A Stone in the Wall

I was only eight when my mother read me that story. It was on her prized bookshelf, guarded by the clutter of her room. Among the greatest works of literature, this children's book hid in the shadows. It was old and falling apart, as though one uneven breath would shatter it to dust. My mother barely touched these books - they were icons, reminders, trophies. I was always told they were not to be held by pudgy, childish hands.

I obeyed diligently ever since an incident when I was six. It was in my attempt to reach a book on her shelf with a particularly shiny cover. But I lost my balance, knocking everything shelved onto the ground with a resounding crash. When my mother got upstairs, she was furious. Even now, her anger from that day echoes in the back of my mind.

So I was surprised, years later, when she insisted on reading me a favourite from her collection. I abandoned my toys in the hall and followed dutifully. Her room had barely changed since she prohibited me from it. The only visible difference were her books, strategically placed three shelves higher.

"Come in, dear. Don't be frightened. Shut the door behind you." I hesitated, legs weak over the wooden flooring. "Come, sit on the bed with me." In her hands she gently held the children's book. Her long, thin fingers caressed the decaying cover. I reached for it, but her returning glare told me to only look - not touch. "This was my favourite story when I was your age. I always wanted to share it with you." She gave me a brief, empty smile. "I hope you will treasure it someday."

Love poured from her eyes as she turned to the first page. So much dust billowed up that I had to hold back a cough. I feared what may happen if I let it out. She began reading, speaking more to herself than me.

It was the story of a researcher searching for a long lost treasure. His hunt had brought him to an old stone wall, crumbled and invaded by moss. This wall had once surrounded a great kingdom lost to time. And somewhere in there, buried, was a precious and priceless jewel, hidden away by their king.

The researcher began digging through piles of meaningless stones. It took him hours before finding one with a bluish hue. He held it in his hands and rolled it over. Although it looked shiny, it felt cold and heavy - he knew the real gem should be warm - this stone was a fake. The researcher dropped it on the ground and kept looking. Only after days of tireless searching did he come across another unique stone. It was marred with dust. As he picked it up to wipe it of, he felt the warmth and knew this was real. He packed all his stuff and headed home with the jewel in hand, all the other rocks left ruined and forgotten. Eventually, centuries later a city was built on the same grounds - but there was no wall. The stones had long since eroded to dust.

After the last word rolled off my mother's tongue and lingered in the room a moment too long, she turned to me.

"Lizzy, dear, I want you to be that jewel. Always." I looked back up at her.

"What do you mean?" My mother sighed.

"I mean, dear, that you should never be like the other stones in that wall. You are special - not like everyone else." She brushed a strand of my hair behind my ear. "And you can never crumble like others, or falsely sparkle. I know you can be the purest, most incredible person; and I want you to strive for no less." My mother stepped up and put the book back in its place. She turned back towards me. "And then, just like the scientist uncovered the true stone in all the fakes - you will be discovered and do something great."

_______

I believe that story first returned to me in the sixth grade. My mother insisted I apply for several middle schools outside my district. They weren't like other schools, she said, they followed a more advanced learning track. Grades and report cards had never occured to me before: I'd still move up to the next year and I'd still learn what I needed to. Yet, these schools were now asking for my marks; these assessments impacted my academics in a way they hadn't before.