What do you think of when you think of a dollar bill? The Constitution? America? George Washington?
Ryan. A man with nothing but one dollar in his pocket. He paced the room a few times before sitting down. He watched the wall of washers. The hypnotizing rhythm of the little silver buttons and coins crashing in the crevices dazed him. He sighed deeply and hunched his back. He was a single dad with two kids. How was he supposed to survive in this struggling economy when he could hardly survive when it was stable. He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled deeply once again. The dryer that held his kids’ clothes that was whirring a minute ago had now been replaced with the irritable noise signaling the cycle was over. He took out his dollar; inserted it in the thin slot. It digested it; he collected his clothes, then left.
Rose. A tiny Hispanic woman with enough Chutzpah to make up for height. She was the owner of the Laundromat. She had emptied all the money out when one last man walked in. The man had left and she went to empty out the dollar, pocketed it, and closed up for the night. She lingered a little longer. She didn’t want to be home immediately. Her husband would be roaring drunk and she had to make sure she was home after 9:30. Once, she came home too early, but a bruise on her eye quickly corrected that mistake. She knew her son Gabe needed a father so she sacrificed herself for a father figure. Neither the one she wanted for him, nor the one she thought he deserved. But he was the father of her child. She glanced and the clock and decided to head home.
“That’s great sweetie!” She faked her best smile, masking her exhaustion.
“I’m gonna put it under the pillow for the tooth fairy tonight,”
“That sounds like a great idea. Where’s Daddy?”
“I dunno. He never came home,”
“Okay. Well, why don’t you put your tooth under your pillow and brush your teeth. I’ll be right there to tuck you in,”
“Okay.”
Rose collapsed on her ripped, fake leather couch. She thoughtlessly started picking at the stuffing that bulged from the obvious openings. Her eyes looked around the cramped room. Magazines strewn carelessly, smothering the floor and never thought to be picked up. A small television in the corner. She still remembered that fight over it. She knew that she and her husband couldn’t stretch their money that far and he knew it too. But that black box of wires ended up being their form of entertainment. Only one light dimly cast shadows across the room.
“Mommy!”
“I’ll be right there,” She willed herself to get up.
“Goodnight Gabe,”
“Goodnight Mommy,” She kissed his forehead. She ran her fingers through his hair and he quickly tousled it once again.
“Alright. Do you have your tooth under your pillow?
“Yupp,”
“Okay, do you want the light in the hallway off or on?”
“On,”
“On what?” She said in a very motherly tone.
“Ugh. On please,”
“Goodnight Gabe. I love you,”
“I love you too,”
She thought to herself, shit I need to find money to give him from the tooth fairy. She felt the crinkled corners of the dollar pressing into her through a pocket of her distressed jeans. She waited about twenty minutes, and then she entered her son’s room. She tiptoed across and her hand grasping the dollar slid under the cool pillow.
“Mom! Mom! I got money!” Gabe exclaimed the next morning.
“Wow! That’s great. You should save it for something you really want though,” She gleamed at her son’s jubilant reaction.
“Okay. I’ll put it under my floor board,”
“That sounds like a marvelous idea,”
She loved that innocence he held. She thought to herself that it would only be too soon until he had bigger priorities than worrying about tooth fairy money. That bright sparkle that lit up in his eyes only lingered and lasted what seemed only mere minutes before being replaced by truth and torment. Only for a little while would it last. Only for a little while until his youth was blown away like a leaf in the wind. Only a little while that a dollar would make him the happy.
Gabe. He’s 22 now. Rose’s son. His parents died in a horrific car accident while he was away at college. He just graduated with a bachelor’s degree. He anticipated his mother crying and his father satisfied just enough when he walked up to accept his degree. No such actions occurred. He received a letter informing him of the deaths. That sterile white paper folded into crisp thirds would affect him forever. Now he’s driving to their apartment to collect any other valuables or sentiments. They hadn’t had much to begin with so he just hoped to gather a few memories that had been misplaced along the way. He thought glumly, what a great way to spend the Christmas weekend. No, not laughing with his family, not eating with his family. Nothing with his family. That ugly feeling at the bottom of his stomach was growing. A festering monster of mourning burrowed deep within him. It rooted itself firmly and was created from the sadness and fed by the past. It had replaced that pure happiness that glowed inside him so many years ago.
When the landlord opens the door, everything looks barren. He walks to his room. His fancy leather shoes start to scuff up the floorboards. Creaking noises from the boards are begging to be replaced. He suddenly remembers the loose floorboard. He bends down and lifts the panel. Little curled dried up worms scatter the cement underneath. One crinkled dollar lies there. He precipitously remembers the memory so clearly. He was so proud of himself for losing that tooth. He had hidden the dollar away, but then it was quickly forgotten. He now grasps it and then leaves telling the landlord there was nothing he wanted.
The crisp air invigorates him so he ambles down a street of New York. Buildings line the sidewalks and tourists light up when they spot a stand for soft pretzels or roasted chestnuts. The piercing bell for the Salvation Army rings through his head as he goes by a CVS. The desperate sound makes some people turn away with guilt, not wanting to donate while others turn away with the conceded illusion that they are far too important to be helping such a cause.
“Help the Salvation Army!! Really make it a Merry Christmas for all! Sir, please, donate!”
“Okay. I’d be happy to but I only have a dollar,” He says sullenly bringing out his only bill.
“Only have a dollar! Please Sir. That ‘only dollar’ will light up someone’s Christmas!”
“Haha, alright,” He stuffs the crinkled dollar into the thin slot of the bright red bucket.
“Thanks you Mister. You have changed somebody’s Christmas. Perhaps even yours.”