Penny For Your Thoughts

1

"Penny for your thoughts." He appeared next to me, actually holding a bright copper penny in his hand.

"The minimum fee is a quarter," I replied. I was joking, of course, but before I could tell him that, he pocketed the penny and produced a dull quarter.

He held it precariously over the balcony railing, and I imagined it tumbling from his fingers down to the dark and busy street below, flipping through the air countless times until it became too small to see, possibly hitting someone in the shoulder or the head, all like a giant coin flip.

"Heads or tails?" I whispered.

"What was that?" he asked, and I snapped back to reality. The silver coin was still in his grasp. I plucked it from his fingers and tucked it into my jacket pocket, but I didn't say anything.

"Hey!" he said, feigning annoyance, although I knew he didn't care how many quarters he had to give me - he'd give me all the pocket change he had - if I would just talk. But I hardly ever did. I mean, what was there to talk about? Everything in the world was a disappointment and pretending otherwise was a waste of time. Among other things, I hated myself for hating myself. Here he was, trying to make me smile, trying to make me happy, and I could feel myself pushing back, forcing him away from me.

The reason? I was scared. Scared that someone would make the mistake of loving me only to realize that I was not worth loving, for I knew I was not worth loving. I wasn't worth anything, and foolish as it was, no one could convince me otherwise. Not even him and his abundant pocket change.