Love Story

There once was a rock. It was a particularly pretty rock, called a Tiger’s Eye, but a rock nevertheless. I was twelve, and I was in love. That rock became the Christmas present for my beau because, “I want you to have something to carry around that reminds you of me.” In reality, that Tiger’s Eye, and the way it changed from brown to gold as it reflected in the light, reminded me exactly of his eyes.

He had captivated me, but I was only twelve, and my mother was certainly not going to take me Christmas shopping for a present for him. I had to improvise, which is why, after rummaging through my room, I decided this rock would be appropriate.

After Christmas break, I saw him again at school only to learn that there had been a death in his family since we’d last seen each other. He told me that whenever he needed strength he pulled that little bit of hope out of his pocket. My present had helped him. My trivial, meaningless rock had forged a bond between us.

My husband still has that Tiger’s Eye.

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