Making Cents
11.27.00



White Jacket Man did more than just drop off the bundle this time. It was
Monday, drop-off day, and that was okay. Everything else wasn't. He didn't just
tip his hat and go away. Instead, White Jacket Man pulled a little red square
of metal out of his pocket, and used a screwdriver and everything, and when he
was done, he'd ruined Gina's world forever. 

She pretended not to notice the change, but the metal caught the early morning
sun of the station, blaring louder to her eyes than the speakers announcing
arrivals and departures. Gina's fingers were startled birds, pecking at her
olive-green triangle of a hair scarf. For all she was worth, she kept her eyes
away from the square. She got out the special knife
(thatyoubetterbecarefuloryouwillcutyourgoddamnedfingersoff) and cut the frail
piece of smudged white twine from around the bundle, freeing the newspapers up
for her to put into her special metal basket. Gina took two at a time, not
three, and presented them to the wire frame, lining the edges up with the wire
two squares in. This took time. She couldn't rush it. 

"Got your change here," someone said. Gina couldn't look up. The second
newspaper was giving her trouble. This was a terrible Monday. She could feel
her teeth start to itch.

More people flickered through her stand, dropping coins and wandering off. She
heard one of them curse, said that word she can't say, and it made her look.
She didn't mean to. Her eyes caught the red piece of metal and she was stuck.
Now, only someone touching her would free her. She couldn't just look away
because that would be bad. She had to follow the rules.

The metal square was new. Very new. It had black paint or something covering
it. Gina wanted to pick it all off with her nails, but that was bad, or so said
White Jacket Man. He took away her job once for a week because of the black
paint. She didn't mean to pick it all off, but once a piece stuck to her
fingernail, the rest seemed out of place. Her Momma got her the job back, and
she was very thankful, especially when Momma told her to be thankful. But this
wasn't about the square. 

Gina looked at the numbers and knew they were wrong. Someone had moved them
around. This was terrible. This was all wrong! Her teeth itched so bad she had
to put all her fingers in her mouth to get them. Someone tapped her on the
shoulder.

"Hey, when did the price change?" 

She wasn't finished scratching her teeth, so Gina had to talk around her
fingers. The man with the bristlebush face made bug eyes at Gina's fingers.
Maybe he was a Bad Man. She walked back to her bundle of newspapers, which
seemed smaller than before, but that happened all the time. It was the magic of
it. The White Jacket Man didn't understand this as much, but he just took what
he needed out of her purse when he was mad. 

"Hey, I'm talking to you. Are you deaf?"

Gina shook her head. People asked her this all the time. She knew the answer
was "no." 

"When did the newspaper price change? I got one here Friday for fifty cents,
and now it's sixty-five? What gives?"

Gina's feet got heavy. She couldn't walk away. This was one of those bad things
again. 

"Idontknow," Gina mumbled. At least he'd touched her shoulder. She didn't have
to look at the red metal square. There were birds loose in the station again.
She saw some birds scraping V's in the air, It hurt her thoughts.

"That just sucks, huh? Paper going up? I should stop buying it. Look, I've only
got seventy-five cents. Can you make change?"

One of those birds flew into Gina's stomach and flapped around like crazy. She
felt the little things start tickling bad. Her teeth? They were out of control.
Once, early on, the White Jacket Man made her sell candy bars, and they cost
eighty-five cents. She couldn't make the change. It hurt her head too much to
count out the little dime and the nickel. The man wouldn't go away, though.

Gina shook her head. 

"Man, what a rip! You tell those bastards they're robbers, okay? Tell them
that!" He slapped the three quarters down on top of Gina's bundle. They were
shiny like the sunlight. But there was one too many. Gina counted again. Three.
Three not two. It should be two. Two newspapers, two quarters each. Two. Never
three. She couldn't even TOUCH the other one. 

The rush was just about to happen. Gina knew this like she knew her address was
115 Maple Street. She hadn't even moved more than two papers into the basket.
She had to hurry, but hurrying meant counting the tiles. Oh God. This was
Monday. Today WAS Monday, right? Gina wanted to go to bed. Sleepy. She felt the
birds push her eyes closed from across the big station. But no, the White
Jacket Man wanted her to sell these papers, and her Momma wouldn't give her
money for Orange Soda or Snickers bars. She felt like it was all going to
explode.

Gina looked at the three coins on top of the stack. She saw the birds. Two of
those, too. It couldn't change. Gina stretched her finger out as long as she
could and pushed one of the quarters off onto the floor. She put the other two
in her little coin box. Then, she was able to get at the newspapers to carry
two over to the basket again. This all worked.

People came through, saw the sign, and cursed, but Gina followed right behind
with a big smile and held up two fingers. 

"Two quarters," she said, her smile big as the birds in the sunlight.

People looked surprised, and sometimes complained about the confusion, but Gina
wasn't hearing it. She felt perfect. She didn't look once more at the little
red square of metal with its "6" and its "5" and its "c" thing. She just held
up two fingers, said, "Two quarters!", and had one of the best days she could
remember. She could almost taste the orange soda.

***

Chris Brogan
chris@chrisbrogan.com

www.chrisbrogan.com