Years ago, in the days before the words gay and marriage were ever joined together, the best a same sex couple could do was to have a commitment ceremony and wear matching rings. Shelley and I have never been ones for ceremony, but over the years, we occasionally did think about rings. In the end, I was always afraid someone would ask me about my presumed husband, and neither of us felt comfortable in jewelry stores, so our fingers remained bare.
Just before her fortieth birthday, Shelley saw a ring she liked at a craft store in Hyannis. It was a sapphire, set with two tiny diamonds in a delicate gold band. She let me buy it for her, and two months later, she surprised me with a matching onyx ring for my birthday. Shelley has worn her ring on her right ring finger since the day we bought it. I wore mine for a few months, until my finger broke out in a rash.
A few weeks before our wedding, we were having our hair cut in Provincetown and we let our hairdresser in on the secret that we were eloping.
“Have you gotten wedding rings yet?” she asked.
“We haven’t really thought about rings,” I said.
“But don’t you want rings that you’ll put on that day, and never take off for the rest of your lives?” she asked.
It sounded like a nice idea. Sandra gave us the names of her favorite jewelers in town. A few days later, I asked Shelley if she wanted to shop for rings.
“We already have rings,” she said. I reminded her that my ring gave me a rash, and she reluctantly agreed to look for new ones.
The first place we looked was a small shop in the west end of Provincetown that feels more like someone’s living room than a jewelry store. The owner had a welcoming smile and was dressed in a caftan. She asked us how long we’d been together and why we were getting married. We told her the story of two young women who fell in love on the dunes of Longnook Beach thirty-five years ago. How one of us was a young hippie who had no use for marriage of any kind, and the other, a young Catholic who for most of her life was sure she’d burn in hell because she was gay. And we told her the truth, that we were finally getting married so Shelley could get my health insurance.
“Your wedding rings should reflect the two of you,” she said. “Take your time and find the rings that do that.”
I followed her to a jewelry case, dragging Shelley behind.
Within a few minutes, I felt as if I were in a dream. Shelley and I were trying on wedding rings. Rings that we’d wear proudly for the rest of our lives, as a symbol of a love that had been silent and unrecognized by the world for decades. Shelley, on the other hand, was in a nightmare. With each tray of rings the jeweler showed us, I could feel Shelley tremble. It was like when we’re at a bakery and she has a meltdown trying to choose what she wants for dessert. Most times, I send her out to the car and make the decision myself.
I tried to take control, and asked her what she thought of a ring that I liked, a thin gold band set with small diamonds.
“It’s nice,” she said.
The jeweler gave Shelley a matching ring and told us to take them outside to see how they looked in the sunlight.
We sat on a bench in front of the shop and watched our diamonds glisten. Shelley turned over the tiny white price tag dangling from her ring.
“This ring costs over two thousand dollars,” she said.
“Mine’s got bigger diamonds; it’s over three,” I said.
“It doesn’t seem right,” Shelley said. “We need a new roof more than we need these rings.”
“I know,” I admitted.
We brought the rings back, thanked the woman and told her we might return.
We went to a few more shops and looked at more rings, but it was clear neither of us could deal with all the choices. We decided to use our old rings for the ceremony. Shelley promised me if I wanted a new one after we were married, we could go looking again.
We exchanged our rings at our wedding, placing them on each other’s left hand. I’ve kept mine on since then, and haven’t gotten a rash. I’m surprised at how often I look at it and at how comfortable it is. I’m glad we didn’t buy new rings. After all, our love isn’t new. Like my wedding ring, it was just hidden away until I was ready to wear it.
