Paper

A few months ago, Jadyn DeWald asked me to participate in a reading on campus. I debated reading something about Frank Yerby or Lillian Smith; however, I chose, instead, to write a short story. Below is the story that I wrote. It is entitled “Paper.”

The numbers, crookedly locked up in an invisible column in the middle of the page against a sea of white, added up to $1,024. Nothing except the individual cost of each item and the overall tabulation stared up at me from the scrap of paper he handed me at the end of our transaction. I took the paper and folded it neatly, placing it into my coat pocket. No telling when someone may stop me and ask, “Are those yours?” I had to keep the receipt on me until I could label them as my own.

When I saw the advertisement for the sale in the paper a few weeks ago, I knew I had to be there, so I came into town specifically for these items and I’d be damned if anyone thought they could take them away from me because I didn’t have that proof tucked neatly in my pocket. This was the largest sale in the region, and everyone came to it, driving in from all over the river valley. I saw people I hadn’t seen in ages gathered around waiting for the auctioneer to pound that gavel and get the festivities underway.

I went wanting to take seven or eight of the items home with me, but I only ended up with five. Not bad, but not quite what I’d hoped for…