“What shall we do today?” My partner asks as I hand him a mug of scalding-hot coffee. He scoots up in bed into a sitting position as I pull the curtain aside to peek out at the weather. It’s gray and rainy — mud season has officially arrived in the Northwest — and I quickly dismiss my initial idea of a hike and a picnic lunch.
“What if we scratch off one of the date ideas in that book?” I ask. For Valentine’s Day, I had given him a book full of creative and off-the-wall dates that you scratch off like lottery tickets. I have no idea what dates are in the book, which is part of the fun. The rules of the game are simple: Once you select which date you’re going to scratch off and reveal, you must complete the date.
You can filter by parameters (will you need a babysitter? what time of day is this best done? indoors or out? approximate cost?), and select your date scratch-it accordingly, so it’s not a complete shock when you reveal the date.
My partner beams and nods, jumping up to run into the other room to grab the book where it is still sitting on the floor in the gift bag.
We snuggle up together, the dog bouncing over us to curl up between our legs on the bed, and slowly flip through the book, trying to guess what kind of date will be revealed based on the clues. Finally, we choose one that looks promising, requires 2–3 hours outside the house and is completed indoors.
Spoiler alert: Our date scratch-off instructs us each to write down our ideal date night out for that evening, and fold up the paper. Then, we have to scour the house and select something(s) to take to the pawnshop to sell. We are supposed to keep this secret from the other person until we arrive at the pawnshop. Whoever makes the most money from their sales will win and their folded paper of date ideas will be opened and enacted. The money from the sale of their item(s) will go toward paying for the date.
I immediately head to my collection of assorted jewelry and grab my wedding ring, as well as some other jewelry my ex gave me. I love my ring: It’s a pear-cut vintage-look diamond ring setting with a delicate diamond-studded band, but I also know that I’ll never, ever wear it again. I sold the diamond out of the center long ago when I was trying to save my first house after my ex unexpectedly quit his job and then spent two years not working, so I know the ring’s value is sentimental and not monetary. But even that sentimentality — like the white gold of some of the jewelry he gave me — is now tarnished. I no longer want to hold on to any of it.
The symbolism of this — clearing out the past to make room for my future — also appeals to me. With a pocket (bag) full of precious gold clinking together, my partner and I scribble down date night ideas that are appropriate for the weather and fold our papers to keep them secret. We grin at each other and look up the address of a pawn shop.
Neither of us has ever been to one, though we’ve watched many episodes of the show “Pawn Stars.” (Side note: my late grandmother told me she loved watching this show, and, not knowing about the show, I kept thinking she was repeatedly and adamantly saying, “I love watching porn stars.” She was a wildcard, so it seemed to suit her.)
I am terrible at haggling and negotiating for myself, though I can do it on behalf of other people, so I am a little anxious that I’ll be expected to dicker with the person behind the counter. Reality proves simpler.
The pawn showroom is tiny but clean and well-organized. When we walk in, there is one person getting their items evaluated, so we wander around the showroom, looking at what is on offer. On one side are a lineup of power tools: Drills, chop saws, skill saws, chainsaws. There’s even a good quality jigsaw for sale, and my partner slaps his forehead because he just bought a brand new one last month for a house project. “Next time, I should check the pawn shops first,” he murmurs to me.
Making our way around the room, we see a wall of DVDs and PlayStation games, eyeballing what’s on offer before moving to the glass case containing rows and rows of jewelry. I love looking at old jewels, particularly vintage-looking and art deco jewelry, and while there’s some of that mixed in, most of it looks like late 90s-style gold-and-diamond rings. My heart drops at the remnants of all those endings, especially knowing I’m about to add to the collection.
When it’s our turn, the fellow behind the counter calls us up and we both lay out what we are considering selling.
Unbeknownst to either of us, we have both selected jewelry our exes gave us, including our wedding rings, and we burst into giggles as we see what the other has to offer.
The guy behind the counter evaluates the jewelry (What kind of gold is it? Are the stones authentic? How big are the stones and what is the shop’s offered rate of pay, etc.,) and we chat with him about his evaluation process and what the store is currently paying per gram for 10K, 14K, and 18K gold. After a thorough examination, he makes an offer (which we accept) and begins the lengthy process of writing up his purchases.
While we wait for the cashier to finish the paperwork, my partner peruses the fishing rods for sale. A row of rods in various conditions lines the wall behind the counter, and my partner — who probably has 30 or more rods — is an avid fisherman. He shows me the secret to telling whether the rod has ever snapped (take the two pieces apart and see if they’re the exact same length; if not, the tip has snapped off), how to check and make sure the ceramics are still on the rings where the fishing line will be strung, and how to tell if a high-end Lamiglass rod has ever been repaired before. He finds a brand new Lamiglass rod for catching a smaller species of fish and knows that the price the shop has listed is about the same price as he would spend at Sportsman’s shop. The tag is still on this one, so he decides he’ll snag it and save himself a trip to the outdoor store.
While he’s examining his rod (heh. Sorry.) I notice a sign marking a store-wide sale; A small, unobtrusive poster exclaims, “Find the shamrock sticker and save 25% off your item!” so I ask the saleswoman who is about to ring up the fishing rod if the shamrock sticker has to be attached to the item we are buying, or if I only have to point out the sticker to her. She laughs and replies, “It’s meant for the item you’re buying.” I shrug. “Okay, I was just trying to save a few dollars if I could,” I reply.
“Well, let me see what I can do for you…” She punches some numbers into the computer and looks up at me. “I can go ahead and give you the 25% discount.” My partner’s eyes light up; He’s also not accustomed to asking for discounts or haggling, so it is a very pleasant surprise.
Twenty minutes later, we each have a wad of cash in our pockets from our sales, along with his brand-new-but-discounted fishing rod, and feel lighter for letting go of our wedding rings from our previous marriages. Charged up with excitement, we slide into the car and open the folded papers with the date ideas. His: mini-golf or bowling and dinner at a restaurant in a neighboring town that he’s been talking about taking me to for ages. Mine: An escape room experience followed by dinner at a Latin-Asian fusion restaurant I’ve been wanting to try.
We agree that he won: While I had more pieces and made more money, he has big fingers and earned more on one item than I did from any one of my dainty little pieces. He points the car to the restaurant he’s been wanting to take me to.
“It’s a beautiful day for a drive,” I quip, staring out at the muted gray day. He glances over at me.
“You mean because you don’t want to be out walking in this weather?” He asks, his eyes twinkling with merriment. I grin back at him as we pull into the restaurant, salivating over the thought of the steak with demi-glace that I’m about to devour.
The food is just as delicious as he’s promised, but we are less focused on our meals and both still reliving our experiences at the pawn store. I feel wiggly and almost high from the experience.
“Healing may not be so much about getting better, as about letting go of everything that isn’t you — all of the expectations, all of the beliefs — and becoming who you are.” — Rachel Naomi Remen
My partner and I grin at each other the entire drive home, giddy with the lightness of letting go. Such small pieces of jewelry, but weighty when tied to heavy emotions and psychological abuse.
We rehash our experience. The day was invigorating, connecting, and healing. I feel like I released some of the beliefs and expectations I had held about myself and how my life should have looked. I let go of some of the grief and disappointment for how my marriage turned out, and how different it was from what I had hoped.
I let go of the weight of the past so that I could be lighter and freer in the present. And isn’t that what healing is all about?
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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White Fragility: Talking to White People About Racism | Escape the “Act Like a Man” Box | The Lack of Gentle Platonic Touch in Men’s Lives is a Killer | What We Talk About When We Talk About Men |
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Photo credit: Arya Dubey on Unsplash
I always have gotten a kick out of watching television shows about pawn shops. I will try out new ones, if I can find one, and I will binge watch reruns of older ones. As they often portray, pawn shops can draw in many different types of valuables from it’s customers. You never know what you may find among all the lovely treasures in a pawn shop. http://www.GemCoCoins.com