A whoosh of sweet air, a heaviness around my legs, a flutter to my heart.
I viewed myself in the old dappled mirror across from the jewelry display. At the center of my neck, where the delicate necklace lay, was an open golden ball of pearls and surrounding that, a circle of gold and tiny dropped pearls, two sets curved into half-moons..
“It’s a love poem,” the jeweler replied, tears glistening in his eyes.
I swayed from left to right. “A love poem?”
My heart squeezed in distress, and I grasped the necklace clasp to take it off. My hands were sweaty, and perspiration dripped off my forehead as I handed the necklace back. “What happened to them? Did they live happily ever after?” I asked, though dreading the answer.
Knowing the answer.
“She died in his arms nine months later during childbirth.” The jeweler sighed. “She wore his necklace to the end.” The man held my hand and placed the necklace into my palm, closing my fingers into a fist.
That’s when my ears popped, a vacuum-like sound filled my ears, and I screamed in agony. But my love’s blue eyes pierced the pain with such intensity that as I gave in to the lightness, I simultaneously heard the squeal of a newborn.
When I reopened my eyes, I was on the floor of the dusty old store, and the jeweler slapped my cheeks with fear and hope in his face.