Troubles

While Brian is in the bathroom getting ready, I finish my breakfast and get up to do the dishes. I feel like I don't do enough around the house. I didn't help with the dishes yesterday morning, because Brian insisted I'd do my paper so I could hand it in first thing today. He said he's write a note explaining why I didn't do it on time. He hasn't written it yet, even though I finished the paper. I don't even know what he's gonna write. I'm gonna ask him not to write anything about my mom. I can't have the school know. Maybe he could write that it was my grandmother who died; the school doesn't know she died almost a year ago.

“Hey, how much-” he stops talking suddenly and I look up from a wet and soap-covered bowl.
“You don't have to do that.” He frowns at me, but with a smile on his lips. He shakes his head lightly.
“I was wondering, how much does a bus pass cost? Or whatever they're called,” he mumbles the last part as he waves his toothbrush around.
“I was thinking instead of buying a ticket every day that it oughta be possible to buy a ticket or card or something that lasts a whole month or two. You know?”

I think I've seen that you can get those, but I'm not entirely sure. I guess I could ask Security at the station and then tell them thanks while I'm at it. Then I could also get my clothes and give them the locker back. I feel like I owe them more than a simple 'thank you' but I don't have anything to give them.

I've gotta answer Brian.

“Uhm, I'm not sure. Maybe?” I say unsure. It would make sense if you could get a pass or something. But it would take a lot of work at Brian's store to pay for it.

“Well, here,” Brian says slowly and picks up his wallet from the kitchen counter. He pulls out a few bills, then shakes his head and stuffs them back in. I'm ready to breathe a sigh of relief, because truthfully, I feel guilty for taking his money, but I never get around to sighing.
“Take a 100. Then there's also money for lunch the next few days.” My eyes go wide – so wide that they hurt – when Brian holds a 100 dollar bill out for me to take. I've never held a 100 dollar bill in my hands. I've never held a 100 dollars, period.

As I reach for the bill, I notice that my palms are sweaty. My head is suddenly swimming with 'what if's'. What if I lose it? Or what if I get mugged? Some people can sense if you've got money on you – like that guy at the soup kitchen, the day Gerard found out – and they mug people if they smell a lot of money on them. Some people attack anyone with money; it doesn't matter how much. What if someone steals it, or worse: what if I drop it? What if it falls out of my pocket and flies away?

I take a bill, feeling utterly surprised at how light it is. It's no heavier than any other bill. The only difference between this and a one dollar bill is two zeroes; two huge zeroes; two huge zeroes that are larger than my eyes.

Brian says something, but it kinda blurs somewhere in my ears and turns into incomprehensible mumbles once it reaches my brain. I just nod, feeling like it's a time to nod, and Brian walks away without another word. I glance down at the bill, almost afraid to look at it.

But once I look at it, I'm mesmerized; I'm sucked in. It's as if the two zeroes extra makes the entire bill more green and... bigger. It's as if the oblong piece of green paper in my hands grow in size before my eyes, making it feel even lighter than before, because it now has a much bigger wingspread to fly on. It's as if the bigger the bill, the easier it is spent. It could so easily just fly away.

I look up ahead of me and spot Brian's wallet on the counter. I turn to look out into the hall, and I hear a door click shut. With a quick skip, I peak out the kitchen door and down the hall, seeing that the door to his bedroom is closed and the bathroom door is wide open. He must be changing.

Swiftly, I turn around and catch the sight of the wallet again. With my ears catching every little sound in the entire apartment, my still sweaty hands reach for the brown piece of leather and pick it up. I fold it open, revealing a long line of white plastic cards and a row of green paper bills. Without a sound, I take a 20 out of the wallet. I fold it up while I do some quick math.

2 times 5 is 10

5 times 5 is 25

I could do with 3.

3 times 5 is 15

15 plus 10 is 25

I take a ten dollar bill, seeing as there are no fives and quickly put the 100 dollar bill back inside the leather wallet, closing it up and putting it back where I found it. I quickly stuff the 30 dollars into my pocket and go over to the sink again, picking up the brush.

I still feel guilty for taking Brian's money, but at least I only took a fraction of what he gave me. I can't take his money. I feel I don't deserve them. I help out at the store, but that's only about 4 hours a day, and considering the minimum wage is about 7 dollars, I should only earn 30 dollars a day.

I frown at the bubbles briefly.

But then, I don't pay for living at Brian's place and I don't pay for any of the food that I eat here, nor for the toothpaste or the toilet paper or the water that I use. I pay for nothing, so I should get nothing from him.

I let go of the brush, letting it drown in the bubble-water. I then pull the ten dollar bill out of my pocket and put it back in Brian's wallet, before I turn to finish the dishes.