A Moment of Clarity

 “Hold out your hand.”

“Close my eyes?”

“Only if you want to.”

And she drops a marble into his palm.

“Huh.”

“It’s a clarity marble.”

“Uh-huh.”

The marble is clear glass and it is scarred from the abuse inflicted on it being carried in purses and in the bottom of pockets. Its once smooth surface is heavily pitted, rough.

He looks through it and the light takes on a greenish glow, like the flesh of a honeydew melon. It is a tiny crystal ball, and he gazes through it between his thumb and forefinger.

“It’s always helped me.”

And he begins to carry it in the coin pocket of his jeans. During those moments of stress, he takes it out and looks through it. Yet it does not speak to him. He doesn’t tell her that he cannot hear its wisdom.

A sweltering night and not even a cool shower and fans bring comfort. He’s up when most everyone is not, his mind heavy. He clutches the clarity marble in his fist. The marble is as warm as her skin. He rolls the glass around in his fingers. He squeezes, tight. And wills its secrets. He prays for clarity.

He rolls the marble across his forehead, feeling the warmth. It’s her warmth. He knows this. And he feels it.. He closes his eyes and thinks of her.

And in that moment of comfort, he finds clarity.