Looking for the Agate

I remember the air was warm the day I found the agate on my father's beach. I must have been ten or twelve. I saw it from a distance and ran to touch it in my hands. It was almost perfectly round, and smooth as a marble. Instantly I believed I had found a pearl. I was so excited and ran to show someone. I was informed by my father that it was an agate, and not a pearl. “Throw it back, there are a hundred like it.” He told me. I was crushed, but did not throw it back. Instead I put the rock in my pocket and took it home. I cherished my pebble, and still believed it was a pearl, my father was wrong. I kept the pebble until I was about fifteen in a leather pouch I wore around my neck. It was cold the day I lost it, ironically on the same beach that I had found it on in the first place. The wind blew that day, and the waves crashed. I was putting on my coat when I believe it was lost. But when I got home the pouch was torn, and my agate gone. I waited to be alone before I cried over the lost rock. I cried for the pebble they told me was like all the rest, but I had held it close to me for a time, and it was mine. I felt its weight gone and was aware of the loss for a very long time. I will always look for that pebble every time I visit that beach. I can still feel how smooth the surface was, and the weight of it around my neck. It was special to me and me alone. I care not the fact that no one understood. I miss the agate all the same. So maybe someday I may yet find my special pearl, pluck it from the sea, and call it my own. Until then, I will just keep watch as I walk the beach.