the absent engagement ring

The secretary looked at me conspiratorially from between the long green leaves of the plant sitting on the edge of her desk.

"Are you getting married?" she asked covertly, excitedly.

I looked down at my semi-professional clothes, the pile of winter gear now in my lap, and the steno pad and pen in my hands, and thought quickly of my boyfriend. And my age. And my dolls. And the single university diploma sitting on my dresser at home. I decided I definitely wasn't, and giggled softly.

"No," I exhaled. "I'm here to interview..."

"I only asked because I was being nosy," she admitted. "When I was your age, I was getting married."

I wondered what age I looked and what age she was when she got married... and the rabbi called me into his office.

-----

I don't know where 20-somethings disappear to when they graduate from college, but apparently they don't end up at semi-conservative religious publications. People have mistaken me for many things since I've been here, and usually it's not the reporter I am. Or once I sit them down for the interview, they talk about me and my generation... "Kids your age, they don't feel any connection to stuffy Jewish institutions." (True.) And when, yesterday, we touched on "the problem of" Jewish continuity and intermarriage, I tried to sit up straighter and look older when I realized that I embody the quintessential "problem" the older generations talk about when they fear the religion will die.

I don't mind, really. I smile understandingly and look forward to one day when I will hopefully be among the hip, young journalists at some publication or blog that publishes articles I would read and things I would believe if I wasn't forced to.