Necklace

NOTE: As mentioned in the item description -- this is a story that deals with religion, so if you're easily offended by this kind of thing, this might not be up your alley. This story was written for the same class as "Things People Say"  .







The first time she wore the necklace was on her thirteenth Easter. She wore the necklace because her older sister had received an identical one - a golden cross on a golden chain - on her own Confirmation. She wore the necklace because it meant she was growing up; it meant that she had confirmed her faith for herself, that it was now uniquely hers. She tangled the chain the first time she wore the necklace, so she had to hold up her hair up as her mother unclasped the tiny golden lock and loosened the knot, which was itchy against the untouched skin at the nape of her neck.

She wore the necklace as the water dripped down her forehead, the cross hanging yoke-like in front of her heart, protecting it from the temptations of the world, the traps and deceptions that lay in wait for high school girls. She wore the necklace because she loved God, because of the sensation that welled inside of her whenever she felt its weight against her chest. She wore the necklace and felt her heartbeat echoing against the gold as the pastor lined the confirmation class in a row and gave them a speech about the sanctity of the body that made the boys, pimpled and smiling, nudge each other, much to her annoyance.

She wore the necklace to school the next day and liked how it looked against her sweater. She wore the necklace to piano practice and to her art lessons. She and her sister both wore their necklaces as they argued about who would clean their room. They wore their necklaces while braiding friendship bracelets, a hobby they both shared. Her sister sometimes wore her necklace into the shower, and as a result, her chain was already beginning to rust. (She herself never wore the necklace in the shower, was fastidiously careful about wetting it, shielding it with her hand in the rain.)

She wore the necklace on the day she won the memory verse contest for reciting Psalm 119, all 176 verses of it. (She was wearing the necklace when she had a strange dream involving darkened paths, scroll-shaped lamps and lost sheep.) She wore the necklace to school, and the boy with turtle-shell eyes framed by deliriously long eyelashes turned around during English class and whispered, “Cool bling.”

She wore the necklace to school the day after that, and the day after that, but the boy in front of her never said anything else about it. She wore her necklace through Advent and Lent, during which she gave up chocolate and meat. She wore the necklace and suffered, although it wasn’t enough to give up her silly luxuries – how could it ever be enough? So she wore the necklace and thought of what she might give up, what might be worth giving up. And the necklace she wore reminded of her sin and the love she did not deserve.

She wore the necklace every evening during their family devotionals. And she was wearing the necklace the night when her sister asked her if she believed it, if really believed all of it. And she hadn’t known how to respond because they both still wore the necklace, after all. But she thought about her sister's question when Alyssa, her friend from school, asked her why she wore the necklace, was it some crazy religious thing, like, do you have nuns in your family or something – god, I’m just kidding, it’s whatever, I go to church too.

She wore the necklace the day Alyssa laughed when she prayed before her meal; the day she prayed while dropping and picking up her napkin; the day when, instead of praying, she slipped a quick plea to Him while feigning to sneeze; the day she ceased praying at all. The truth was that she wore the necklace but was beginning to feel embarrassed about it. She wore the necklace even though she began to get tired of the devotionals and memorizing verses. She wore the necklace even though her sister had stopped wearing hers, had torn the golden chain and left it in her purse, along with a pack of cigarettes and a condom. She wore the necklace even though she wanted to watch PG-13 movies, read Cosmopolitan and be friends with Alyssa. She wore the necklace even though curiosity had lodged its way into her heart. She began to ask herself why she wore the necklace when it only made her feel ashamed.

So she stopped wearing the necklace to school; it was stupid anyway, that gaudy golden cross, ornamented with delicate spiraling dove wings. She only wore the necklace to church because it proved she was still virtuous, that she was still good and pure, that she was not a part of the World, the elusive place where she lived, despite herself. But when she wore the necklace to church she wore it backward, so that the cross’s ornamented façade hid itself against her flesh.

One day, she wore the necklace to school on a whim, and the thin golden chain attracted no attention, but she felt that everyone was staring at it and especially what it represented, staring at the cross that fell right above her breasts, which were partly flesh but mostly padded bra, carefully filled in with pantyhose borrowed from her older sister. So she wore the necklace into the bathroom and walked out without it, leaving it folded in a piece of toilet paper, on top of a trashcan filled with paper towels, damp cigarettes and wads of gum. Three minutes later, she returned to the bathroom and scuffled through the trashcan until she felt it, slippery against her damp palm, and wore the necklace once again. She had to wear the necklace because it felt wrong if she didn't; it was her protection against the world and besides, what would her mother say if she lost it?

From then on, she wore the necklace consciously, tucked into the collar of her button-up or hidden under her hair, which she no longer braided or put in tails because she washed her hair every morning and styled it, which required the blow dryer, set first at “high heat” to blast dry and later on “cool” to eliminate frizz; a sizeable dollop of gel; her curling iron with which she perennially burned a glassy pink spot on the backside of her ear; an army of bobby pins; and her sister’s remonstrations that they were late again, will you please hurry up?

She wore the necklace at her sister’s graduation; she wore it because her sister would not wear hers, and if her sister noticed the necklace she said nothing. She wore the necklace for the both of them, because her sister continued to say things that shocked her, things that made her uneasy but simultaneously exhilarated; things that she wanted to hear more of every day. She continued to wear the necklace until, quite suddenly, that kind of paraphernalia became in, the gaudiness, the self-righteousness. She wore the necklace and people complimented her about it, and she found herself making explanations for it. She wore the necklace as it acquired a new layer of mythos; it had belonged to her great-great-grandmother, who had found it mysteriously at an abandoned church in the Cotswold – it was just on the floor – no, it was lying on the altar, a half-ruined thing covered in dust that stank of sin, and here was this glimmer of redemption, waiting to be found –

She wore the necklace, she wore the necklace, she wore the necklace. She wore the necklace so that it accentuated the scoop-necks, turtlenecks, v-necks, rapidly dropping necklines that complemented push-up bras, Sheer Golden Sparkle for Nude Skin, and perfume that came in spindly heart-shaped bottles. She wore the necklace until she forgot about it, until fumbling with the little golden clasp at 7:23am became routine, just like spoon-sliced bananas in cocoa rice krispies. She wore the necklace until the small indent left by the clasp in her left thumb became another part of her, as indispensable as her eyebrows, which were high and thin and naturally arched, and she couldn’t even remember the day when she started plucking the unruly little hairs under her real eyebrows with the tweezers previously used to remove splinters gone awry in her big toe, and once a shard of glass that had somehow wound itself into the fleshy pad of her foot until her father coaxed it out with the tweezers, the tweezers she used to pick out knots from the fine golden chain that would twist upon itself.

She wore the necklace to her grandmother’s funeral, where it hung as heavy as the lump within her chest; she wore it on the day she tried her first cigarettes, forcing her way through a pack of Virginia Slims with Alyssa. She wore the necklace on Thanksgiving, when her sister came home with a nose ring and a shirt that read, God loves the gays. She wore the necklace on December 14th, when her sister announced that she was an atheist. She wore the necklace while her sister argued about evolution and Richard Dawkins and the suffering in the world and the hatred, ohmigod the hatred. In response, her mother cried and cried; her father said things she thought he wasn't capable of saying; and she wore the necklace. She wore the necklace as her sister looked at her for support, but the necklace, which they had once shared, now stood between them.

She wore it the day her parents told her sister to never step foot in their house again; she wore it the day her sister left and never came back. She was wearing the necklace but she wondered why she bothered to wear it. She was wearing the necklace the day when, for the first time, she felt angry at God.

The necklace was the only thing she wore when she lost her virginity. She wore the necklace because at the time she hadn’t wanted to take it off, because she thought it would have protected her from the clumsy fondling and the articles of clothing suddenly on the floor. She wore the necklace and its weight against her naked chest tasted like guilt, metallic as the blood smeared on her thigh. But mostly she wore the necklace to prevent her own desire, and when it hadn't succeeded, she didn't know if she ever could wear it again.

But she had to keep wearing it, at least in penance; in the following days, she wore the necklace because of what it had seen her do. And the next time, the guilt was enough: she wore the necklace and said no. (Later, she wore the necklace and argued with her boyfriend, a prolonged experience involving hot, steamy tears, a conflagration of words and her first "I love you.") But she was also wearing the necklace when her resistance finally wore out; when she realized that nothing could contain her curiosity. And she continued to wear the necklace because her boyfriend thought it was smoking hot when she left it on, just so wicked, fuck, we’ll get excommunicated for this.

She wore the necklace the day she called her sister, and she was wearing it the day she realized her sister would never call back. She wore the necklace thinking of its twin, her sister’s identical cross necklace, and tried not to remember that they’d probably been mass-produced in a factory in China somewhere.

She wore the necklace and found herself talking about it, thinking about it, even when she forgot to wear it. She told her boyfriend about the time her grandmother, heartbroken, had tried to bury it in her lover’s garden, but it had somehow mysteriously appeared back under her pillow, as if the necklace was wearing her, and not the other way around.

So she wore the necklace and created for it a story, although in reality it was just a trinket, a meaningless token, really. She wore it because she still had her sister’s golden chain, pilfered from a purse years ago, and that despite herself, she couldn’t help but wish and wish and wish. She wore the necklace because it had a cult of personality. She wore the necklace because it was a witness to what she had done. She wore the necklace because “blessed are those whose ways are blameless,” and because some things you never forget. She wore the necklace the first, second and third times she got drunk, the first time she threw up, the first time she came home tipsy, ferociously chewing gum to hide the lingering scent.

She wore the necklace the day she came home past midnight and her mother and father were sitting at the kitchen table waiting for her. She wore the necklace as they executed their intervention. She wore the necklace as her mother cried once again, as her father, stony-faced, told her that enough was enough, that God was not pleased, that this was hurting Him, which was their way of saying it was hurting them. She wore the necklace as a shield against their words and against her sister, who had taken so much with her. She wore the necklace because it was all she had left of a faith that had been once hers. But now, she wore the necklace and realized it had never belonged to her, not really; she wore the necklace as it wore away at her. So she touched the necklace that she had worn but never possessed, and yanked. She wore the necklace, a thin snake of gold, curled in the palm of her hand. And she left the necklace she had always worn as an offering on the kitchen table, to her parents, to her sister – and perhaps to Him as well.