The Charm Bracelet

It was an unusual thing to see in a place like this, lying on the brick path in a splattered circle of silver links and little trinkets. The bracelet only caught my eye when hit by the afternoon sun to give off a brilliant shine that just couldn’t be ignored. My first day in a foreign country and already I was distracted from my tight travel schedule. I didn’t have time to investigate every lost object the sun brought me too, but still my mind deviated, and I picked it up, my hopes of for once following the plan lost in a single movement.

It was a charm bracelet, I hadn’t noticed at first, but now, as I held it in my hand, it was quite clear. The irregular shapes jingled in my hand as I flattened it to see all of its parts. The first charm, next to the clasp, was a birthday cake, then came a four leaf clover, a car, a sun, a music note...the list went on and on so that all were scrunched together on the chain, some even sharing a link. It seemed like such a Western thing to do, collect your memories on a chain on your wrist, like shelves full of photo albums or home videos collecting dust in the cabinet, yet here it was, half way across the world and in the hands of a man who had no idea what to do with it.

I almost wanted to keep it, as a memory of this place, but knew that I must at least try and find the owner. A bracelet with so many memories attached must be dearly missed. So, leaving my plan for a quick meal in the dusty path where my distraction had begun, I gave my backpack a heave and started my search.

I attempted approaching different people on the street and with much gesturing, get my message across, but found no success. They either did not understand or tried to sell me some other bracelet or common souvenir. I needed something to get the attention of the owner, so, on a brash idea and uncaring for the thoughts and assumptions of strangers in a different country; I held the bracelet high above my head and looked around at any eyes to sparkle at the sight of the lost jewelry. Many looked at me with confusion, but none with interest, and I began to lose hope. But as fate would have it, just as I began to lower my hand in defeat, a pair of eyes caught my own. They weren’t full of surprise or joy like I had expected, but I knew right away that I had found what I was looking for.

She was staring at my hand intently, following it even as it began to lower, but still she did not move from her spot on a nearby bench. Her eyes pleaded to have the bracelet, but her lack of movement commanded her not to, remaining in place throughout my whole foolish ordeal. She wore a light cotton shirt, with no signs of wrinkles, and a flowing printed skirt that moved delicately in the wind. Not a single bead of sweat could be seen on her dark forehead, confirming that she was a local, and her brown hair was tied neatly back.

I moved towards her place on the bench, in my khaki shorts, lumbering backpack, and sweating face. I hoped she wouldn’t be scared away by the crazy Canadian man waving jewelry over his head that was now coming in her direction. Having been told of having a friendly face before, I prayed my approachability would pay off now.

“Is this yours?” I asked in English, my knowledge of Spanish was too limited to attempt to speak it now, despite the days I had spent surrounded by it.

Her line of sight, for the first time, was turned towards me and not the charm bracelet. She said something I didn’t understand, and waited for a response.

“Yours?” I tried again, pushing the bracelet in her direction.

She said something in Spanish, even quicker than before, and moved away from my outstretched hand.

The bracelet was hers; I knew it was. I just had to explain it to her so that she knew how I had come across it. Once again making a fool of myself, I placed the bracelet on the ground near the stone bench and acted out a little play of my discovery.

Her reaction was disaster for my communication skills; she looked more confused than she had before, slightly fearful even, as she remained slightly pushed away on the bench. I tried returning the bracelet once more, throwing out words in hope that she would understand.

Her eyes looked into mine, sharp and without her past fear, as she stood up to leave. I called at her to wait, knowing all too well that any words I said were gibberish to her, but I didn’t want her to leave...not yet.

She was already walking away when she turned and came back, most likely from hearing my urgent words. She was staring at the bracelet once more, and as she came close, reached out for it, but to my surprise, did not take it. She closed my hand around it slowly; her darkly tanned hands in deep contrast to mine, and looked up at me only once the silver disappeared beneath my pale fingers.

“You...keep,” she said in a heavy accent, letting go of my hand with the words.

Then, with a quick turn and her skirt fluttering, she left me with my first souvenir, and her last.