Traveling Money | Teen Ink

Traveling Money

March 15, 2015
By Kellyyyyyyyy BRONZE, Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania
Kellyyyyyyyy BRONZE, Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Life isn't about finding yourself; its about creating yourself" -George Bernard Shaw


Violently she twisted her hand in the burlap sack until she pulled out a couple of us crumpled up at the bottom. Once again the cashier repeated, “ That will be $12.00, you got it or not?” Nervously she shuffled me to the top of the pile and then back down, she spoke with extreme caution, “ I really need some food, I promise I’ll have the money next week and give it to you then.” I could feel her hand shaking as we were handed over and stuffed into a dark drawer. I watched as the light shaft faded to nothing and heard a key lock us in for the night.

I was quickly awakened to the sounds of screaming and sirens blazing. “Everybody down,” I heard a man warn the members of the store.  It was a different man than the one at the register yesterday. I could tell by the way he opened the key that this cashier was frightened. Mucky hands of men that hadn’t showered in weeks were suddenly grabbing at us, pulling out handfuls at a time. I myself felt something warm close in on me, and was rejoined by the same money I had spent the prior night with. Heavy footsteps followed as the robber raced out of the store with my friends and I in a bag slightly larger than the one the women who exchanged me for milk and eggs had owned. The sirens I had heard earlier got louder and closer. A thunk knocked me to the ground and the body weight of another individual was on top of the bag I occupied. There was a commotion with tossing and tumbling, soon I found myself alone in the wet grass as my friends were carried off in a police car.

“Mom, Mom I found a dollar,” a little blonde boy shouted as he snatched me up from the ground. For twenty minutes I heard about the adventures of robots, space cadets and super heroes that were in the book he had read during his day at school. His mother and I both shared a low level of interest in the adventures. I quickly perked up when his mother finally spoke, ”We are home Henry, now go put your money in Mr. Piggy and wash up for dinner”. Over the next month the space available quickly shrank as more and more odd change piled up in Mr. Piggy. The space became so limited that there were times I thought I couldn’t bare being confined any longer.  To my relief, one day Henry came into his room with his father. His loud voice roared over the young boys, “Come on Hen, grab your money and let’s head to Toy R Us.”  Henry unplugged the hole at the bottom and a gasp of relief came over the pile of money. Two fingers reached in at a time, and little by little we all safely made it into the boy’s back pocket. Hand exchanged hand and I was traded off for the latest Lego set.

This time the cashier didn’t bother locking us in, there was a long line of customers behind Henry and his dad.  The drawer remained halfway open so I peered out upon a women who had her phone smooched between her shoulder and check. She was mad about something and snapped at a man that appeared to be helping her get the money from her bag. She was buying a lot of things.  What boy on earth could use all of those presents? The cashier also seemed annoyed by this lady’s low-level of kindness, but he gently unwrinkled me along with a five and twenty before handing us off to the lady’s assistant. A smell of fruity perfume nearly knocked me unconscious as the women tossed us into the same bag as a read-with-me book and a teddy bear. A click-clack of high heels followed as she walked out of the store. When the doors opened a strong gust of wind blew me into a pile of mud. I expected to be picked up and washed off, but instead the lady merely glanced back as she hoped into her BMW.

In a month I went through the hands of the needy, the greedy, the saver, and the ungrateful. The looks I got from each one varied, though my street value remained the same.  The difference was how my beholder viewed me. And with this conclusion I ask myself, what is my real value?  A dirty old piece of paper or the happiness of American people?
 



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