To the Victorian, None of the Spoils

It was, perhaps, not the best time to bring it up.

Before work, in passing, like two ships in the morning, I reminded Hick of an eye doctor appointment next Tuesday, filled him in on my last communication with Genius, confessed that I did not take my blood-thinner last night on purpose, and off-handedly mentioned that The Pony’s senior ring will be here next Thursday.

That’s the thing with those rings. The kids order them their sophomore year, with a moderate deposit, so they can win the lottery, receive an inheritance, discover gold in them thar hills, pick up cans every day, or inform long-lost relatives of their birthday. Then when the bill comes due a year later, the kid picks up the ring. I swear, I don’t know how some of these kids can afford it. They would have to work all summer behind the fast-food counter and apply every last cent to this once-in-a-lifetime purchase.

The Pony’s ring balance is in the upper three figures. I told Hick the price. “Yeah. I’ve gotta come up with blankety-blank dollars by next Thursday. And you don’t get paid until Friday." It’s a once-a-month paycheck for Hick, and twice-a-month for me, which doesn’t come until after Labor Day.

Hick said, “Huh.”

Funny how he didn’t seem to be overjoyed at The Pony’s excitement to slide that ring onto his hot little hoof.

“Yeah, I don’t see how kids do it, either.”

“It’s the most important thing next to graduation for a lot of these kids. Even when they come back with kids of their own, they talk about that senior ring. Some of them are even wearing their own.”

“I remember how mine was such a big deal. Of course, I didn’t have anybody to pay for it except myself. I worked hard to earn that money.” Let the record show that Hick started working at the age of 14.

Hick stood beside my his La-Z-Boy, shaving a few minutes off my morning recliner-nap. I could tell something was on his mind.

“You know how I’ve been telling your about my boss, and how he’s been thinking of getting rid of that trailer at work?”

“Not really.”

“Well, he’s been saying he’s getting rid of it for over a year and a half. I told him I could use it if he ever wanted to sell it. Yesterday, he said I could have it for $400. But that’s okay. This is not a good time.”

I was joking with him, but he thought I was serious. “As long as you're the one to tell The Pony that he won’t be picking up his senior ring…”

“I would never keep that boy from getting his senior ring. That’s important.” Hick walked over to the steps and looked through the rail at The Pony, who was laying on the basement couch with his laptop before getting ready for school. “Hey, Pony! Have a good day at school. Are you excited about getting your ring next week?”

“YES!”

Hick went to feed the animals and warm his breakfast biscuit. Which, I might add, he does in the microwave with two handles.

My big scratch-off winner from June will almost pay for both the ring and the trailer. I knew there was a reason I didn't touch that money yet.