's ring. A lovely wedding band type, set with channel diamonds in antique cushion cut. Not expensive; the engagement ring to the set would have cost more. He didn't have the engagement ring, he said, because the jewelry had been divided up when the grandmother died, and this was what he got. He had never let anyone else wear the ring before, and had pulled it from a plastic film container he had retrieved from his junk drawer.
It never came with a question, and I liked it that way. He had been married before, and so had I, and while we planned a future, the idea of matrimony never came up for longer than to work out if a certificate once we retired would make finances better. It would be a transaction.
But as I looked at the dent on my finger today, and thought about the memory of the day he gifted it to me, all I could think was that the word transactional was actually the best word for most of our relationship.
I gave him a ring later that year, just before Christmas. At first he didn't want to wear it. I asked him about jewelry, and he said that was not the issue, he had worn rings before. I ask him about comfort, and he said that he was okay with wearing rings that fit him. So I asked the elephant in the room question, and wondered how he felt about outward physical signs that our relationship was more than casual.
This is where he balked. He wanted me to wear a ring, but he didn't want to. He wanted the casual freedom of not having to be asked about his "wife" (the reason men wear rings on their third finger on their left hand) and then either have to explain that I was his girlfriend (that got some looks a few times), or cringe at the word. It was okay for me to have to explain, but he didn't want that. Because almost invariably the questions would become about why we weren't married, when we would get married, how long had we been married if we chose not to talk about girlfriend status. Fielding them when we were together was easy, I had more language for the ways to answer. And after a couple times when he had just rolled his eyes, or said something truly vile like "Oh God no she's not my wife!" my responsibility was clear. If he was going to wear a ring, I was to protect him from looking like a flake. Men whose opinion he valued, and women whose attention he desired, needed to think he was shiny.
So on the day I gave him his ring, and he didn't wear it, I put mine in a bowl on the nightstand and didn't wear mine either. This bothered him. He didn't have my undivided adoration right then. Manipulative, maybe, but more than anything, I wanted us to be equal. Partners without the paper. If rings meant something to him if I wore one, I needed for him to have that same kind of faith.
He broke the first ring. It was black hematite and shattered completely one day, without a good reason. The next ring I got him was titanium.
The day we ended, we had been out for a walk. As I said before, my hands swell and, like had dozens of times before, I took the ring off and put it in the inside zipper pocket with my wallet of the jacket I was wearing. It was his jacket, and I loved it almost specifically for the pocket that held my wallet and ring so perfectly. When I left that night, I took my wallet, but not the jacket, and hadn't put the ring back on after coming home. When I left that night, I didn't take the ring with me. When I left that night, he still had his ring on.
He told me two days later that he wanted the ring back. Another day went by before I told him he already had the ring, and where to look. He informed me it wasn't there. The ring is gone. Maybe still in the lining of the jacket. Maybe on his floor near his dining table from it coming out of the pocket when I took my wallet. Maybe on Market Street somewhere. I don't know. I only slightly care.
When I returned his keys, dropping them with his concierge without seeing him, he texted later and asked about the ring again. I told him again that I didn't have it, but asked if he was willing to talk about something other than possessions. He wasn't willing, and honestly, I am glad he was just as transactional this time as he had been with most everything else. He didn't give back his ring, so maybe it lives in the film canister now. No matter, I didn't ask for it or want it back.
But what I have is this dent where the ring used to be. I took a photo to see if it was truly noticeable to anyone but me. It is, but barely. Google says the only thing that truly gets rid of it is time. I added lotion just in case. I am hoping it just stops being there, and I don't notice when. Apparently, not yet.
I semi-wonder how long his dent will be there, but not really.
