waste

He spends the quarter out of rage.

It’s a pointless trinket—a pointless act of rebellion—but he’s at a Safeway, his grandparents in the household cleaning aisle, and he wanders back out toward the entrance and sees the machine offering shitty little necklaces for twenty-five cents. And he thinks, yeah, sure. Not like he’d use the quarter anyway.

The designs are stupid. Unnecessarily edgy. There’s one that has a skull and bones pendant. Another that has army dog tags. His dad had never been a fan of the military. Said that greed and murder were the worst sins mankind could commit. Well, his dad’s not here to stop him, now is he?

He shoves the quarter into the machine, pulls the crank till it spits a capsule out. He takes it. Opens it. Sees a dumb-looking monster truck with flames coming out of the tailpipes.

Stupid. Stupid. He didn’t even get the goddamn dog tags. What a waste of a quarter. What a waste of a gesture, telling him they’re on the same team. What a waste this has all been—all this waiting, keeping this fucking thing, thinking he’d actually come back and—

When his grandparents finally find him, he’s crying, an employee trying to comfort him, and he’s clutching the necklace like his life depends on it.