To Give, or Not to Give (P. 1)

I have written a memoir recently, and seeing as I have posted nothing nonfiction so far (story-wise) here is the first part. It was written to make the author totally anonymous, so it is in the third person. I also find that more amusing to write about an event that occured to me from an outside point of view.

 

 

As most stories open with “Once upon a time,” that is how we will begin. So here we are:

            Once upon a time, there was a girl. We can call her Polaris. Polaris began her pin collection when she was seven years old, in the year 2007. In the beginning there were four pins: the Coco-Cola bottle, the Build-A-Bear with a party hat and balloon, and two buttons that were acquired on a tour. But, like all good collectors, Polaris was not satisfied with only four pins. Oh, no, four wasn’t nearly enough! So she decided to collect at least ten pins in a year. This way by 2012 (which seemed so far away that it surely could never come) Polaris would be the proud owner of fifty pins!!!

            You may have noticed that is 2012. Polaris now has seventy-nine (and counting) pins.

            On a Saturday morning, before anyone else had woken up, Polaris separated her pins into groups: Flags and Countries, Freebies, Bought Just ‘Cause, Museums and Landmarks, and, finally, Gifts.

The “Gifts” group was certainly the largest. 

As Polaris ran her fingers through the pins given to her, she thought about the people that had left a mark on her through pins. The man at the church tag sale was definitely big.

 

It was summer vacation. The air was alive yet heavy with the aroma of grass and leaves and sunshine. Polaris’ mother was having one of her “days”. This meant that she dragged Polaris to every tag sale within a ten-mile radius. Not that she minded the “days”. They were amusing enough, with a reasonable amount of excitement and discovery.

While her mother looked at the plates and potholders mugs and teapots and all of those other lovely things that mothers have the special fondness of wasting money on, Polaris wandered over to a canopy that was set up over a few tables which were arranged in a rectangle around the owner. He was thinly built, with curly black hair that framed his weathered face and skin the color of ebony. The man’s fingers fiddled with the trinkets and necklaces laid out in little boxes scattered across the table. Polaris quickly scanned it and to her delight, found a section with pins that were small and seemingly inconspicuous amongst the colorful jewelry.

“How much are these?” Polaris asked him.

“Fifteen cents each, or two for twenty cents,” muttered the man, glancing up quickly.

She fished around the section and picked out two pins. One was a small world with eight children of different races standing on it and holding hands. There was another one that had the words “Jesus 2000” shaped in gold-colored metal. She pulled out a dime from her bag and handed it to the man, but couldn’t find another one.

“I only have a quarter here. Let me keep on looking.” Polaris put the unpaid for pin, the second one, down on the table and began to push aside the contents on her purse.

“’S okay,” the man murmured as she dug around. He picked up both pins and pressed them into her palm. “’S only a dime. You can keep that one if you like.”

Polaris was at a loss for words. “Thank you,” was all she could whisper before her mother called her away. When she looked out the window of the car Polaris thought that she could see him smiling to himself.

Polaris ran her finger over the shining pin that seemed to some worth fifteen cents, or less.

“You can keep that one if you like.”