The Necklace

It was a typical frozen Rideau winter. Snow and stiff snow banks. With the university campus, the market and the canal all held in its white still spell. With a thin blue waver in the air most paintings seem to miss.1

Tim Becker had fifty dollars left of student loan money, for Christmas gifts. He thought he could go one of two ways. Spread the fifty very thin over the nine members of his family or buy Megan something nice.2

Nine into fifty left five dollars and fifty-five cents for each of his seven brothers and sisters and his mother and father. What could you buy of meaning for five fifty-five? Cards and stamps and envelopes alone came to more.3

“So what to get Megan,” Tim asked himself. “What do you get a girl,” he wondered as he walked absent-mindedly through the Eaton Centre. Which formed a natural link in the route down from the campus, the music conservatory and the mission. That continued in a meandering descent, emptying into the downtown core.4

The shopping centre’s third floor, level with Cartier Street dropped through a maze of escalators to MacKenzie Street, the city’s rite of passage. And across MacKenzie, the winding corridor of the Bay with its floating scents of cosmetics, opened into the heart of the market. Where a guy often sat without a hand. A pick attached to his wrist. Playing chords on an electric guitar.5

Tim let the natural flow of the route guide him down through the centre as he glanced from shop to shop. Until one window made him pause. It was a jewelry store that looked no bigger than a school aquarium. He passed by it twice a day. The displayed pieces shimmered like tropical fish. The tiny floor space required only the quick scan of his eyes.6

The slim oriental owner approached Tim himself, coming out from behind his narrow glass counter. Tim quickly looked back over the shiny pieces. Watches, rings, earrings, necklaces. 7

And there along the top shelf sat a silver-link necklace. With a circular black pendant. Maybe a choker. He wasn’t up on necklaces. It seemed old and new at the same time. And held him.8

The oriental owner brought the necklace down and placed it before Tim. Then holding it up the owner noted, “Hmm, the clasp is broken but I can fix that. The regular price is sixty-three ninety-five, but I can give it cheaper because of the clasp repair.”9

“I’ve only got fifty bucks,” Tim blurted.10

“Okay,” said the owner. “ Why don’t we make the new price forty-nine ninety-five? No tax. No guarantee.”11

The thought of giving up his last fifty dollars in an instant shocked Tim a little. But he nodded in consent.12

He then left the shop, the owner needing the afternoon to replace the clasp. He started turning the two twenties and the ten over in his left coat pocket as he walked back out the Cartier Street entrance. And descended the wide spiral staircase down to the open ice on the canal.13

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“Do girls even wear necklaces anymore,” he mumbled to himself, keeping to the side of the passing skaters. As a warm wisp of coffee reached him from a string of kiosks around the curve. 15

“What if it doesn’t fit her ?” he then asked. “What was her neck size?” “What is a neck size!” he screamed quietly to himself, softly tugging at his throat. He knew he didn’t have to go back. But he wanted to respect the verbal agreement the oriental shop owner had offered him. 16

When he returned at 4:00 it was ready. Coiled in a black velvet snap box. The oriental owner gave him his five cents change, beamed brightly and said “Happy Holidays.”17

Tim found left over wrapping paper in the kitchen of the rooming house. And with scotch tape from his desk and a small cut square of lined binder paper for the greeting, he gave it its Christmas packaging.18

He knew Megan would be back from her weekend trip home to Montreal. He decided not to call her. He could make it a surprise.19

He caught the number 1 bus outside the Bay on MacKenzie. It ran west way out on Blackthorne. He always felt it was running south. He had to remember that the route ran perpendicular to the canal. And that east and west crossed the canal. The city's streets were easy to get around. He just had a different sense of direction for them.20

Little Italy passed by and then China Town and then he was at her bus stop. With the two block walk-in to her house. Her street’s glassy packed snow crunched under his work boots. And the high banks lining its sides made him think of the canal.21

He climbed the porch and knocked on the thick wooden door. There was no answer. He peered through the foggy double-paned glass and could see her outline in the hallway, on the phone. 22

He knocked again and noticed her glance towards the door, startled. She hung up quickly and walked towards him. Her odd fur coat, cut to half-length with the large buttons, lay strewn on the floor. 23

Opening the door, she said, “Hey stranger, I wasn’t expecting you.” Tim couldn’t speak. She was wearing a long thin gold chain with a gold cross on it.24

“Wh-where’d you get that ?” he finally stammered. “From Danny. He gives me something every Christmas. Last year it was this adorable chain. This year, its matching cross.” 25

“Funniest thing,” she added “I happened to bump into him in the Red Lion at McGill last night.”26

Tim turned the paper package with the velvet box with its coiled silver choker over in his coat pocket and felt his throat tighten and suddenly go dry. As the question, “How do you beat a gold matching cross,” began racing wildly through his mind.27

“Well, what is it? “ Megan asked. “Would you like to come in ?”28

Tim turned the little package over again and took a step forward. Then lowered his head suddenly. The corner of his mouth, for a second, twitching out of control. It felt cold in the warm room. He kept his head lowered another moment. Remembering the words of the oriental shop owner, “No guarantee.”29