Moonstone

“These are moonstones, right?”

“That is correct.”

I extracted a cool sternness from her voice and turned it over in my mind. More than likely, it was directed at the little idiot wandering around her crystal shop with a sufficiently large backpack, barely a half-hour before closing time. But I entertained a tone that likewise said, “don’t you want sunstones, little man?”

I like to think that either case meant I was passing.

Still, I considered the irony of keeping the divine feminine at a literal arm’s length, something to revere rather than to try, haplessly as I had for twenty-eight years, to embody. It felt so much better this way, being Her bright-eyed son rather than the wayward daughter I had always so uncomfortably assumed.

At any rate, I’m a Cancer, and the bracelet is incredibly beautiful. As much as I hate being a man with two X chromosomes, I suppose I am grateful for the fact that I was never taught I shouldn’t wear it.