Name the most expensive personal item
you’ve ever purchased (not your home or car).
Maybe it wasn’t the most expensive thing I’ve ever bought, but it comes close. We were both students when we got married and had nothing to spare. In those early years, love was measured in patience, not possessions.
About thirty years ago, after I had been writing for a few years, I entered a regional short story competition. I entered for the reputation of the competition, not the prize. The award was usually modest — fifty dollars or so — but that year the estate had grown, and the prize money had increased dramatically. Even by today’s standards, it was a lot of money. When I received the news that I’d won, I was honoured and astonished — not just by the recognition, but by the size of the prize.
Around the same time, a jewellery catalogue arrived from a city store. My wife paused over a pair of pearl and dark blue sapphire earrings, admired them once, and turned the page. The price caught my eye — it was exactly the same amount as the prize money. She forgot about them, but I didn’t. I used the winnings to buy the earrings and gave them to her for Christmas. She burst into tears when she opened the box.
Thirty years later, they still gleam in their velvet case. She wears them on special occasions — weddings, formal dinners, moments that matter. Each time, I notice. They remind me that words can be turned into beauty, and that love, when it costs something, leaves a lasting shine.
The Afterword 
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