the (fabricated) story of my ring, part ii.

Quite some time ago, I posted a fictional series on my previous blog about the origin of my engagement ring. Truthfully, we found the set in an antique store in Micanopy, a small town outside of our college town. The woman who sold it to us knew very little about the set, other then when it was likely made. I have always been enamored with history, mostly because I love imagining people's lives and the goings-on during different time periods. The series is still one of my favorite things I've ever written, and for that reason I'd like to re-publish it here. It is entirely fictional and has no truth to it whatsoever, although it is fun to imagine otherwise. 

Part I, here. 


Nadine turned to leave, a handful of supplies in her arms, none of which looked even remotely useful (or familiar to her). As she left, she fell in perfect step behind the man with the bright red socks. The closer she got to her apartment, she worried the man with the bright red socks would think she was following him. She sat on a bench and waited. Watching the man, she noticed he stopped at her complex. Her heart swelled.

George was determined to fix his own typewriter with what little knowledge he had of tools and handy work. As he walked home, he thought about what would happen if he gutted his typewriter and then couldn't fix it. It was just then that he realized that the sweet woman with the floral skirt was in close step behind him. He wondered where she was headed and felt compelled to ask. As soon as the thought entered his mind, he realized how ridiculous it sounded. Just then, she stopped at a bench.

Nadine wondered how long she should sit on that bench before making her way to her apartment. She then wondered how possible it would be to ask George for assistance with her apartment decorating. Surely he knew something about handy work if he ventured into a hardware store. Not the kind to stand on the sidelines of her own life, she resolved to write him a letter. She would leave it on the row of mailboxes in the small lobby of the apartment. Surely he would see it then.

With her newly crafted plan, she walked into the complex and into her apartment. Sitting down to craft the letter to the man with the bright red socks, Matilda jumped onto her lap and Nadine patted her little orange head.

George sat down in front of his typewriter, gave it one last affectionate pat, and began taking it apart. He realized it was a mistake as soon as he began.

Dear Man with the Bright Red Socks,

Please forgive me if this letter is perceived as intrusive. I saw you at the hardware store today at around 2pm and wondered if you could help me with a bit of decorating. I'm concerned about the weight of one particular piece I'd like to hang and was wondering if I could get your advice. You remind me of someone I once knew.

Sincerely,
Nadine (Apartment 3B)The letter sounded impersonal, formal even. Nadine wondered if it would come off as such. The last bit sounded out of place and silly, but she couldn't bring herself to cross it out. She sealed it in an envelope and took it downstairs to the mailboxes. She labeled the envelope: Man with the Bright Red Socks. She dashed back up to her apartment, sat, and waited.

George looked at his typewriter. Why had he assumed he could fix it on his own? He felt a bit dizzy. His dear old, trusty typewriter seemed to look back at him with sadness. George thought it might be best to get some fresh air.