The Silver Ring

Adam was upset. "But we said we wouldn't!"

Jane knew she'd gone back on her word but right now she didn't care. It was done, bought, sized. But Adam wouldn't let it go.

"No, I said I wouldn't wear your ring. And that you're under no obligation to wear one yourself."

Adam pleaded, "But then, why?"

"It doesn't matter why—"

"It does matter! This was what we chose, exactly what we said didn't want to participate in. What do you need to prove? And who do you need to prove it to? You don't need some kind of lame validation."

Superficial symbolism of a tired patriarchy or not, wearing or not wearing a ring just seemed like small potatoes now. Jane was exhausted.

"It's just....easier."

"Easier for who? You mean easier for other people."

"So what if it is?"

This is what Jane knew he'd never understand. That this wasn't about him, or them as a couple. Worn on just the right finger on just the right occasions, this was a gift to herself, a favor, always about other women, and always about other men. She wanted it to squash unnecessary questions, to avoid awkward conversations, to repel and yes, to protect. She imagined this simple, no frills silver ring as a force field, just the right whiff of conformity, a white flag that when raised said to the opposing army, "We are the same. There's no need for conflict or uncertainty here."

Yet Jane knew that, in time, when she did wear the ring, it would barely get noticed, particularly to Adam who seemed to care so much now, adamant, yet wholly unburdened. It would soon fade into the background, this object, this conversation. At the end of the day, she knew that however small, this tiny slip of silver was big enough to shelter them all.