My index finger traces along the cool silver edges of the barrette, mindlessly, stroking the smooth round backs of the curled-in waves along its perimeter. Except for the the occasional dull points jutting forth along the edges, nothing disturbs my inner thoughts as I gaze out my window.

As my finger tenderly caresses the surface of the barrette, I look down, staring intently at the barrette's ornate design, noting the tousled silver curls undulating restlessly. Yet, upon careful observation of this squirming lake of waves, there persists a definite symmetrical pattern of repetitions vertically and horizontally. The barrette is longer lengthwise with a red oval disk at its center. The disk, coated with a smooth, clear, glossy plastic, resembles a woman's fingernail painted over with a lustrous, red fingernail polish. Glints of light reflect off the crimsom plastic defining the golden outline and the inner details of each rose petal. One can not help but notice that the red plastic coating is chipped at the bottom where my younger sister had dropped the barrette one day, baring a coppery-golden metal with fine, raised edges of the rose etching underneath. At times, I wondered randomly how it was that glints of the light reflecting off the plastic allowed the outlines of the rose etching to be seen, until the plastic was chipped did I realize how it was that the rose could be seen.

As I again brush the edges of the silver barrette, memories of a dream that I had resurface. It was a dream where I was given this same barrette by someone I could not see and I had examined this barrette carefully, noting the rose etching at the center. I remember turning the barrette on its back and I had thought it was a pin because of its long, needle-like clasp at the back. Later that year, during the summer, my uncle gave me the barrette that looked like the pin in my dream. As I