Of ribbon and things

My turquoise ribbon finally fell off in the shower last Thursday.

I'd gotten the idea in my head that that ribbon was my connection to John, the same way the red yarn tied around his wrist was a connection to me. I'd watched that little bit of yarn wear thinner the last few times I went down to visit, and couldn't help making a connection between that wisp of red yarn and what seemed to be a steadily growing distance between us.

It had been just over a year since he tied it on my wrist at David's wedding to Kayo last March, replacing the rubber band he'd given me, that I lost a few days before the wedding. Everyone at my table had a ribbon tied to his or her wrist that night, and all of them had fallen off by the end of the evening -- except mine. It seemed obvious that some kind of love-magic had gone into that knot. John caught the garter at that wedding, you know. We danced the lovers' dance. No one had ever seen me with a boy before. I suppose it gave people ideas.

I thought a lot about what it would mean when that ribbon fell off. I noticed that it had gotten looser recently and hoped it would at least come off somewhere I'd see it. I knew it would happen some time before my next scheduled wedding appearance in June. Because I knew a pilly knot of turquoise ribbon wasn't the sort of thing a bridesmaid is meant to wear.

And then, before I'd come to any conclusion, there my naked wrist was in the shower, as fitting a place as any to discover the nakedness of your own body.

As I wonder what has become of those struggling red threads, and I run my eyes over the white stripe a year of ribbon wearing left on my skin, I'm left with the question of whether his ribbon and my yarn were the result or the cause -- the manifestation of or the inspiration -- for that connection.

In any case, I believe I'll make the ribbon into some sort of book mark. I'll sew it into a book if I can. Maybe a copy of Baron in the Trees. Fiction is our strongest link these days.