Joan

Chapter II

"Joan."

I at least know what tones imply what and this one calls for me to stop over-exaggerating, so I do, huffing and sighing in dramatic fashion to get my point across.

Once he's got my attention, he beckons me to follow him, opposite the direction of home. I'm semi-sure I know where this is going, so I sigh and follow him, not bothering to ask questions.

By the time we arrive at the worn out picnic table with it's peeling red paint and rusty legs, I already knew where he was taking me. Sighing again, I drop my duffle bag next to me as I plop down on the table.

This rinky-dink table that rivals the age of this town is our resolution table, a table we've been coming to ever since I was four.

I don't like to say I was a pain in the ass kid, but I was borderline wild- it was free-spirited to me- and so, naturally, I would get into trouble every now and then and whenever that happened I was marched right out here to sort things out, however long that took. Coming here's not all bad, though. Sometimes my dad will bring me out here if we need to discuss any problems happening or that could happen. It's sole purpose to resolve issues. With such a history with this battered old thing, it's easy to understand my love-hate relationship with it.

Today, though, I don't know what kind of talking to I'm going to get, whether it's the pick-yourself-up-don't-whine-about-it special or the don't-be-too-hard-on-yourself token talk. I'm assuming the former since it's my dad, but it's a twist.

"Give me your hand," He instructs me.

"Why?"

"Just do it."

So I do, cupping my hand to receive whatever he's giving me.

When he places the object in my palm, closing my fingers around it, I glance down at it then back up at him, puzzled.

"Why are you giving me your ring?"

"Because you need a reminder."

My face contorts in further confusion. "A reminder? A reminder of what?" Of how much I suck?

"Of who you are."

"Um," I glance between him and the ring again. "I know who I am, dad."

"It's not supposed to tell you who you are, it's supposed to remind you."

Truth be told, ever since I was a baby, I've always been transfixed by my dad's ring. It's the nicest piece of jewelry I've ever seen- and I've seen Nora's aunt wearing real pearls. It has this blue gem in the middle that's pretty big for a ring, it also has some engravings on the inside that have been worn away a bit. It's also his wedding band. He gave it to my mom before they were married but then she gave it back to him on their wedding day. Long story short, I've always admired my dad's ring, but I never expected he'd give it to me.

I stare at it with a slight frown. "Okay, remind me who I am, but why give this to me? Isn't this like your wedding band?"

"It's more than that," He says, a bit too ambiguous.

"What is it then?"

He looks off into the distance to somewhere I can't follow before responding normally.

"A family heirloom- a reminder."

"An heirloom. Really?"

Okay, color me intrigued.

"My father's father gave it to him then he gave it to my mother who passed it down to me when I was eight. When I met your mother I gifted it to her. Now that it's back in my possession, I'm handing it down to you."