"Hold still." My mother tugged the oversized waistband of the black silk
skirt tight. "Now ... can you breathe?"
I nodded and tried to ignore the itch on my knee. Very hard for any
five-year-old, but especially one excited about possibly winning the
"Best Halloween Costume" prize in kindergarten. As Mom removed the huge
safety pin from her mouth, I knew any wiggling on my part might result
in a sudden sharp prick.
"Remember to pick this skirt up when you walk so you won't trip on the
hem." She turned her attention to my long curly strands. "Gypsies have
wild hair," Mom said, tickling the back of my neck. She reached for a
bright red scarf on her dresser. "This should do the trick. Gypsy queens
must be colorful."
A few days earlier, after reading the note from my kindergarten teacher
about the costume contest, Mother stepped back to look me up and down.
"I see a gypsy. Yes, a very pretty gypsy."
I felt proud that she thought I could be a very pretty
"anything." And if my mother said gypsy would be a good costume, gypsy
it would be.
"You need makeup." She reached for her blue eyeshadow.
Oh boy, this would really be a big deal. Nobody touched my mother's
makeup, and today, she intended to let me wear some to school. I swished
my hips back and forth, listening to the rustle of the skirt.
"Stop that." Mom laughed. "I don't want to get any in your eye."
The blue powder glided across my eyelids. I tried not to blink but
couldn't stop giggling.
A broad grin covered my mother's beautiful face.
"That feels funny," I said.
"Well remember, you're far too pretty for makeup. Today is just pretend.
Like dressing up."
I felt proud knowing I resembled my mother, who seldom covered her own
perfect skin and features with makeup either.
She grabbed a tube of lipstick.
My heart fluttered. "Lipstick too?"
"No respectable gypsy queen would go without lipstick. Try not to move
your mouth," she warned.
I glanced in the mirror as she painted my lips red. One thing for sure,
Mother had been right, gypsies did have color. She puffed the crisp
golden sleeves of my blouse and ran a hand
down the skirt that seemed to shine when sunlight hit it just right. Mom
fiddled with the scarf in my hair and opened a small compact. The pink
powder she dotted on my cheeks smelled sweet.
My nose began to wiggle, and I sneezed.
"Enough makeup." She closed the top drawer of her dresser.
I twirled and watched my skirt take flight.
"Now, some pizazz." Mom fumbled in her jewelry box and retrieved a
couple of gold bangles.
My excitement grew, and my palms began to sweat. Jewelry? I was really
going to get to wear her jewelry? She slid the bangles on my right arm
and a multicolored bracelet on my left. From the bottom drawer of the
jewelry box, she removed a long strand of black beads and a shorter
string of blue. They clacked together as she dropped them over my head.
"What about those?" I pointed at a shiny pearl necklace.
"Not those. Sorry." Mother closed the box.
"They're so pretty. You said gypsy queens need pretty things," I argued.
"Colorful things. I said colorful."
"Please?"
"Honey, my mother left me those pearls. And even though they're faux
pearls, I don't want anything to happen to them."
"Faux pearls?"
"They aren't real." She picked up the hairbrush to fiddle
with my wild curls again.
I rocked back and forth on the heels of my black patten shoes. "I'll be
careful."
She stared at the necklace for several seconds. "Oh, all
right. But you have to be careful. No tugging or swinging them around."
I nodded and smiled.
Even if the pearls weren't real, their smooth texture proved to be
irresistible as I worried them between my fingers on the drive to
school.
"Don't play with those or they'll break."
"Okay," I said, wondering how just touching them could make them
"break."
"Have fun and good luck." Mom kissed me on the cheek.
I shoved the car door open and bounded in to meet my classmates.
Witches, pirates, Frankenstein and Cinderella noisily chatted in the
room decorated with carved pumpkins, spider webs and skeletons. My
mother had been right -- no other gypsies. Settling into my desk, I
continued to finger the smooth pearls.
"All right, boys and girls, I want you to each stand and show your
costumes," Mrs. Hardy said.
Silence fell over the room, but the excitement of eighteen,
five-year-olds made the air seem electric. When my turn came, I stood
and gave the pearls around my neck a little swing like I'd seen done in
a television show on our black and white TV.
The necklace in my hand suddenly went slack, and I heard the
pop, pop, pop of pearls hitting the tile floor. One little girl beside
me let out a gasp, and the rest of the children fell to their knees to
gather the bobbles bouncing under desks and
chairs.
Tears filled my eyes, and too late, I realized Mom had known exactly
what would happen if I wore the pearls. And it didn't matter whether
they were real or not. They had been a gift from her mother, who died
when my mother was only a teenager. I had ruined a treasured item,
something that could not be replaced.
Mrs. Hardy put all the gathered pearls in an envelope for me to take
home. I didn't win the "Best Costume" prize, and in my mind, I didn't
really deserve it after breaking the faux pearls. The only thing I could
think about was having to tell Mom that I had done exactly what she told
me not to do.
The afternoon bell rang louder than usual. I slowly made my way outside.
Mother smiled and waved from the car. A lump formed in my throat and
tears ran down my cheeks as I reached for the door handle.
"What's the matter," she asked as I fell into the seat.
"I-I broke it." My hand shook as I handed her the envelope containing
the pearls. "I'm sorry."
Mother stared at the envelope for several minutes and then smiled at me.
"It's all right."
"Really?"
"No," she said and wiped a tear from my cheek. "But I know
you didn't mean to break them did you?"
I shook my head.
As my mother slid the envelope into her purse, I noticed a
slight quiver in her chin.
Over the years as I grew into an argumentative preteen, sulky teenager
and rebellious college student, I always tried to remember the pain I
caused my mother because I ignored her advice and broke the faux pearls.
And I will never forget the unconditional love she showed on that day.
Thank you Mom for helping me to be a better person.