Money 3

Posted on January 21, 2004 in Consuming Prose Arcana Writing Exercises

This came out of a writing exercise tonight at the Wednesday Writers. The topic was “Write about talking to someone”:

She had sleepy eyes. She leaned on the conter with one hand, preventing her from crashing into the red and green speckled formica. “What can I do for you?” she asked.

The shelves were both empty and full. A mustiness that spoke of dead books written in dead languages, cereal that had been on the shelf too long, and garage corners piled with old clothes pushed into my nostrils. I scratched my head, squinting to see exactly what this storefront was about. The only thing I could focus on was a sign that read “No Apparent Purpose”.

“What do you sell?” I asked.

She rubbed a hand over one of her blue eyes. “Sell?”

“Yes. This is a store, isn’t it? Or have I walked into a Christian Science Reading Room?”

“Store?” Did this blonde speak English? I wondered.

“A store. A shop. A place where they sell things.” I pulled out a handful of coins. “I give you these for things.”

She blinked at the metal in my hands. “What are those?” she asked.

“Coins. Money,” I said.

“Do they mean anything?”

“No, not really.”

The two of us stood there, pressing up against the intervening silence. I had a second thought. “I mean — well — it does mean something.”

“What does it mean?”

“If I want to buy a cow, it means ‘Cow’. If I want to buy a pen, it means ‘Pen’.”

“A pen for the cow?”

“No, no. A pen to write with.”

“Can it mean anything then?”

“Yes.”

She reached out to me. A nickel attracted her. She picked it up and examined it. “So,” she said, turning the disc so that it flashed across her eyebrows, “it can mean ‘Happiness’?”

I glanced at the Washingtons, the Lincolns, the Jeffersons, and the Roosevelts piled in my palm. Were they happy being there, stuck on copper, nickle, and silver alloys, always being rubbed by sweaty palms, fondled by grubby fingers, flicked into the darkness of vending machines and cash drawers?

I scratched my face. “No, it can’t mean Happiness.”