Flat Pennies

Remember when we used to flatten pennies on the train tracks down at Titlo Beach? We wanted to flatten the copper structure but increase their value in our memories. We used to hold hands in that perfect dream park where the trails lead deep into an unperturbed wilderness and the only people, other than ourselves smoking hookah, were joggers and exhibitionists displaying a talent and love for nature’s confusion as a window into our societal confusion as of present.. The pilings on the other end of the beach lead nowhere. They cried for purpose unfulfilled. They are pillars to mock our wasted youth. We are left to siphon through millions of tons of sand for sea glass and to conjure up our own importance for such smooth beer-bottle gem stones and meaningless pilings, tree trunks rooted deep under sea, unnaturally aligned in some foreign harbor existence. Now they are relics. Do you remember what it feels like to be lifted off of your feet? Do you know the weight of your body when compared to the velocity of a passenger train?

Are those flattened pennies buried with you?

That park belonged on top of clouds rather than in dominance of cloud coverage. Are you used to the rain? Can you still feel pain?

Golden retrievers running and fetching, a carousel of unwarranted emotion and the days spent with time alone for the kids was wasted indifferently in the great yawning abyss… the pebbles shone so perfectly in that aquatic seafood restaurant. We counted and read up on the history of places with infectious resolve. My father and I.

Our families so alike, traumatic brain injury and all. One, god damn it, a childhood friend. Destroyed by memories of passing trains and car accidents. The weight of technological break through at the end of the world. Passing on traditions of horrific ways to pass on while maintaining an existence less futile than prior. An accident can shape a life. Most accidents define us or at least our boundaries. Many aren’t fortunate enough to realize the difference.

I’m still there with you. Flattening pennies because the vending machines only took those elongated pennies for the temporary tattoos. You weren’t old enough for anything permanent but I knew you always wanted one. Rest in peace, my dear, but I am much too young for this to last my whole life… though I am too young, I know this will hang over me. You are dead somewhere else… beyond life. and I live on, in a delirium of false promises and irresolute detail. I miss you but I can’t afford to. The name was never disclosed, therefore the story never happened.

You don’t know me anymore.

I left you the last time I flattened pennies.

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