Uniqueness is not what most people think when they see me. Individual, ha, I used to be reproduced hundreds of thousands of times a day and some of those clones were illegal. To be fair, I don’t really care, because I am a novelty nowadays. In the eighties, I was crisp – some would say innocent – and useful. It was a different time – literally – and I was freshly minted and excited. Then again, that could have been from all the cocaine flowing through my body. I spent two years with the same guy; I had fun… a lot of fun. Tons of naked women, a few men, and I believe a chimpanzee twice – I can’t really tell if it was the same one.
There are a lot of impostures and sanctioned reproductions. It was hard to run away from what I was because of my face. That face was my identity, but that identity was subservient to the number one that was plastered in each corner of my body… these symbols denoted my rank in society: cheap, easy, and light weight. The cheap was obvious. Easy, well, there was a reason I was the most duplicated in the world (no one looked twice at me and my clones). Lightweight? You try carrying around rolls of pennies.
It only took a couple of years before my body was destroyed, not fully crippled. By destroyed, I mean I transferred roles in society for the first time. Cocaine still laced my body, you couldn’t see it, but it was in between the fibers. What are you going to do, sometimes it doesn’t wash completely out. All that abuse left me flimsy and useless to my man. So, he traded me for a pack of gum; I was insulted but began my new role in society. For the first time, I wasn’t something, I was value… sanctioned value… legal tender. Then there was my life’s montage: first thing I went into was Tron, and then the rest: Pepsi thirty times, CocaCola ninety two times, Dr. Pepper three times, change machines two thousand nine hundred three times, vending machines galore (not nearly as much as the change machines), and one lemonade stand. To be honest, it was fun getting touched by so many people but it took its toll on my body.
If you looked into my eyes, you would see: the one in the top corner was gone, an x (from being folded so many times) was across the center of my face, I had grown a mustache (complements of a snotty little child and his father’s pen), and various other nicks and bruises. Basically, time had ravaged me and chose not to take me to dinner first. After all of this, I assumed that I would keep my place in society as a transitional medium. You know, traveling around the world – humans would be jealous of the time I spent in a backpack traveling Europe – but it wasn’t meant to be.
This realization that life wasn’t infinite came when I failed to be of use to my owner. She had kept me in her wallet for a couple of months (none of my wounds healed). Eventually, two twenties, a ten, nine ones, and me were pulled from the wallet. It was bright and smelled of dog feces, a black lab was looking at me. As she counted the stack of money, I slipped out, and her son yelled, “Mom, you dropped a dollar.”
Her response showed where I was in life, “It’s fine… Ug, I don’t have enough in cash. Do you take credit card?” Boom! There it was, credit card to purchase a dog. Hell, legal tender was no longer good to purchase another living thing. I knew I was done. As the dog chewed on me, a few holes appeared but I never died. It is hard to kill something that isn’t alive.
Eventually, the mom bent down and grabbed the dog’s leash and me from its mouth. She slid it into her pocket with a groan. Now, I wasn’t just damaged, I was wet. All of these properties made me what I was – for once – I was an individual. But, I wasn’t recognized yet. On the way home, the daughter of my owner was outside in a lemonade stand. But how could you know this being in a pocket? Relax, I will explain because it is when I truly became an a permanent piece of property in someone’s life.
The window opened and I heard the mom say, “How are the sales honey?”
“Mom! No one want’s my lemonade, no one”—she began to crescendo—“no one, no one!” A stamp from her feet bounced from the concrete. I noticed her pigtails were held together by mismatched ribbons and so did the mom.
“Dear, did dad help you with your pig tails?” The little nodded as her brow remained furrowed. The mom smiled as she cooed, “I am glad no one bought any lemonade!” Her voice curled around the girl.
“Why?” The daughter’s voice was pouty and matched the slowly dripping tears.
“Now I can be your first customer.” Her tone was very energetic for someone about to get lemonade.
Like flipping a switch the daughter’s tone became electrified with happiness, “That’s a dollar ma’am!” And boom! That was the beginning of my individualism. The scarred, wet, and smelly dollar filled with cocaine was now something unique. I was no longer a sum of properties!
“Gross, why’s it wet?”
“Our new puppy got a hold of it!”
“It smells. Do you have any new ones? I want a crisp one!” If I had hands, I would have strangled her.
“Yes, but that is your first dollar ever. We will frame it, don’t worry, no smell.” That is how I became me. A glass frame with “My First Dollar” etched into the glass made me something that couldn’t be replaced. I became something fantastic, I became HER first dollar. And no other dollars could replace me, I transcended my parts, my attributes, my properties! Instead of being a cocaine tube, I was this little girl’s first dollar.
It was a long time before I was on display, but I eventually was front and center. It was great, I outlasted frames, animals, writing utensils, and even desks. Now, right now, I am sitting on her desk in between two pieces of glass. At this very moment, I have to sit here and watch this stranger stare at me. I wish I could close my eyes.
“I haven’t seen one of these in ages.”
“My dollar?”
“Yea, God, I’m glad we got rid of such an antiquated habit and yours”—fuck you too, buddy—“smells. What are all the holes?”
“Those are him, her, or it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Those imperfections, those blemishes, each attribute that makes it different, are what makes that my first dollar. There is only one in the world.”
“There are some in museums and things like that.” He kept looking at me like people look at fish in aquarium. If I was a dog, I would have bitten his nose clean off.
“Yea, but those aren’t my first dollar. There is only one of those and it’s sitting right there.”