Flushed Away: The Toilet Ring
Amy Dana-Mayernick
“Remember that time you flushed $1,000 down the toilet?”
My teenage daughter Morgan rolls her eyes and huffs at me in return. She remembers. I can laugh about it now, but she’s not there yet. By the time I found out, it had already been missing for a year. She, however, witnessed it firsthand and was powerless to stop it. There are many things we lose over time, too gradually to notice. Like gently receding waters, they slowly slip away, unmarked, unnoticed, until they’re simply gone. I could not tell you the last time this daughter picked a pile of dandelions to fist into my open palm or sat in my lap with a book in her hands. I cannot recall when she last asked me for a horsey-back ride around the living room or fell so heavily asleep I had to hoist her over my shoulder to carry her to bed. But I can tell you these things don’t happen anymore.
Thankfully. We’re the same size now and my back would object.
Losing my favorite piece of jewelry was like this. One day Morgan borrowed my best stackable ring, and then never returned it. Eventually, I noticed. I asked for it back. She objected. At the time, she said she’d misplaced it and was afraid to tell me. It went into a pants pocket before gym class and simply vanished. She asked me not to be mad, and I wasn’t, but I was a little sad for the loss.
6
Made with FlippingBook Ebook Creator