you're reading...
The Old Lady in My Bones

The Trouble with Money

The actors came rushing in for their call time. I was swept up in their exhilaration, and memories of my own time on the stage came swooping in around me. My girlfriend formed her own theatre company and I volunteered to help her with box office on her debut show. I dressed for the occasion, looking as professional and elegant as only the theatre can demand – stylish dress pants, a smart jacket over a chemise, silver heels, hair elegantly swept off my neck, topped with sparkly earrings dangling from my ears. I was glamorous. The only trouble was the old lady had gripped my hands with her hot swollen fingers and refused to let go.

I sat behind a white folding table with a metal box jammed with money and tickets. The first customer arrived.

“How many for this evening,” I smoothly asked.

“Three please.”

I lifted the lid of the metal box, reached inside and fumbled with the thick paper of the tickets, not knowing if I had one or two in my feeble grip; as I pulled them out, one slipped from my grasp and scattered across the table. My hands shook as I awkwardly counted back change. My fingers refused to grip the bills; they slipped away from me and floated down to my feet; my poise diminished as I reached for some coins and sent them scattering across the table and jangling down to the floor. A quarter bounced off one customer and went flying across the small entrance hall. “I bet you didn’t think you’d have money thrown at you tonight, did you ?” I joked to absolute silence. I felt the heat of embarrassment flood my cheeks as I hastily handed tickets and money to waiting customers and scuttled them up the stairs to the theatre. I got down on my hands and knees on the cold floor beneath the table and proceeded to pick up the delinquent coins, but they refused to stay between my fingers. A few more scattered towards the door and the base of the stairs. I cursed the old lady, my swollen hands, and those slippery coins that refused to come back to the box. I knocked my head underneath the table, dislodging my carefully coiffed hair; it hung down around me like a wild horse’s mane. My pants were covered in dust. A couple walked in while I crawled around muttering to myself. I came face to face with a pair of posh male shoes and a pair of shimmering copper sling backs. I peeked out at them from beneath the folding table, gave my best smile to their perplexed faces, and said, “I’ll be right with you…”

About J.G. Chayko

I am a writer living on the beautiful West Coast in Vancouver B.C. I am a poet at heart but also write prose, fiction and creative non-fiction. In my thirties, while working for a Rheumatology clinic, I was diagnosed with early Rheumatoid Arthritis. I created " The Old Lady In My Bones" to share my experience living with this disease and to create an awareness that arthritis touches people of all ages, not just the elderly.


No comments yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: