Spare Change

A Story by Kimberlee

My first submission. Feedback needed.

Down comes the night. My pocket jingles with loose change. Thousands of ice crystals fall like beautiful white sequins on a dance floor. My cigarette emits nicotine spider webs. They collide with the snow sparkles, evaporating into nothing. I’m staring at a brick wall, shivering. I’m looking at the cracks in the mortar. Countless Bricks fortify this building, not bothered by the whispering winter night. My hand goes into my pocket. I pull out a penny half green with age. A man, timeless, decorates the front. He is tarnished green with age. How many people have touched this penny? The date says 1977. This piece of metal is older than I am. So many people have wrapped their fingers around this copper engraving. I think of the lives a simple penny has touched.

I imagine an old woman pulling out her red change purse. The shaking fingers trying to click open the clasp as she attempts to find some spare change. She pulls out the penny and gives it to the pharmacist. “See you next time Edwina” the pharmacist says as she hands over the white goody bag. Hidden inside are delicious candies designated for the treatment of glaucoma and arthritis. She shuffles out of Rite Aid in her white Keds wondering how she will afford to fly to Florida this winter. She never makes it though. Edwina suffers from a heart attack the next day. Her family cremates her, and keeps her in a navy colored porcelain vase in the china cabinet.

I imagine a twelve year old child named Chris mowing the lawn all summer. He goes to the Johnson house. Mrs. Johnson invites him inside for a glass of cold lemonade. Chris wipes the sweat off his brow and thanks her generously. She pays him ten dollars but the last dollar is in change. He walks out with the penny rustling in his pockets. That night his dad comes home drunk again. “God, d****t Chris where are you!” he bellows in his stupor. “Margaret!” he screams. He pulls his belt out of his loops and cracks it against the wall. Chris’ mom is crying in her bed, the covers hiding her shame. He pulls her from her sanctuary, and repeatedly beats her until she lays unconscious on the floor. Chris is in the door way. The last thing he sees before the belt strikes his face is his mom’s pool of blood.

Ashley is twenty-two years old. She looks in the mirror before she sets out for a long day. Its fall, but the wind bites hard. She pulls a sweater over her head. It hangs off of her frail body. Ashley walks across town to Tenth Street. There she meets a man who holds a sign begging for spare change. All day she waits with him, thrusting her big sorrowful pupils at anyone who dares to look. Someone drops money into the cup. A few more people do. By the end of the day Ashley has enough money to buy her meal for the day. She takes the penny along with the other change and hands it to her dealer. He give her a baggy, no bigger than the penny itself, with white powder in it. She eats her super and slips into a nod. Ashley is found the next day under a bridge. She is toe tagged and shoved in a neat metal drawer.

My penny, it’s just change. I slip it back into my pocket, and look around at the happy campers leaving campus. My cigarette goes out so I throw it in the butt bucket. I look at the text my mom has sent me. “No, you can’t come home for Christmas. Just say with your grandmother.” It could be worse, it could always be worse.

© 2013 Kimberlee

Author's Note

My grammar and spelling sucks. Some things are intentional. What do you think of the rest?

My Review

Would you like to review this Story?
Login | Register

Reviews

zainul

It gave me the pleasure of a wonderful mind blowing poem until I reached the last line which gave the impression of lasting novel.
This is what I can think and express for you.
Thank you Bee for coming here with the first humming song!