A Jeweler's Heart

1 - Earrings

Mandela couldn't understand how such stunning pieces of silver could make her feel so lonely. They were bits of metal, pressed into the lobe of her ears. She looked at herself in the small countertop mirror, an overwhelming pressure of tears building, but her eyes strayed to the reflection of the door behind her, her older brother standing outside as he talked with a vendor. She turned around and strode to the entrance of the shop, the heavy pit dragging her to finally MAKE him spend time with her. To FORCE him to give her more than the time of day; if that, when he had someone else, anyone else - everyone else was better than her company. She wanted to be seen.

"Excuse me?" Mandela paused. "You can't take those out of the store without paying for them." She turned, blinking, to look over at the girl manning the counter. Without thinking, her manners took over.

" 'M sorry," She quickly went back up and pulled out her wallet. "I feel like I've lost my head." And it was true. Mandela couldn't think farther than the urge to leave - to go get her brother.

The girl gave her a quick smile and Mandela's mind went even more blank. "It's alright. Happens all the time." She slid the to register, ready to ring her up. The pit in Mandela's chest twisted, and she floated to the check-out, taking another look at the person serving her. The girl leaned towards her screen, her hair falling in front of her face, and she looked so placid. "You've decided you do want those?" She said, double checking.

"Hm? Oh - right. Yes please," Mandela took another look in the countertop mirror and admired the intricate handicraft once again. "They're stunning." She looked up, to see the girl's eyes drift to the earrings herself, then darting away.

"That's - that's flattering. I made those - from that collection - ," she pointed to the rack Mandela had chosen from, "I made them myself. Is there anything else?"

"You made those yourself?" Mandela immediately drifted to them, looking over the rack with a much more discernable eye.

"Um, yes." The girl shrugged. "They're like my version of cheap rings you get out of those toy vending machines."

Mandela laughed. "Don't say that." She looked over at the girl in time to be given a brilliantly shy smile. Mandela grinned. "They're beautiful." She felt like she meant it. Like she meant it more than anything else. "Stunning." And this time she wasn't talking about the pieces, but the girls expression. Her attitude. Her whole being. The pit in her chest lessened, and Mandela almost felt light. And happy and at ease, and just - amazing.

She spun the display and gave them another look. "You must be really talented. To be able to sell your Jewelry here."

"Well, my dad owns the shop. I've actually been doing this since I was a little girl. It a great outlet, and everytime I have the parts bending and twisting in my hands - ," her eyes glanced into space as she imagined herself back at it, and she had such a serene expression Mandela couldn't help but be caught up with it as she imagined the peace it brought her. "When I'm creating something new and good looking, and then it doesn't matter as much where I'm at or who I'm with, or who I'm not with when ... ," She blinked, then seemed to snap out of it. "Sorry." She ducked her head down, embarrassed. "I just ... ," she coughed and turned away. "Really like making stuff," she said in a rush.

"No - don't apologize." Mandela could feel the girl struggle to keep her emotional distance. Could feel her vulnerability and self doubt coming off in waves. But the ache in Mandela's own chest screamed for a connection. For companionship, for understanding - a friend. Some rumbling sense of desperation threw up the most genial smile she could muster. "It sounds nice. Really, really nice."

The girl looked over at her, hesitant. "It is," she let herself say.

And it was there that Mandela could feel she'd made the connection. And all in a rush she felt like her day was made, her heart was refreshed, and her purpose in life was complete - meeting this stranger, and connecting - she didn't feel so alone ...

A noise shattered: right next to her ear.

Mandela jerked down, gasping. Her arms flew up to the side of her head, a bright pain ringing around her temples. The girl jumped up, coming around the counter, eyes wide with fear. "Are you alright?" She moved, unsure, so frightened. Mandela stood, almost forgetting about her shock as she took in the girl's cute fretful nature.

Mandela noticed she could only hear a faint gargle of her surroundings, but could clearly see her companion mouthing the same words over and over. She waved her off. "I ... I'm fine. Or I think so. I think I'm fine."

Mandela took a moment to listen to her body, but the only thing she noticed was a sudden weight that had vanished from her chest. In its place was a lightness and a warmth.

"I don't want to alarm you, but your ears are bleeding." The girl went to the counter and brought back a paper towel. "I really think you should sit. Do you? Do you think you might ... sit down? Is that okay?"

Mandela smiled at her. She pointed at her ears. "I can't really hear you."

The girl's expression only seemed to grow more scared. "Maybe I should call 911."

"What?"

The girl pulled out her phone and mouthed, '911.'

"No - don't do that. I'm pretty sure I'm fine."

The girl seemed to let out a whole breath to show her exasperation. "Pretty sure?"

The door to the shop swung open, setting off the tinkling of a bell. "Hey, come on."

Mandela turned around when the girl looked up, to see her brother standing at the entrance waving her out. The feelings of warmth and momentary joy vanished. But the pit didn't return. Suddenly Mandela was left feeling simple wonder. "What in the world?" She glanced over at the girl who was still fretting over her ears.

"You really should get that looked at. Or at least, I think so."

Mandela shook her head, then thought about the earrings. She took them off and stared down at them, rubbing off a bit of red staining the silver metal. Her hand went to her wallet again. She needed to pay. She looked to the girl, then realized that all the feelings of strange fascination were still there. "What's your name?" she blurted out.

The girl straightened and glanced at her in surprise. "Um ... Angel."

Mandela blinked. The corners of her mouth twitched up.

"Would you hurry up?" Her brother's voice came from the entrance of the shop, this time much more audible.

Mandela barely spared him a glance before taking out the money needed and handing it over. "Keep the change." She moved to leave, but kept her gaze on Angel as she rushed out, a smile stuck on her face as her mind moved at light speed.

Leaving the store, Mandela only had one thought on her mind - she needed to see that girl again. She needed to make her a friend.

Angel. It was fitting.