Yes, I have a quarter story along with my dime story. It all started as a child as I grew up in an abusive, alcoholic environment. My dad screamed constantly and used my mom as a punching bag...but that is a different story. This story focuses on the '2-bits' my dad used to pay me to clean the house...only I thought 2-bits meant 2 dollars, but he only ever threw quarters at me. Yes, THREW. It was his way. Derogatory and humiliating. I would empty ashtrays and he would throw two-bits on the floor. I would wash walls or rake the carpet and he would again throw two-bits at me. It was the way.
Well, when I was fourteen, my mom finally took us out of there after an almost deadly beating. No more two-bits for me. Fast forward 9 yrs. It was a 'normal' day at my job at Superstore. I JUST got back from being away for 6 weeks due to a back injury I had, so the supervisors were quite unhappy with all my time off. I was on lane 25 which is an express lane. It was a busy sunday morning. One of my customers paid me with change and I noticed a very beaten up, almost black quarter. I had to have it....I had never bought a quarter in the last 7 yrs. of working there, but right then and there, I showed him how I was swapping the quarter in my pants for his beaten up quarter. He probably had no idea why on earth I would want it...it was just something about it. The day went on normally and I finished my 9-1 shift. I drove home to my grandma's where I was living at the time only to see a scene I had only once imagined (that is a different story). All was eerie. My grandfather was peeking through the door window waiting for me. I was uneasy, my stomach was turning as I had seen this scene before. I knew what was happening. He led me past the kitchen where all my family stood, staring at me. It was completely quiet...until my grandpa told me what I knew he was going to tell me...my mother had died last night. My life just changed forever and I wailed on and off for months.
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