A Tiny Grain

     Why you?  It's more like why not you, pet.  Well, not true, completely.  It was going to be someone.  It was always going to be someone.  It just happened to be you.  Now sit down, my rose.  Of course on the floor, in the dirt, in the wet, wherever you like.  Just sit.

     Well, if you'd asked me, say, last year, I'd have balked.  Looked you right in the eye and said you were crazy.  But, I knew.  I have known.  Deep down.  I've known for a while now every step was just another piece leading up to right now.  Here we are. 

     Do you feel special it has come down to you, my sparrow?  No?  Poor thing.  You're not really cold.  It is damp, but your problem is fear, not cold.  Buck up, buttercup.  You must speak up.    

       That's poignant.  You like romances, yes?  I used to think that, too, you see.  I used to tell myself that.  "I'm not like that."  I did.  And for a while I believed it.  But no matter how hard I tried, it would keep coming back.  I was young.

     Don't ask again.  You don't want to make me angry, do you?  You never know, this might all be a joke.  This might not be what you think it is, but if you anger me ...

     So, onward.  When I was older, more mature, I told myself I was a pearl.  You know pearls, sweet pea.  And you know how pearls are made.  What do they teach in school?  Do you own pearls?  You do.  Shiny, aren't they?  So shiny.  Lustrous is the word, I believe.  Well, they don't start out that way.  Really, you should know this.  Yes, a grain of sand.  And it does irritate the oyster.  So the oyster coats it with enamel, and it grows to a shiny, shiny, lustrous pearl.  Can you say that?  Lustrous?  Good.  Most are bright like you.  Some are deep shiny blue like this.  From the tropics, I think.  See how it catches the light from outside? That color.  Oh, do be a sport.  I liked it better when you were asking me the desperate questions.  This really is what you think it is.  

     And so, I told myself I was a pearl, and, if I tried, I could cover my sand with beauty, and I too would be beautiful.  Shiny.  Loved.  But of course, I was wrong.  My pearl kept breaking back to sand.  Everything I did, that irritating little grain would come back.  And one night it came to me.  I was the grain.  I am the heart of the pearl, you see, pumpkin?  Stop with the noise.  Stop.

     There's more where that came from, but suffering is not on the menu tonight.  This is a conversation, we are having.  I am telling you a story, and it is impolite to interrupt me.  Or did they neglect to teach you that as well while you were growing up?  Spare me.  Of course you will be missed.  You have so much to offer.  The world is indeed in front of you.  What's the idiom?  Very good.  But your problem, dear heart, is that I did not bring you down here to discuss your oyster.  We are discussing mine.  

     Now, let's review, shall we, darling?  Pearls.  Where do they come from?  Good.  And after they are coated?  Then what?   Think.  Are you stalling?  So very quaint.  You are taking the fun out of this, sweetheart.  They are harvested.  The oyster is pulled by a diver from the deep, cut open, and voila. The pearl.  Do you see, dearness?  Look up at me, I can't hear you.  Yes, it is cold down here. Cold and dark.  Like the ocean floor?  How nice of you to play along.  That, that was touching.  But, alas, let's continue. 

     Do you see my problem now?  I have made the pearl.  Year after year, I have grated and grated inside my oyster, and now I am ready.  How do I coax my diver down to pluck me and open me to the world?  You haven't been listening.  My pearl kept turning to sand.  Until.  Until I accepted the responsibility to grow the pearl.  And now to harvest.  Lights out, dearest.