Sold to the lady with the bouffant.

When I was a little kid, my mom gave me a bracelet. Her mother had given her this same bracelet when she was a little kid. The bracelet was 14 karat gold. It had little loops linked together for the chain, and a medallion with a treble clef hanging from the chain. It was a beautiful bracelet, and I loved it. That's why my mom gave it to me. (I knew it was gold too. I'd seen some cartoon character bite into gold and have it not leave teeth marks, so I bit into the medallion to see if it would escape teeth marks too. It didn't. I was too young to know). I never wore the bracelet; it merely sat in my jewelry box with all my other jewelry. It was too special to wear.

Time passed and I more or less displaced the bracelet from my mind. It was still a treasure--a gift from my mom--but it didn't garner the same fascination.

The summer before leaving home for college, I had a huge garage sale. There were four or five different sellers on our driveway, and we saw half the town come through our yard that day. It was a fast-paced, consuming day. I hardly knew what I had sold since we had designated one money changer.

I was in my room that night counting my money when my mom came in my room. "Why did you sell the bracelet I gave you?" she asked. I had no idea what she was talking about. Which bracelet? I sold a bracelet you gave me? "You sold my bracelet with the treble clef on it," she said. My heart collapsed into a near attack. I thought back through the day it was so confusing I couldn't remember what I'd sold which old lady had asked for what how much do you want you want how much I didn't remember. But I remembered that old lady. I remember her holding the bracelet and me not looking closely enough and not realizing until then. I sold my mom's gold bracelet for an insignificant portion of its actual worth. I sold it. I sold it. I sold it.

I sold a little piece of myself with it.