Two Dollars

Today’s prompt: “Two dollars isn’t a lot of money, unless…”

Unless you’re running sound for a play and your mom calls during the first act and she doesn’t usually call you, usually she texts, and so you know something’s up, and you know exactly what it is, because your grandma was hospitalized a few days ago, and she’s been in hospice since then, and you visited her yesterday and she was just lying in bed unresponsive and didn’t even have a wig on, and the whole time you were there she didn’t say anything except moan when the nurses came in to turn her and give her more morphine, so even though you let the phone call go to voice mail you know without looking at the transcription on your phone that your grandma is dead, and during intermission you call your mom, and when you hang up you start crying, and you grab your purse and go to the bar inside the theater and you order a whiskey, and you stare for about five seconds at the Square screen asking for you to pick an amount for a tip before selecting two dollars. Two dollars is a decent tip, but more than that, that two dollars takes on a certain meaning and significance. The same meaning and significance that the gum on the sidewalk you stared at took on while you were outside talking to your mom. The same meaning and significance that your grandmother’s wigs took on when they were both sitting on top of her minifridge in the middle of the day yesterday.

Ordinarily I’d be talking about your death today, not my grandmother’s. In the grand scheme of things, your death was probably much more interesting, what with all the buzz saws and the alligators. But I’m afraid I just don’t have the emotional capacity for yours right now.