I have a necklace collection.

It isn’t extensive but it is impressive. Not because of expense or rarity, but by memory and sentimentality. The diamonds are fake, but my grandma purchased it for her high-school prom. I got to wear it for mine. The pearl strands are small, but they were my great grandmother’s. My best friend wore them on her wedding day. The tigers eye pendant I liberated from my late grandfather’s bolo hangs on the same hook as a faded ballerina. Both hold memories of getting ready for church in an old farm house.

I fiddle with my necklace when I’m nervous. It is a physical reminder of who I need to be in that moment. I change out my necklaces depending on mood as much as outward projection. My plastic sapphire looks professional without personality. I hide behind it when I need people to forget I’m faking being a real adult. When my faith is rocked for the thousandth time that month, I wear a mustard seed. Maybe I can move this mountain off my chest if I try one more time to breathe.

That mountain feels bigger this week but I hung up my mustard seed and dawned different necklace. It isn’t my style and I have no clue if the precious minerals are real. I do know the memories are, so it usually lives safely on its hook. The gold amalgamation with a jade center was something found while going through a late great aunt’s belongings. She was a Japanese war bride brought home to a state were her marriage was illegal. The US had joined in a war against imperialism and fascism and emerged waving conditions of surrender. One brother brought home a wife the other brought home a necklace of enemy teeth. Times were tense, language barriers fell slowly and prejudice lessened even slower. The farm house sheltered her until the government recognized their marriage as legal, recognized her as legal.

The US went to war against imperialism and fascism but was not victorious. Terms of surrender didn’t extend to American streets. Between armistice and now the US has survived and grown from the civil rights movements, assassinations, and terrorist attacks. I fear for the soul of the United States if we can’t conquer this mountain of impending imperialism.
I’m young, my demographic has afforded me much. I can’t be too loud without risking my job. I know it makes me a coward. I can witnesses, I can donate, I can switch my necklace. I can touch it and remember the woman who was brave enough to be illegal.