When You Wish Upon A Golden Ring

A short comedic story about greed and the effects preconceived notions can have.

I don’t suppose there are many happy marriages out there in the world, but I can tell you that those who are happily situated have stumbled upon a most blessed thing.  There is nothing more incredible than being stuck with someone you actually like for the rest of your life, or even someone you can simply put up with.  But I guess it rates the same with families and friendships, your spouse however, inevitably becomes both.  One thing that can be said for both Dorie and George Mahoney is that they were both fortunate enough to find the other quite agreeable and of the same interests.  So they married.  Don’t ask me if love was a factor for that I will never know. 

               They were almost a complete year into their equally satisfactory marriage when fate collided with chance and Dorie and George were caught up in the collateral of it all. 

George had this irregular tendency to slam doors whenever he saw fit that he was in a bad mood, which was very often, pretty much every time he went to work, which was every day.  Dorie didn’t mind the custom, she, in fact, was glad of it.  For she could hear his door slam from his entering into the apartment complex’s lobby at almost the exact minute every day, which gave her time to change out of her bed clothes and turn off the cheesy soap opera she had been watching all day.  Poor George was always in a bad mood that he never noticed the T.V. tray that stood like a statue in front of the television, or notice the bag of chips that seemed to disappear every day.  He didn’t care, he was so melancholy of his own fate, of being stuck in a job he didn’t particularly like, but since he had no great resume, he had no choice but to carry on without any prospect of a better job.  He threw his wet trench coat across the top of the couch earning a glare from his wife, then threw himself in a dejected heap in his armchair as Dorie prepared a meager meal of Ramon Noodles and Lima Beans.

“Clearly work was a trouble today.” Dorie stated nonchalantly, finishing off a coke can and adding it to the growing pile of cans in the garbage.

George only sighed a deep solemn sigh in reply.

“You want to talk about?” she asked, not even looking his way as she stirred the noodles with vigor.    

“No.”

Dorie nodded her head in compliance to his wishes.  A silence over took them, and George consistently eyed Dorie waiting for her to ask again, wanting her to give into his dramatic flair and pull the truth out of him.  She didn’t, which he began to think was rather annoying.  They sat down to eat, a silent dinner, Dorie seemed content to munch on the Lime beans and stare at her plate in complete silence, but George didn’t like it in the least, he sighed, and moaned, hung his head, and threw himself into so many irregular positions just to get her attention. 

Finally he could take no more and without prompting began to rant once again about his horrible life.  He hated work, typically, it was difficult, hardly shocking, and he wanted to quit, again.  Dorie nodded her head every once in awhile to prove he had about one fourth of her attention.  Actually she never drew her eyes away from her plate, only munched and crunched on the salt less, flavorless lima beans.  George ranted after dinner, and even as they got ready for bed.  Dorie simply fell asleep as he talked, because patient she might have been, but tolerant she was not. 

 

 

The next morning George was on his three block trek to his office, which he complained of even that, as the rain poured and the sky became overcast with a dark grey.  He wearily kicked a rock as he pondered his terrible fate when the wind caught and carried his umbrella back the way he had already come.  He gave a cry and chased after it, becoming drenched in the process.  He ran after it till he was in sight of his apartment complex once again whenhe was finally able to catch it and looked as though he were about to cry at the thought of walking that block and a half once more. 

It was then at that moment that he noticed it; a small golden edge that shone and twinkled in the rain.  George reached down and brushed away the dirt only to uncover a golden ring.  He forgot completely about work and raced the short distance back into his apartment.  Dorie was making herself a bowl of cereal, her hair in all different places at once; her eyes had bags under them, when he burst in the door and grabbed her by the arms.  She yawned lazily.

“Your wet.” Said she, shrugging him off moodily.

He didn’t respond, only pulled the beautiful golden ring out, it had a single blue diamond in the middle, a woman’s ring obviously.

“Oh my…oh my God is that real?” her brown eyes widened in surprise as she took it from him and caressed it. 

“I don’t know,” he said, “but if it is…it could settle all of our problems!” he said ecstatically motioning towards the messy apartment.  Dorie held the ring up to the light and examined it intensely before biting it.

“I think it is real!” she cried out.  “What will be done about it?” she asked him. 

“Sell it!” he laughed.

“We could be rich!” she shrieked.

“I could quit my job!” he added.

“We could get a house!” she screamed.  They became so excited that they danced about the apartment laughing and spitting out a few more ‘could have’s’. 

That night they invited their closest friends, Connie and Raymond Donald over for dinner, which, because they felt it necessary, they bought steaks, wine, salad, and potatoes all on their overdue credit card.  Dorie and George at the same time, not necessarily in the same words, spouted off the story of the ring and pulled it out and showed it, neatly polished, to Raymond.  He took it and examined it.

“My Dad’s in the jewelry business, this is definitely real.” He said turning it this way and that.  Connie reached over and took it from him then placed it on her finger. 

“It’s beautiful!” said she. 

“How much do you think it could sell for?” George asked, licking his lips in anticipation. 

Raymond thought about it a minute,

“Well if the diamond is real, which I am sure it is, then thousands!”

“Thousands!” Dorie and George shouted at the same time. 

“Where should I take it?” George asked, a single tear forming in his right eye at his good fortune.

“To a pawn shops, no a jewelers, no wait!  There’s a traveling antique road show in town next week, they’ll give you even more I’m sure.  Just give them some sort of tale of how it belonged to your grandma and it’s been passed down from generation to generation and there ya go, you’ll be rich!”

The ring was all George could think about for the next few days, he and Dorie would lay awake every night and talk about the things they would buy.  George didn’t show up for work that week, he vowed he wouldn’t show up any week.  He sent in his notice and as he was leaving his boss’s office to hand in his resignation he swore to everyone he would buy the company soon and never have to worry about money again.  Dorie, meanwhile, had looked up houses and they picked an adorable yellow one with a white picket fence and a big yard, the ideal American home.  George surprised Dorie one morning with a beautiful sapphire necklace, a real one, non refundable.  She returned the favor by surprising him with a brand new coal black grill, also non refundable. 

They ate at five star resteraunts, and laughed for an hour straight when they received their bill from the past month.  Dorie went on shopping sprees for new clothes almost every day, and George bought new game systems and high def T.V.s.  They were, for once, living the “good life”. 

The morning they were to be aired on the show Dorie and George decked themselves out as the rich couple they knew they would be by the end of the day.  And, which an edge to their walk, they made a grand appearance at the studio thinking they were far better than they were.  They gave each other a quick kiss before the sign read “on air” and they found themselves face to face with the Show’s hostess. 

“Hello!  Welcome to Traveling Caravan, my name is Sheryl Lane, yours?”

“I’m George Mahoney and this is my wife Dorie.” He flashed a grin towards the woman.

“Good to meet you George and Dorie.  Now let’s see what have you brought us today?”

George reached into his suit pocket and retrieved the ring, beautiful and shiny.  You could hear the “oooos” and “awwws” of the audience. 

“Wow!  This is a lovely piece!”  Sheryl exclaimed.  She picked it up and examined it; she eyed it wearily, and then looked at it out from a strange orbicular piece. 

“What is the story of this ring?” she asked; as she turned it this way and that.

“Well my Grandma passed it onto me on her death bed, it had been passed down from generation to generation, my grandma used to tell me story’s about how my great great great great grandpa had been in the civil war and found this ring on the battlegrounds, in the clenched hands of a dead soldier.  He gave it to his fiancé back home and it’s been in my family every since.”

The woman was still examining it intensely.

“You mean to say this ring has been in your family all this time and you’re just going to give it up?” her voice was a little low and George thought sounded a little menacing, especially for such a petite little woman with a big fake smile, and dyed blonde hair.

“Well umm, we sort of hit on hard times.” He coughed, feeling a bit uncomfortable.  Sheryl laid aside the strange magnifying glass and eyed him and Dorie up and down.

“Clearly.” She stated sarcastically; the audience chuckled. 

“So, what is it worth?” George asked, readjusting himself on the chair in expectation; Dorie took his hand and squeezed the life and color out of it. 

“You want to know what it’s worth?” the hostess asked.

“Yes.” They both answered simultaneously. 

“About as much as your story; it’s a fake.” She smiled her fake plastic smile and turned towards the audience.

George could feel the air leave him,

“What are you saying?”

One could hear the little bell ding in the background as Sheryl looked straight into the camera and said in a most professional way. 

“It’s worth nothing…at all.”

Reviews

[She With Eyes Like Unsh..]

Great write! You are amazing! Keep up the good work, Victoria!