The Pebble Collector

My name is Melanie, and I am a pebble collector. It's as simple as it sounds. My complete collection amounts to maybe enough to cover the bottom of a medium-sized fish aquarium. I would place them all into one but adopting fish would require a level of commitment that I am just not prepared to take-on at this stage in my life.

I also enjoy combing the ground for treasure. The smaller the better you see, since I live in a studio apartment and have little room to spare. I also enjoy collecting tarnished coins and discarded ticket stubs. The kind of tidbits you would find laying around on sidewalks, in parking lots or gutters. I don’t consider myself to be a hoarder or anything crazy like that. And to prove it to anyone reading this, not excluding myself, I limit my entire collection to one medium sized wooden box. To further demonstrate my complete sanity, I have on many occasions, disposed of less eye-catching treasures to make room for what I consider to be much prettier ones. I hope that I have made my point.

I have found many coins, and the coins I have found consist mostly of pennies. Collecting coins seems like risky business to me. Yet, I remain up for the challenge and I am always cautiously on the lookout. To protect myself, I am careful that each coin I find is face-up before I pick it up completely. If a coin is tails-up, I risk catching bad luck. So, I'm diligent in turning every coin to the heads-up position first. I then wait a moment or two for each coin's luck to change before I claim it. I am a little superstitious but not a lunatic.

Once, I found a dollar bill amongst a pile of leaves. This was a real find indeed. Yet, a dollar bill is far too large to be added to my collection. When I placed it inside the wooden box, it simply refused to blend in with all the other small treasures and seemed to defy the very principle of being part of a collection entirely. Folded, it seemed to raise up defiantly, and laid flat it appeared even more brazen. And it was in such bad condition, dirty, worn and tattered beyond redemption. To add further insult, I had the darnedest time spending it. I could not get anyone to accept it. Finally, after a week or so of trying, a hot dog vendor took it reluctantly after he had already prepared the dog I ordered. I hardly thought that scraping off the mustard and relish and placing the hotdog back on the grill would have been an option he wanted to consider. And even so, I lied and told him that it was the only bill I had on me. Finally, I was able to free myself from the worry of it.

Today was an especially lucky day for me. I was walking to work through the busy financial district. As always, I left early so I could spend time combing the ground for treasure on the way. It was on my way when something caught my eye. An unusually intense reflection in the late-afternoon sunlight. A flicker just bright enough to catch my peripheral vision. I stopped dead in my tracks and there I stood; on the sidewalk examining a distant flash while, what seemed to be, a hundred cars and trucks whizzed past me on their way to who knows where. On careful inspection it appeared like someone was trying to get my attention by shining a red laser pointer directly at me. The bright red beam of light was undoubtedly emanating from a sewer grate which was sadly positioned in the middle of the street.

But after a time I reassessed. I determined that it was certainly a reflection rather than something that was self-illuminating like a tiny flashlight or pointer, or any kind of battery powered what-cha-ma-call-it. Because each time a vehicle passed by it, between the source of it and the sun, the illumination went out. How I wanted to run out into the street and peer into the grate. The traffic, however, was just too heavy and the nearest crosswalk was a half block away. I glanced at my cellphone and it was nearing six p.m. Could the timing be worse, at least no Johns had stopped to ask for a date, so at least there's that. So, with a heavy heart I pointed my thigh-high boots toward Foxy’s Strip Club and hurried off.

There was simply nothing else I could do. After all, it would do no one any good if I were late on a Friday night. Sam, as always, would be waiting for me at the back door. How he seemed to worry if I were even one minute late; for no good reason that I could understand, but he did.

I glanced back at the reflection one more time. But it seems that I must have peered at the mysterious object longer than I had thought, because when I glanced at my cellphone for a second time, I discovered that I was now running late. Out of necessity, I began to hurry. I focused straight ahead and moved my hips quickly, elongating my legs with each stride to cover more sidewalk. I few men let out a whistle, but I paid them no mind, not that I ever did. A street performer shouted, “Hey, Wonder Woman, slow down and save me!” Another distraction that I will simply ignore.

I crossed Main Street in seconds and rounded a few more buildings. Surprisingly though, Sam was not standing by the back door. Instead, he rushed up behind me out of breath. “Always on time. Always fine,” he said roughly.

“You know it,” slipped from my lips because it just seemed like the correct reply. I had listened to the art of small talk for some time now and simple replies always seemed to be received better than longer ones. I knew I was a few minutes late but I seemed to underestimate Sam's loyalty in watching over the dancers at the club.

Sam opened the door, and I strode forward without slowing. I smiled and he nodded as he made a sucking sound through his front teeth. I guess outwardly this interaction could be perceived as somewhat sexy. Sam appeared to be the epitome of stylish or hip and my coat and boots were new and supposedly trendy. What was the current term for cool today? I wondered.

I then headed straight toward a small sign that read Employee Area Only and pushed through a filthy red door. Sandra greeted me in the dressing room. She was smoking with one hand, and had her leg resting high up upon a chair as she shaved a few stray hairs near her G-string with the other.

“Hey. Do you mind handing me that towel?” she asked as she pointed to a grungy towel just out of her reach.

“Electrolysis, have you ever tried it?” I asked.

“Mel, I have four kids to feed. Let me know when they’re giving it out for free.” She then wiped a patch of shaving cream off her thigh. “Cheryl called in sick again. When Craig hears he’s likely to blow out another vein in his eyeball.”

I stored my bag in a drawer and unbuttoned the trench coat I was wearing and hung it up. “I will,” I replied before applying another layer of lipstick and completing a final 360 in the mirror.

Sandra stubbed out her cigarette with a curious look. “Will what?”

“Let you know if I come across any free offers.”

“You do that.”

At the end of the night, I was tired. The club had been unusually busy and the thought of the red reflection from earlier had bothered me for hours. It vexed me while I danced on stage, and I was certain that none of the lap-dances I gave were nothing to write home about. No matter how hard I tried, I just could not get the thought of it out of my head. I pulled on my coat and headed toward Sam who waited for me at the back door.

“You ready to go Melanie?”

“Yes.”

Sam took a small black book out of jacket pocket and flipped through the pages until he settled on one of his liking.

“540,” I reported.

“Wow,” Sam said with a grin. “Looks like you owe the house…” Sam tilted his head as he computed. “162.” He licked the tip of a short pencil and logged 162 under Melanie’s name. “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do with all that cash?”

I thought about his unusual question for a moment and replied, “Just live, I guess.” The question was unusual particularly because Sam had never asked me any questions before.

“At the Newhouse? That place is a dump. What do you do with the rest?”

Confused as I was that Sam knew where I lived, there was something very harmless about Sam’s questioning, so I answered honestly. “I save it.”

“For what?”

“So, I can retire… somewhere peaceful, maybe near a beach, somewhere I can spend all day on hobbies.”

“Like collecting those pebbles, I see you picking up. But why? What’s your angle? You know they are worthless, right?”

“Not to me.” I resented Sam calling my treasures worthless. But I tried to remind myself that some people just couldn’t see the beauty that existed all around them. My feelings on the matter, however, must now be showing on my face because Sam quickly closed the book and slid it back into his suit jacket.

“Sorry Melanie. To each his own I like to say.”

I pulled a large wad of pre-counted bills out of my bag and handed it to Sam, who slipped it into his pant pocket.

“You know if it was up to me…" Sam shrugged, and then his face turned deadly serious as he asked softly, "Melanie, would you mind if I walked you home?”

“Sam, what is your angle?”

“Never mind.” Sam said dismissively.

I forced a smile on my face and exited. But, before I could get more than two steps away, my heart sank in my chest. Placing my hand over my heart, I felt it pounding. I took a deep breath and I knew. He was standing there alone, and I could feel his eyes caressing my back, a feeling that was somehow both familiar and strange to me. I have never been an impulsive person but this time something was different. I turned to see Sam watching me and asked, “Well, are you coming?”

Sam lit the door close and stepped closer, taking my hand into his. He then leaned closer and whispered into my ear, “A cop told me late last night about an extraordinarily rich jeweler who was robbed in the financial district just a few blocks from here. They caught the thief within a few hours because they caught the whole thing on camera. The guy stole three red diamonds worth over ten million each and only two were recovered. It appears that nobody knows if one of diamonds was dropped when the jeweler put up a fight or after the thief ran off. Either way, the cops can't find it and seem to be writing it off. AND, I know what you are thinking.” Sam smiled and reached around me to hold on to me tightly. “I followed you to work this afternoon, because I knew if anyone could find a lost treasure in this city it would be you, and you did.” With his free hand, Sam lifted his small black book out of his jacket pocket and tossed it into a nearby trash dumpster. “I know where there is a beautiful beach. It has tiny seashells, the most colorful pebbles and even beautiful sea glass….”

The End

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