Distorted Memory

I found my jade.

It’s been awhile since I last held it.
22 years ago I relinquished it.
My grandmother and I found it, loose in a box on her dresser amongst assorted knick-knacks and junk. Not the place of security and safekeeping I imagined for a treasured object from my youth.

At least, I think it’s the one.

My mother and grandmother assure me it’s my jade.

I’m unconvinced, unsettled.

My recollection of the jade is that it was nothing short of perfect. However, what I have is not quite.

There are imperfections, blemishes. The shape is not what I remember. I recalled the jade being flatter. The hole also smaller, more like a LifeSaver®.

Perhaps what’s happened is, for so long I recounted my original jade looking like a LifeSaver. It became one in my memory. I can’t say for sure. The only thing that works in the piece’s favor is I can hear my younger self saying, “Sure, it’s like a LifeSaver. If you sucked on one for a while, it’ll look like my jade.”

The coloration is also off. It used to be a milky white-green color. Perfect. It isn’t quite so. My brother tells me that jade changes color when worn and it hasn’t been worn a long time. Perhaps, still skeptical.

Sigh.

I’ve strung it up, I’m wearing it. Maybe something will trigger a memory and confirm it's the right one. I considered looking for old photos to see if I can see myself with it. However the thought of seeing my awkward, pre-teen self has nixed that idea.

One more thing, it’s so small. Maybe 22 years, it hasn’t changed but I certainly have.