On Knowing Which Pearls are Real
by Merridawn Duckler

          No biting. That’s a myth. No rolling on the bosom. That’s a misnomer. Rub them into themselves and feel the grain of the sand that birthed them. The mollusk defended itself against a problem. Now it is in your hands. Observe them in light. Nothing dull should occur. The true ones shine like the moon on a body of still water. You can test the strength of the silk string holding them together, but that information is not always credible. Any fool can lay circles in a straight line. If you really need to know what is real, consider where they came from, who gave you the strand, what was the occasion of their wearing. Count out how many nights you tossed and turned in bed thinking if it all goes south you can always sell the pearls. The south where you first wore them. The years flew by, though years mean nothing to pearls. They have an entirely different sense of time. Finally comes the moment you decide to un-clutch. You take them into the most established jewelry store in town. The carpet is woven of discreet silences. There’s a man with his sleeves turned up, wearing a loupe on a black cord. It reminds you of that Christmas, the scent of old candles weeping wax. You remember the snap of the box, like a terrapin that could take off a finger. When you unwrapped the pearls, which were given as a gift, many sharp looks from nearby women. Someone said now that is a generous gift, meaning that is too generous a gift, meaning that is a gift that steals our birthright. To you they looked like old teeth, but you put them on. You would even wear old teeth if that made you fit in. Around your neck hung the question of what you do and do not deserve. You restrain yourself from telling all this to the appraiser. A deceased relative is all you say. He smooths them out onto black velvet. Will it come to two hundred, two thousand, twenty thousand? It’s a very decent imitation, he says. You say, you mean initiation? He says, I mean they’re fake. You can tell by the luster, the string, the grit and the light. For some reason this one at the top is real. It started out real, and then, someone replaced the rest. Here you go. Feel the grit. That is how to tell what is real.