Personal Narrative

The sun is shining and there isn’t a cloud in the sky on this cool seventy degree July Tuesday. My mom, my grandma, and I walk down the sidewalk of downtown Ames and open the door to our favorite store. As the rush of wind from the open door blows back my hair, I am quickly reminded why we love to play dress up here. Our excuse to gaze lustfully at the diamonds is always my mother wanting to have her wedding ring cleaned. When the sales clerk tells us it will take forty five minutes we don’t mind because we know exactly how we will fill our time. My mom, my grandma and I share the same love for precious stones that reflect rainbows in the light. However, we have our favorites. All three of us have special feelings towards sapphires, and that is usually the display case that we head over to first. We ask the one of the workers if we can try on some rings. We are like kids in a candy store. Blissfully happy, we frost ourselves with diamonds, rubies, and anything else we can get our hands on.

We excitedly tell him yes. I hear the soft pad of his feet on the carpet and look up to see him carrying two black velvet jewelry boxes. He opens them up and I gaze at 40 different pocket watches. “Old and gold. You just stole her heart.” My mom tells him. It’s true, I have a crush on vintage and gold. Each pocket watch has it’s own history, and this is what I love the most. They were all made anywhere from 1850-1900. Some were possessions of the wealthy and are covered in rubies and diamonds. Others belonged to common people and are banged up and dented. They carry their own tale of the adventures they were in. I am mesmerized by them. “I want one.” I tell my mother and grandmother. When the clerk tells us they run anywhere from two hundred to six hundred dollars my mom gives me a sly smile, nudges me, and says “Dream