The golf course was a magnificent jewel in the early January sun. Blue water sparkled, palm trees rustled, bright colored annuals clustered cheerfully by the paths to the first 9 holes. Beyond the clubhouse, I took a right and kept walking. The winter sun was on my back and the day was slowly warming up. It was still too chilly for the rattlers to awaken from their cold weather slumber, but they would soon, perhaps in 6 weeks or so. And then, you wouldn’t catch me on this path. This area was not as meticulously maintained as the paths the golfers used. The walkway I occupied was usually reserved for the service staff. Vegetation was low, natural desert brush, too close to the pathway to offer security against ill tempered snakes as they first emerge from hibernation.
Today, I was safe from critters and in the mood to be left alone. The service path led to quiet, open spaces beyond the maintenance sheds, good for trysts or just thinking, depending on your needs. I walked slowly, savoring the peace, honing in on the chatter and songs of tropical birds escaping winter in the north. After a late morning of fulfilling lunch and drink orders from presumptuous, arrogant and over fed men, nature dished me up just what my soul needed.
I stopped at a wide junction at the path to admire the sun beaming on the Santa Ritas. Later, they would be pink with the setting sun. Now, they were clearly illuminated, so I could see the tree line beginning where the altitude beat out the desert heat and allowed for greener foliage.
I took a deep breath and stretched out the crick in my neck. As I did, something shiny caught my eye. It seemed to wave at me from the dusty desert floor. Curious, I walked over to investigate and felt the bottom of my stomach drop. It was a ring, white gold with three little diamonds. I knew it well because my grandparents had given it to me on my 16th birthday. I lost it the night I was at this very spot with my then boyfriend, Glen. Last December, Glen and I had been at a party given by the club for its staff. Glen had always been moody and mysterious, but the combination of a bad mood and too much bourbon had caused a volcano to erupt. He wouldn’t leave the party, no matter how much I begged to take him home. He had stormed out, down this service path with me following, afraid he would be swallowed up by the desert darkness if I didn’t intervene. What I got for that heroic deed was a shove to the ground so hard that my ring flew off my finger. Then he kicked me as I groveled in the night, trying to find it.
I lost many things that night: a trinket given to me out of love, a sense of security and worth, and a naïve certainty that violence would never touch me.
I never saw Glen again. He didn’t show up at work. Out of shame for how he treated me or just pure embarrassment, I couldn’t say. But I felt like fate or the heavens had given me a gift today. Something led me to discover good in the place where bad happened. Something waited patiently for me to revisit this place. And when I did, it rewarded me with a little hope in the form of a ring.
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