Pearl

A miner once told me my moon oysters were canal trash. Maybe dump them back in the water, he said. I kept them anyway. I had seven.

Tonight I found out what they are for.

There is a cistern at the top of the canal where rainwater collects, and mussels live in it. I caught three. Then I carried two of my oysters and two of the mussels to the workbench, and I pressed them together, layer on layer, the way the old shell makers must have.

What came out was pearl laminate. Two thin sheets of it, pale and shining, the color of the inside of a shell.

The trash was never trash. It was half of something. It was waiting for the other half.

I still have five oysters left. I am keeping those too. I do not know yet what else they are waiting for.