Swallowing It

If you've somehow missed the news, the jewelry store I work at was the recent scene of a crime. A coworker was showing a diamond ring to a man who said he was waiting for his girlfriend to arrive in any minute. He kept looking towards the main mall entrance, until suddenly, ring in hand, he booked it outside.

"Help!" my coworker screamed as she ran around the jewelry counter, chasing after him. "He stole a diamond from us! Call 911!"

And do you know what? Several bystanders did just that. Someone else saw the guy get into a car--a white Pontiac G6 with pink sticky notes covering the license plate--driven by a woman. Within a half-hour they were found by police but the ring was not. At least not until after some questioning and an x-ray proved that the woman had indeed swallowed the ring. You heard me right. SWALLOWED.

I, for one, struggle swallowing any pill that's bigger than an ibuprofen. It often takes me multiple attempts with plenty of water gulps before I achieve success. Sometimes the pill has already partially dissolved in my mouth and I can taste the awful medicine within. Sometimes I have to give up entirely and just stay sick. I honestly cannot imagine swallowing something of that size and shape. It boggles my mind.

Yet she did it. She swallowed it. For whatever desperate reason, she swallowed it good. Police say they are now waiting for the ring to pass.

This was not my only run-in with law enforcement this weekend, although I wish it was. One of our roommates broke a rule that for others in the house was a definite deal-breaker. When it was discovered, all hell broke loose. Through miscommunications and quick judgments, the situation snowballed  into one of shouting and screaming and fear. Compromise seemed unreachable. A lifestyle change, impossible. Forgiveness, out of the question. My friend was left standing there broken and vulnerable and painfully aware of all the many times he had felt wronged, or cheated, or robbed of that thing called happiness he so desperately sought after.

Depression is real, my friends. As is addiction. And sometimes life isn't anything more than a series of grab-and-runs.

When he stormed out into the night, with the threat of suicide still hanging in the air, we were forced to call 911. In less than a half-hour, our friend was found by police. He was alive. He was safe. We held each other in the stairwell and cried. I couldn't hold onto him tight enough.

"I thought this was my safe haven," he said through tears.

"I wanted it to be."

But now he's staying somewhere else, once again feeling betrayed. Once again reevaluating his future. Once again starting over.

He's just swallowing it.