James is in the park and passes a woman who is looking for earrings in the grass. He decides to help her. The search takes a nice turn.
“Did you lose something?” I ask a woman who is crawling on her knees through the grass. She looks at me concerned and makes small circles with her index fingers and thumbs.
“Earrings. I’m looking for my earrings. And not just any earrings. No, the earrings my father gave me. They were his earrings,” says the woman.
I go down on my knees and help her. If the earrings had been her mother’s, I would have helped too, but now that I know we’re looking for her father’s earrings, I’m looking a little more thoroughly. Mothers in most cases have dozens of earrings. Dads don’t have that many. My own father had zero.
“How do they look like?” I ask, before gently blowing an ant off my left hand.
“Blue. They are small blue stones. Dark blue. Almost greyish. If you go to Zandvoort in winter and look at the sea, that color,” says the woman.
“Are you looking for something?” asks a bald man on a folding bicycle.
“This lady has lost her father’s earrings”, I say.
“What do those earrings look like? And what color?”
“They are small stones and they are blue-grey. A bit like the North Sea in winter”, I answer.
“Why did your father wear earrings anyway?” the man asks the woman.
“That’s a long story.”
“If I were short of time, I wouldn’t be standing here, right?”
“My mother had burns all over her body. In her youth she had been given boiling water. The wounds on her hands were the least beautiful. So when my mom and dad got married, my mom didn’t want a wedding ring. My father bought two pairs of earrings. A few for him and a few for her. That’s why my father wore earrings.”
“What are you looking for?” asks an old woman with an even older dog. I already saw them coming. They walked very quietly, but her dog is still panting. The poor beast is out of breath.
“What’s your dog’s name?” I ask the old woman.
“His name is Walter.”
“What an unusual name for a dog.”
“It is therefore a very unusual dog. Walter is the oldest dog in town. He will be twenty-two in three weeks.”
“He still looks good,” I lie. Walter looks like a house of cards with a tail. Walter is really old. Boy dogs bury bones, but Walter’s bones are already slowly burying him.
“I have found something,” says the man with the folding bicycle.
“That’s the tab of a soda can”, the woman of the earrings grumbles.
“I know, but I found something.”
“Yeah, the tab of a soda can.”
“It’s a start, ma’am. A good start is half the work.”
“You found the tab of a soda can. In what kind of world is this a good start? We are looking for my father’s earrings.”
“Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think this quest is very pleasant”, the man sighs.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I just really want to find those earrings. My parents only live in those earrings, you understand?”
The man understands her. Everyone understands her. Now her exists search team of no fewer than twelve men and women. And we all must be somewhere else, no doubt, but we’re in the park looking for a father’s earrings. Her father.
The woman looks from a distance at the people who help her. I’m going to stand next to her.
“I think this is so beautiful. I didn’t ask anyone anything, did I? This gives citizens courage,” she says.
“It’s a start,” I say.
“But a good start.”
Then she whispers something inaudible.
“What do you say?” I ask.
She pulls something out of her coat pocket and starts whispering again.
“I already found the earrings fifteen minutes ago, but I dare not say it. It’s such a beautiful quest.”
The woman puts her father’s earrings in the grass and then points at me.
“He found them,” she yells.
I get on my knees and look at the earrings. They are nice earrings, but the search was nicer.
James Worthy (41) is a writer, journalist and columnist. He is married to Artie and father to James (8). For Libelle James writes columns in which love is central: for his parents, his family and life. Witty, sometimes heartbreaking, but above all honest and moving.