I am missing a ring. My neighbors agree. Pinky is the most distraught over my loss. She stays curled like a child at sleep. When she dreams, she goes to another world. Often, I hear her make sounds from this place. Her mutterings and moans make me feel like I have one toe and that I must stand on it. Flick, my other close neighbor, has taken on both Pinky and my chores. Without Flick, our whole half would be worthless. He also creates a fence between Pointer and myself. Pointer is snobby and self-important. She is the know-it-all in the neighborhood. When she points at owners, their eyes light up like hot candles burning long wicks. This is why inside, I call her Oblivia. She seems unaware of how she affects others. Just around the bend lives Mr. Thumb, who completes our village. He is also my secret lover. At nighttime, he crawls beneath Oblivia and rubs me tenderly. He too wonders where the metal from my torso has gone.

There have been three rings since the first ring. My owner keeps trying to replace the first ring with ones that don't fit. When she goes out dancing at night to meet new owners, all five of us feel like grasshoppers ready to spring. When we do spring, it is more like an explosion. We fly through the air splayed. Sometimes, while soaring, we pause spectacularly. Then we land and gather ourselves for the next burst. It is during these times that the newer pieces of metal have flown from my chest. I can't help this. Since the owner talks only through Oblivia, I can't tell her this either. I can't share that it's the poor fit that is causing this problem, not me. Flick, who rarely speaks, nudges me and says, "I saw what you did last time." I thought I had been careful. The last piece of metal was so ugly that I shrunk myself on the way to the car. I saw Ugly land in the garden weeds. My owner did not notice.

Pinky is wiggling and squirming. I think she is waking up. She said that when she woke up she would tell me my future. I need Mr. Thumb to occupy Oblivia's attention during this time. The last thing I need is for her to overhear wrongly and unwittingly share this with my owner. My owner is already befuddled. She is like a rooster that forgot how to crow. She boks like a chicken instead. This started right after she ripped the first ring (which was supposed to be the only ring) from my chest. Who knows when she'll remember that she is a rooster again. If watching Oblivia is any indictor of her state of mind, she has a ways to go before it is sound.

Suddenly, like a sprinkler, Pinky perks up, "Who will you BE when you find another ring with a perfect fit?" Pinky's eyes grow into big salad bowls. Flick cocks his head and considers the question. Mr. Thumb slides near and touches my thigh--this is a promise of an evening kiss. Pointer taps herself loudly on the desk. I bumble for words. I bumble for the right words. Then I give up. "I don't know who I will BE!" I answer. "But I know that I will be happier than I am now."

Pinky closes her eyes and returns to a fetal curl. In fuzzy, sleepy tones she says, "This ring of a perfect fit is going to find you. You are not going to find it." I think for a moment. It is a good thing that Pinky doesn't charge money for her psychic advice. Pointer is already talking to our owner.