🪨 Swedish green crush

by Richard Zaric

She sits only a foot away from me, polished, smooth, fine-grained. Some rock hound tumbled and polished her into a brilliant sheen. In the morning, more so in the summer months, the sun’s rays pierce the bedroom window at just the right angle caressing and highlighting her stunning features.

Swedish Green Marble. From the northeast of that country, if I recall. Cute serpentines. Swedish Green adorns some of the most exquisite buildings in the world. Rockefeller Center. Paris Opera House. Copenhagen Town Hall. Sweden’s Royal Palace. All of them strong and noble. Viewing those structures uplifts the soul in subtle ways. Not unlike when the key changes in the middle of a song.

But she might as well be on a different tectonic plate. Has she even noticed me? I’m sure she has. We’re so close, we can practically touch each other here on Breanna’s dresser. I’m a nice guy. I won’t crumble and fall apart at the slightest touch. I know the stumbling block: she’s Metamorphic.

She’s paid her dues. Over eons the Agents of Change—heat and pressure—made her evolve into her exquisite form. A butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. Who can blame her for not giving me a glance? Schist. Slate. Gneiss. There are a slew of other Metamorphic rocks she can choose to take for a tumble down a mountain.

What bothers me most is she was just like me back in the day. Limestone. Good old Sedimentary rock formed over millions of years when weathering transported bits that formed into layers. Add some pressure and viola, Sedimentary rock. The only difference between me and Swedish Green is that she got a visit from the Agents of Change. Me? I was pulled out of the earth before I had a chance to join her.

Maybe she doesn’t pay attention because of my ordinary nature. After all, 75% of all rocks are Sedimentary. And most of those are Limestone. Is it my fault that water can erode me to nothingness in the snap of a geological period? I must admit—and am rather proud—of some of the spectacular cave systems Limestone has gone on to produce. A few of my friends are part of the exterior of the Pyramids in Egypt. All Limestone.

At least I’m not Igneous rock. Young, unformed magma. No soul. They exist in the earth’s hot spots. I’m certain Swedish Green would not give an Igneous rock a moment of her time. Who would? They’re all the same, as far as I’m concerned. Sharp. Painful to look at. They live in the absolute worst places on earth. Thrown around and discarded by the planet like trash.

Whenever I go on my Igneous rock rants, Shale, a Sedimentary friend of mine, likes to point out that Granite is an Igneous rock and it looks nothing like the garbage that vomits from a boisterous volcano. Granite is formed when molten, gelatinous rock cools. It bothers me when Shale is right. Sure, Granite doesn’t look like Igneous rock, but it still acts like it. I heard Brianna’s mother complaining about their Granite countertop with a friend. It seems that unless the countertop is sealed regularly, the porous nature of Granite means liquids and other substances can be absorbed, staining the countertop forever. Proof Igneous rocks can’t be trusted, even Granite. They should have used Quartz for the countertop instead.

The funny thing, of course, is we were all Igneous rocks one day. Me, I got my start in what is now the Mid-Atlantic Ridge as Pillow Lava, but I don’t advertise that. Same thing with Swedish Green. She started as Igneous and became Sedimentary before she was fortunate enough to be around an Agent of Change to become Metamorphic. Now I can only marvel at her splendor.

I still remember the day Brianna picked me up. The lake’s waves gently caressed me on the beach late one afternoon. I’d only recently been exposed to the brilliant sky. I fit comfortably in her palm; she nestled me in a purple pouch strapped around her shoulder. Why did she pick me up? What was it that caught her eye? Could it be my smooth oblong surface? I had been buried underground for thousands of years and slowly, millimeter by millimeter, worked my way to the surface of the beach. Those countless years of friction and jostling refined my exterior to something I’m quite proud of.

She then placed me on top of her dresser with the other stones and rocks she’d collected over the years. She had an inclination to take a rock home to remember each family trip; it started when she was five. Memory rocks, she calls us. Now she’s in the second year of university, taking something in the liberal arts. Why doesn’t she take geology?

But does it matter? In the next instant she’ll die of old age. Humans’ existence is an insignificant, tiny speck of time. I remember when there were no bipeds on earth. It feels like only yesterday. Quite peaceful times.

The other rocks sized me up the moment I was placed on the dresser. The Rhyolite was suspicious and grouchy at first, but has since become amicable. Sometimes it takes a while for Igneous rocks to warm up to you. That’s just the way they are. The white Quartz is usually beside Amethyst and Garnet. Those crystals can be so cliquey. All told, there are now about twenty of us on Brianna’s dresser. There hasn’t been a new addition for several years now. Hardly any time for rocks. Dust has begun to accumulate on our exteriors.

The closest I ever was to Swedish Green was about seven years ago. Brianne selected five of us to display to her grandmother visiting from somewhere far. Swedish Green and I were in Brianna’s same hand on the short trip from her room to the kitchen. We even touched. Swedish Green didn’t say anything. She seemed annoyed to be moved, but I can see her practically glow when the grandmother held her up and smiled. And why not? Swedish Green didn’t come directly from the ground. She was cleaned and buffed to a sparkle. Purchased from a store specializing in curios in some resort town in the Rocky Mountains. The grandmother picked me up, twisted me around and then put me back down on the hideous Granite countertop. Minutes later Brianne took us back to the top of the dresser. Slate teased me about how far I got with Swedish Green. I bragged about our touch, but Slate scoffed that my boasting was the same kind of silliness we get from Pyrite.

The current situation will not last much longer. I know one day Brianna will move away. I’ve heard her discuss it with her parents. She’ll take us with her. Maybe put us all in a box that she’ll keep under her bed or up in a closet. Every five years or so she will open the box and gaze longingly at us. Maybe she’ll pick up some of us and recall the time we were selected for her collection. She may develop a closer attachment to us after her grandmother or a parent perishes. Eventually she’ll find a mate and perhaps even conceive progeny of her own. Will those children place as much interest in us as Brianna? Likely not. Those attached memories will disappear and fade with time, like how Amethyst loses its colour when exposed to the sun. Maybe her children will follow her lead and collect memory rocks of their own. Even so, we will one day disappear into a garbage landfill, or be thrown in a ditch, or left at the side of a house, forgotten. The elements will do their work. Dust, dirt, or sand will cover us. Slowly. Eventually we will be hidden underground again for a very long time.

Before that day, I hope I get to spend some quality time with Swedish Green. Sure, I’m just some ordinary Limestone, but I have a kind, caring soul. She would appreciate that if she got to know me. I’m not as flashy as other Metamorphic rocks, but I more than make up for that with my durability. If she ends up with an Igneous rock, I’ll fissure. I don’t think I can spend another 500 million years alone.

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