Her name was Terri, spelled with an “i.” She was one of those rather neurasthenic young women: her fine, thin fingers moved rather quickly as they would push back her fine, thin blonde hair. She didn’t talk much, seeming to be too nervous to speak in a group in the classroom. In fact, she only seemed at ease when she was holding her boyfriend’s hand or arm; he was her security. And, usually, they were together, taking the same classes, eating together, hanging out in the hallway between classes—the typical high school seniors who think that their young love is everlasting.
I have no idea if their love was everlasting. I left the next year or so and heard no more of them. At the time, I remember thinking that Terri probably had much more going for her in many ways—but, she was held back by that timidity and nervousness. I wondered if she could find her strength and her identity without the boyfriend. He didn’t seem to need her in the same way she needed him—and that inequality in a relationship is never good, is it? I worried that at some point he would get tired of her clinging dependence and would want to be free to live as he wished. As I said, I have no idea what did happen to this young couple.
But I have a very specific reason for remembering Terri. Her long, thin fingers were not just nervous—they were creative. Terri was rather a throwback to the artistic hippies of two generations before—she was a creator of whimsical jewelry. I became the recipient of several sets of earrings and one necklace. As I said, the jewelry was rather whimsical, all small glass beads and brass and silver filigree wire. And the earrings were long. One pair was definitely of the type to be called “chandelier,” those which are long with lots of dangling beads or several loops of beads that get progressive larger as they hang farther from the ear lobe.
I finally re-gifted that pair because, at the time, I thought I would never wear such long earrings. But I did keep the other two pairs—one that is also long, but not increasingly large—they are just two loops of small black and burgundy red beads, wired in silver. It is amazing how often I wear these earrings—the colors are colors I often wear. The others are quite small—just four dark green glass beads, strung one beneath the other and held by silver beads. I also find that I wear the three-string necklace, made of red, amber, and rust beads, joined together by antique brass filigree—a necklace which makes any outfit sparkle.
So, I remember Terri, a nervous, shy young woman, who, nevertheless, could show her love and appreciation to me by the gifts she gave me. Totally unsolicited, she just showed up with these gifts every once in a while. I wonder if I wore those pieces of jewelry enough to let her know that I appreciated her effort? I don’t remember. I wish she could know how often I wear those pieces now and how often I think of this young woman, who would now be approaching middle-aged, and wish the best for her. She was a good student—and a good artist. I hope the years have been good to her. And I wish I had kept the chandelier earrings!
A Myriad of Things 