a dollar bill by 2015 standards (maybe i can write, after all)

In high school English class we were assigned to write about something, and whatever that “something” was, it resulted in me writing an elaborate one-page story detailing the secret life behind a single dollar bill seen tumbling on the sidewalk.

I remember that my teacher loved that paper, and because I loved her I reread her glowing red-penned praise so much I memorized every word. Of course, I don’t know remember the exact words now, but I can tell you that the gist of her statement was that she liked my writing and I should keep doing it. And I always thought I would keep doing it…until I stopped.

And here I am, ten years later. I’ve spent a long time thinking of all the ways I’d like to write, and struggling to find the ideas. It’s hard being so out of touch with your own mind, so shut out from your own thoughts. I feel like I can’t do this anymore, but surely that’s not really true.

So here I am, ten years later. I try to channel the “me” that dashed out a winning essay so effortlessly, and when I can’t remember what past-Amy wrote about that silly dollar bill, I start to wonder what present-day-Amy might write.

A single, lonely dollar bill. Its body worn and lined, lying slightly crinkled on the sidewalk. I picture it: a corner folded over. A stray ink mark slashed across Washington’s face. Has it ever traded hands for a Coke? Has it ever been curled to do a line of coke? Has it ever been tucked into a stripper’s G-string? Do people tuck dollar bills at strip clubs? The word “tuck” feels a little too gentle and polite for environment I imagine at a strip club. Do people throw dollar bills carelessly at the gyrating body they enjoy the most?

Does the dollar-in-a-stripper’s-G-strings idea even exist in modern times? Maybe that’s an antiquated idea, like atlases and encyclopedias. Maybe strippers of today carry card-swipers attached to their G-strings, or stick QR codes on their butt cheeks.