Dear T. Simonson (Bus Pass #14457),
I didn’t want to say anything, but the way you were looking at me yesterday morning (as you waited for the 7:03 West 3rd Avenue Commuter bus), I was sure you were going to pick me up. But you didn’t.
Today, it was the same thing. In the seven minutes you waited for the bus, you looked at me eleven times. At least. You wanted to make a move, but something held you back.
I’ll let you in on a secret. There’s no need to hesitate — I want to be with you too. It’s just that, as a penny, I can’t come to you. You’ve got to take the first step.
Are you afraid to be seen with me because I’m on the street? I haven’t always been. Three days ago I was in the loving care of Mr. Arthur Middington, until he dropped me when someone asked for spare change. I don’t blame him, he never saw me fall. But that’s how quickly things happen. One moment I had a home, the next I was flat on my back on the cold, hard sidewalk.
I’m a hardy sort, so the wind and rain don’t bother me, but I miss the company of other coins. In pockets we’d mingle, rubbing edges and sharing stories of our travels. How I long for the comfort of a warm, dry pocket.
I’m not made of wood, you know. I’ve got feelings. My materials alone are worth two cents, and here you can have me for free. But somehow that’s not good enough.
It’s not like I’m tails up (shameful behavior — waving your backside in the air like that), so why don’t you want me? Would things be different if I were in the “Take a Penny” tray? Would that make me respectable?
If you still don’t want me after all I’ve said, at least help me find a home. Drop me in a tip jar, give me to a homeless person, I’d even be okay with you throwing me in a fountain. Just don’t leave me out here on the street. You know the saying, “Every penny counts?” Well, it’s true. I count. I matter. I may be a penny, but I deserve better than this.
People talk about saving money, well here’s your chance. Save money — save me. Pick me up, put me in your pocket, and get me back into circulation. And if you wanted to hold on to me for a while, I’d be okay with that.
I know it’s been a few years since I left the mint, and I may no longer be the prettiest or the shiniest, but there’s no such thing as a bad penny. If there were, we wouldn’t be called tender. So why not take chance? The way I look at it, you’ve got nothing to lose.
See you tomorrow.
Signed,
Penny
