Friday Story -Moneyclip.
The morning was golden. Birds flew overhead. They were probably singing. Tui’s, Piwakaka or whatever other native birds that chose to welcome the day with their song. It wasn’t one Ben chose to listen to. His headphones played the Pixies ‘Where is my head?’ at near maximum volume as he skated down Francis St, past Saturday morning houses, beneath a canopy of trees that touched heads and outstretched fingers from either side of the road. Hard green plastic wheels spun as he curved snakelike, from one side of the tar seal to the other. The birds ignored him and kept on singing as he passed. He drifted easily between the golden leaves with their growing tips curling as the day sucked the life from them. His wheels groaned as they skidded to a halt, having pushed his board sideways with his feet.
There was something shiny above a storm drain jammed with autumn leaves. Last night’s rain had been and gone, wiping away the mistakes of a city, though had somehow been unable to push this one last thing away. Ben brushed the leaves aside, then gently picked it up. He’d stopped because he’d recognised it. His father’s silver money clip. An Indian chief in a traditional feathered head-dress emblazoned on a silver coin had been wielded to it. He spun it through his fingers, thought of his father pulling it out on family occasions, saw him whipping it out on other occasions that had nothing do with his family. It was a showpiece for him. Something different that his friends with wallets that no longer folded were forced to admire. He’d bore them all in a retelling of the need to move on, to leave the business cards, receipts and other reminders of things that nobody needed, behind. Ben thought the same could be said for the cash itself, but this seemed to escape his father. His father loved cash, preferring to fold, clip, then unclip, unfold and present his money whenever he could. Plastic he said was an evil that he was doing his small part to avoid.
Ben studied the money clip. He turned it gently in his hands from where he stood on the side of the road. The Pixies’ running guitars still vibrant in his head, prevented him from hearing or seeing the SUV, before the front of it collided and pulled him under it. The birds took flight. It wasn’t something they could ignore.
Ben’s mother hated Friday nights. She had worked all week and yet here she was, driving across town through traffic to drop off laundry that wasn’t hers, just to ensure that her husband would get fresh clothes for Monday morning. More than that, she hated Friday nights because more than often, he wouldn’t be there. Out with the team, the work thing. Though tonight, that was fine. It had been a shit of week and she had a bottle of Hendrick’s that would keep her company. She’d pick up Thai on the way home and watch the movie Netflix had sent through on her feed yesterday. He’d hate it anyway, and by the look of the clouds overhead, it would rain. She’d turn the fire on.
She put his shirt on the counter. It smelled of something she didn’t wear though she ignored it, choosing to cover it with a blazer that needed the same treatment. The lady who served her said ‘Hello Karen.’ Karen smiled back, though hated the fact she never knew her name. The women shook out the shirt and put it to one side, then did the same with the jacket, before searching the pockets. She studied Karen carefully as she placed a money clip and a thick silver ring on the counter beside them. It took a while for Karen to pick them up. She didn’t remember being told the clothes would be ready on Sunday night; or how the receipt had made it into her hand; worse yet, the steering wheel now in both her hands. She drove straight home, hungry, pausing briefly to let fresh air in while she threw the money clip out. She’d keep the ring, it was evidence.
He wasn’t there. She checked her phone. He’d left a message to say that he would be late; something had come up. She emptied cubes from the ice tray into a glass, submerged them in gin, then tonic and floated a thin circle of cucumber on top of it. She pulled Ben’s headphones from his head, before kissing him on the side of it. A third of the pizza sat in a larger crusted outline of a circle he’d already eaten from. Ben smiled back at her before the screen reclaimed his attention.
They’d argued the next morning. Him with his blurry eyes, not knowing where he was or what was being said. He’d done his best to defer the conversation, though Karen had hit him hard before he caught her wrists and threatened to walk away. Before she got hurt. Karen had cried. He’d consoled her. Brought her back from the brink of no return, denying what he could, promising what he couldn’t. Karen had listened. They’d talk it through, over a breakfast he would cook. He had asked about his money clip as Ben headed for the door. Karen watched Ben go, skateboard in hand, then saw him drop it beneath his feet, gather speed as he passed a woman she didn’t know, in an SUV parked across the road, before her husband circled her with his arms and she closed the door.
