Instructions for Disposing of Your Past: Part II

On the last night of the full moon burn the last of your papers. Burn the box that you stored them in too. When the final coals have been reduced to ash say goodnight to the fireflies and sleep a dreamless sleep.

In the morning a cold but gentle rain will fall as you paddle to a part of the lake you often pass but never cross as there are no creeks or rivers or islands there. In your pocket is the inescapable ring.

Last summer, when your father lost his glasses in the lake, you had hoped it was lost for good. When the twin band had slipped off and settled on the mucky bottom you resurfaced and, slipping the remaining one off your finger had slapped it, angrily, on the dock. "Can you please look after this for me? I've already lost one," you say thinly veiling your anger in martyrdom, before diving back into the murky and, that year, frigid water.

Later that evening, glasses recovered and a sort of peace restored you laugh when your parents both admit that neither took the ring and it's been left on the dock.

"Don't worry, it's impossible to lose these rings. I wouldn't be surprised if the one in the lake found it's way back to me too." And, as predicted, while the one in the lake remained lost to the leaches, the one forgotten on the dock, the one in your pocket now, was still there in the morning.

Both were silver bands the Ex bought from a street vendor at a theater festival. You always wore them on your left hand though, after the divorce, when you lost all that weight, you had to wear them on your middle finger. You have never owned expensive jewelery because you are uncannily adept at losing or breaking it, yet, despite your best efforts, these rings have continued to find their way back to you. Over the years they've been lost for days, weeks, sometimes months at a time only to be discovered in a lint trap, under the claw foot bath tub, in the pocket of your grandfather's favourite blue cardigan. Once, after the spring melt, they reappeared in your back alley after having spent the entire winter under a blanket of snow.

Until last summer, your fingers and those rings remained, unlike you and your ex, inseparable. But the lake has proven greedy for treasure, and has never coughed up the first band so you will trust it with this one as well. Pressing the ring between your palms in a prayerful namaste you close your eyes and wish the Ex well before flinging it blindly into the water. Do not open your eyes until you hear the splash and are certain it has sunk without a trace.

Paddle to your island. Dive in to the water. Let the waves wash away the smokey scent of last night's fire; the proof that you are cured.