A Penny's Worth

For the fifth time in four minutes, she folded down the visor to look at herself in the mirror. Nothing had changed: the artificial orange car light still bathed her face revealing the same hopeful, light brown eyes. "What could possibly be wrong?" she asked the small reflective square out loud, as if it were possessed with magical powers. She blinked into her reflection. Nothing happened. Unconvinced, she gazed at it more intensely, as if, animated, it could talk back and reveal everything. "HONK!" The light was green. She snapped up the mirror, stepped on the gas, and glanced at the clock. Ten past seven; she was early.

As she pulled up to his apartment complex, she took a deep breath. "It will be different tonight. He's going to be different." She picked up her phone and called him.

"Adam! I'm outside! In your car!" she said in a calculated cheerful, but-not-too-cheerful, voice.

"You're early," he said sullenly, obviously unaffected by her unnatural rosiness.

"Yes… well… I mean, I anticipated taking longer …but then I didn't," she said as she looked down at herself in her green gown. Every meticulous detail was planted precisely in place. She was ready; she had been ready for nearly a month now. She could feel the broken pieces magnetically coming together once again. Wholeness was just barely out of reach, and tonight she would finally grasp it. Its abundance would fill her; its warmth would surround her.

"I'm not ready," he emitted tersely, as if he were stating something obvious, as if he was asserting his humanity.

"Oh… well… I'll just… um…"

"Come up, I guess," he said coldly; "I'll get you a drink," he abruptly added, subconsciously compensating for the icy tone he was beginning to sense in his own voice.
Aroused and edged-on by his precipitant warmth, she exuberantly responded with "Okay! Be right there!" Lightly, she danced into her parking spot, jumped out gracefully, and spun. "It's okay. He offered a drink – we're okay!" She floated up the stairs and knocked gently on his door. Her smile was ready, brighter than the ring upon her finger. It had been a long engagement.

He apathetically opened the door, his body loose, his eyes sharp. The blank face that avoided hers matched its surroundings: colorless and dull. Her smile dropped and she almost felt her ring slip off her finger as she lowered her arm in an attempt to embrace. Who was this stranger? He nodded her into the room, scanning her figure with a cursory glance. Even in his spiritless state, he could not help but notice that she looked more striking than usual. She was the brightest presence in the room, a shadow of a star that once guided him. He turned away from her.

With a professionally pressed smile, she promptly eclipsed the tears that swelled beneath. Underneath this coy mask, she jokingly ordered, in her most sultry voice, "A kamikaze, please." She walked lightly to the table, counting every step. He remained silent. The room was saturated with tension. Her flirtatious tone was left abandoned. She began to tiptoe, making sure her heels did not "click-clack" across the wood floors and interrupt the silence again. She was lost in a strange forest, and one wrong step might lead to a branch snapping, which might wake the bear. He opened the fridge and handed her a cheap beer. Head down, he could no longer look at her.
She set his keys down on the table; they clinked, she tensed, and he casually leaned against the wall. Barefoot and attired in a battered, old t-shirt, he served as a sharp contrast to her in her bright, elegant gown and her very complicated, painful shoes. Her copper hair seemed to glow as her vivacious heart beat faster in anxiety. She could not stand the silence any longer. She spoke her thoughts.

"Your keys seem to echo in this silent, empty room," was her playful, satiric crack. Her words rang too truthfully, enough to evoke a response.
"Glad you didn't wreck my car," he said. There was silence again.
She took a sip of the beer. He knew she hated this beer. Why was she drinking this beer? She took another sip, "So the doctor said that I—"

"We'll talk about this later. I need to change," he said abruptly. He walked away, paused, and finally turned around to look at her. Her heart lifted, he was going to say something! "Penny…" he began. She relaxed at the sound of his voice saying her name. Her mind rushed back to her vault of memories, back to quiet, sincere remarks, soft and warm. There was a time when she took these simple remarks for granted, a time when she smiled them off, and subtly glowed in his presence. His affection never hung in excess but it never hid in scarcity either. She liked it that way. She loved his sincerity. She loved everything about him! And now – now he was going to apologize for his coldness, thank her for her patience and loyalty, throw his arms around her, and praise Zeus, God, and Allah for putting her in his life. She grew radiant in anticipation. She looked up and her light brown eyes met his dark. "You're wearing too much make-up," he said. He turned again and walked back to his room. She finished her beer.

Fifteen minutes of heavy silence later, they walked to his car. Again, she pushed her feelings aside, playfully grabbed his keys from the pockets on his gray suit, forced a laugh, and facetiously insisted upon driving.

"No! Give me my keys back!" he said in an impatient huff.

"But you always drive!" she retorted back.
"I am the man. I drive… and besides, this is my car!"

"In six months it won't be. In six months it will be our car," she said silkily. This brief reminder of their upcoming marriage stopped him dead in his tracks.

"It's probably low on gas. You can drive to the gas station, but there's no way I'm letting my fiancée drive herself to her own engagement party. It's embarrassing and ridiculous," he said firmly. She felt as if he spat those last two adjectives blatantly in her direction. She ineffectively ignored this thought and hopped into the driver seat, as bouncy and as lighthearted as she could muster. She quickly flipped down the mirror again. This time the mirror answered all her questions in a glance. She could not think about that now. She flipped the mirror back up.

"Jesus! Slow down! That was a speed bump," her fiancé snapped.

"Sorry, sorry… I just, um… get nervous," she muttered. She was growing tenser.

"Okay, stop here. Now you want to take a left… no… not that lane… Penny! That was our highway! Penny!"
"I'm taking the back roads, the scenic way. It's prettier," she said matter-of-factly. He once loved her appreciation for the back roads. Besides, she did not think her sanity could handle the fast-pace of the highway. One look at his irritated face made her insides freeze. He hated her in the driver's seat and he hated her playing the navigator, the guide.

"There should be a gas station in about two miles…" he muttered coolly.
"Alright," she said too cheerily. She swallowed her ready tears. She ached for some sign of warmth, some caring gesture. A simple touch of his hand would suffice, or a soft word – anything!

"Penny! God, speed up!" he criticized. She was going the speed limit.

How could he not tell that she was falling apart? How could he not sense she was breaking? The pieces were shattering; the driving wheel was slick in her sweat. Her muscles twitched, her hands began to tremble. She thought she saw her ring dull as her hand feebly grasped the wheel.

"There's a gas station… pull over here. Penny, get yourself—yeah, there you go, watch it! Watch it! Slow down!" he said, as he harshly judged every minute flaw in her driving. The bump was slight, barely noticeable. Yet, she was visibly shaking now. "He's right," she dwelled, "I'm a pretty awful driver." She parked the car by the pump. She felt a strange, melting sensation as she opened the door and wilted onto the pavement. She had never felt so weak, so dependent.
They pumped the gas, switched seats, and drove again. The silence still ached. Penny timidly turned on the radio to the Eagle's "Lyin' Eyes." She looked over at him, almost awaiting a sudden reaction of disapproval. She breathed, alleviated. He remained motionless. For a moment, she relaxed and let the soothing guitar throw her back into memories of her six-in-the-morning-drives to high school, a time when she listened to this song over and over. Those roads were twisty and dark, her sister was usually asleep, but she was happy. Perhaps a little cranky and disjointed, but she was happier than she was presently, now in her well-rested, designer gown glory. She hummed to the words, "I guess ev'ry form of refuge has its price; and it breaks her heart to think her love is only given to a man with hands as cold as ice." Penny surprised herself with a sudden urge to slap him. Trembling, she lifted her hand, but instead, she gently set it upon his. He was not cold – no – just stiff. His fingers slowly began to loosen with her touch. She thought she saw him shiver and then relax. She could almost feel him return to himself as he began to hold her hand more fully. Naturally he began to open his palm, but then, suddenly, as if he was finally aware of what he was doing, he snapped back his hand and snarled, "How the hell am I supposed to drive with you holding my hand? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
Penny tensed. She could not leave those words hanging in the air. She quickly covered his explosion with, "So… thanks for letting me use your car for the doctor's today…"

"Yeah, there was no way your car could make that trip. It would surely die," he said with a slight hint of emotion. Penny colored with excitement at this hint of emotion, but she quickly realized her excitement was premature as he continued, "How many times have I told you to get the brakes replaced? They squeak loudly and it's annoying as hell. And why did you insist upon that doctor anyway? His office is on the polar opposite side of town. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I needed to see the best allergist. And Adam, I'm allergic to—"

"Penny. Think about how much gas you wasted. You probably could have saved almost ten dollars if you just got a second-rate doctor. But no, you had to have the best. You always want the best. You think you deserve the best, don't you?"

"...to dogs. I am allergic to dogs," she said quietly.

"What the hell. You're ridiculous. You see dogs every day! You edit for 'Pedigree Biweekly,' how could you have not noticed this? The reasons for your misery were right in front of you! God!" he shouted in his anger and raged forward, "How could you let yourself suffer like that? You had no right to complain! It was all your frinkin’ fault.”
"I… just didn't put two and two together…" she muttered. She never liked dogs anyway.

"Well, get your life together."

"I thought I was," she added, barely audibly. He did not hear her.

"Here we are," he said, as he pulled up to the Manor House, where their long awaited engagement party was being held. Mixtures of strange and familiar cars were parked around. He found a spot, parked, and before she could get adjusted, he was already opening her door. He almost smiled. "You ready?" he asked, as he took her hand and helped her step out. Penny stared at him blankly. This abrupt warmth startled her.

They walked towards the entrance. Old and young faces lit up as the couple approached them. She could tell he was beaming by the way everyone looked up at him and smiled back. She tried to imitate him, but her eyes felt like they took up too much space on her face. Her plump cheeks would surely push them out of their sockets if she so much as slighted her lips upward. She glided past people, hardly nodding. She had never felt more alone in her life.

"Penny!" she heard her Aunt Cindy exclaim, "You look as if you're scared as a deer on a highway! Smile! You've found the love of your life!" She heard the crowd chuckle and chatter behind her, "Aw! How cute she is! She is so nervous!"

She felt Adam’s hand on her waist, then his arm around her shoulders. Why did she feel she was an overdramatic actress in a cheap, tragic film? Why did that hand, that touch she deeply yearned for ten minutes ago, feel unnatural? Inside, bewilderment swelled; she was still stepping over branches in a dark forest.
They were greeted by more guests. Her parents, his parents, her brothers, his sisters, their friends from college – all those people she actually knew, were scattered amongst the crowd, serving as their ambassadors. "Mom truly went all out for this party," she thought. The champagne was opened, toasts were made, and people she had never met before spoke in a vibrant, enthusiastic melody. Everyone was smiling. "Aren't they sweet!" "Isn't he handsome," "And gosh! She's gorgeous," and, "I heard she went on a juice diet," were some of the frivolous mutterings she caught.

Her head was spinning. Why was everyone happy? Why was she not happy too? Emotions aside, she was thankful he was doing all of the talking for the both of them. She feared leaving him and being forced to start conversation on her own. "Why yes, Mrs. Gerald, yes, his job is impressive," was all she could mumble when he briefly left her side. Why was her smile incapable of reflecting his? She was still mirroring the cold stare he greeted her with, merely hours ago. She looked up at him for the first time since they left the car. His eyes pleaded with her to expose some emotion, to show some warmth amongst the public. She stood still, her eyes wide and hurt. After swallowing her third glass of champagne, she could not stand it anymore; she needed to breathe.

"I need to leave … my head…a moment… it's too warm…" she said lightly, as if her words were emulating her strained footsteps earlier that evening. She handed him her empty glass and brushed past him.

"Where did she go?" people asked. He asked himself that same question, looking down into her empty glass.

She moved past her guests as swiftly as possible, while still trying to maintain composure. The back door caught her eye; she opened it and saw a garden labyrinth made of bushes. Due to the autumn weather, the bushes were bare, making the labyrinth nearly transparent. Nonetheless, she ran to it, her heels sinking in the mud. Asides from the three nameless persons smoking cigars right outside the door engrossed in political conversation, the garden welcomed her, barren of any people. The air, initially crisp, soon began to bite, but she persevered forward and forced herself numb to it. Further into the field, the full moon uncovered a brick path leading into the bushes. She continued, scampering. Once she came upon the brick, her heels stopped sinking. Half a football field into the maze, she sat down on a bench and opened her purse in pursuit of a cigarette. Shaking, her coins spilled everywhere. "Need help?" Her spine snapped up and her reflexes jolted forward. She recognized that low, calm voice. He chuckled. "I'll help," he said, and bent down and picked up her change. He stood up, looked at her in amusement, handed her the change and said, "Sixty-eight cents, Miss Coussard. One quarter, two nickels, two dimes, and thirteen pennies… they add up, you know."

She looked at him in wonderment. "Will?…Will… Clark?" She had not sensed anyone following her. "Yes… Penelope Coussard, it's me. While I was enjoying this cigar, I saw you, the very reason for this elaborate party, frantically scurry in that slinky green dress, through this muddy field, and into this strange, decrepit, bush-made maze. And I'm pretty sure it's my duty to abandon my smoking and either keep you company in your damsel in distress act – for you are indeed in obvious distress, or at least acting so – or to walk you back up through the mud and into that party. Either way, you're not allowed being alone tonight. What would you like?" Will inquired charismatically.

Penelope smiled. He was just as obnoxiously charming and British as she remembered him. "Could you light my cigarette with your cigar?" she asked. She had forgotten a lighter; smoking was new to her. "Very well, but only this once. Dunhill? Ah, you've acquired an expensive taste, I see," he continued as he lit her cigarette, and added, less pretentiously, "Penelope, what's wrong? You're not happy."

"Of course I am. I'm engaged" she said automatically without a breath.

"Don't give me that… or that look. No. None of that. I've known you your entire life. You're as transparent as this maze we're in," he asserted.

"I'm happy! I am!" Her face was strained, her eyes huge. The moon revealed too much: she could not fake a smile in its light. Her chin quivered.

"Penelope, what's wrong," he asked forwardly. His concern was so awkwardly blunt, so raw with kindness, that she finally felt safe in his unhindered warmth. His gentleness enveloped her. She could not hold back any longer. She finally burst. Tears held back for months began spilling out. She felt her heart pulsing in her throat. Her body began to shiver and shake. He gently put his jacket around her and put out her cigarette that she dropped a little too close to a dry leaf. He sat down next to her. After wiping her face several times upon his jacket, she took a painful breath and strained to say, "I'm…I'm… allergic… to… DOGS!" She began to snuffle even harder, "My job doesn't even fit with me… my body doesn't want it… my mind… and my mind tells me to leave him but my heart, my soul… tells me not to! I want to be whole, but I'm in pieces, shattered, shattered pieces. I'm lost! I love him! I hate dogs!" Will patiently looked at her, with complete and clear comprehension. Even through her soggy, heavy breaths and vague language, he knew the matter, but he was wary of comforting her in such a sensitive, engaged state. Still, he could not help himself from putting his arm around her, although he deemed his action done in very platonic, father-like fashion. She looked up again. Although red and teary, with black liquid rivers running down her cheeks, he could not help but notice that the speckles in her light brown eyes were gold, giving her an almost catlike appearance. She kept on muttering the same three words over and over, "I hate dogs…I hate … dogs… I HATE dogs!" He looked at her, curled up and pathetically convulsing. "I hate dogs," she added.

"I think there's only one dog you need to deal with right now," he said, cutting right to the point.

"But … I'm … worried… and afraid of him.… and for him. I love him…I do! He's just lost…he's one or the other…hot or cold…He's just worried about things… under a lot of stress…" she kept on crying, "but I love him. I do."

"But can you give yourself away in pieces? Can he?”

She breathed in deeply. “I wasn’t always … a wreck,” she slowly confessed. With another breath, her tears no longer veiled her core, charismatic curiosity. Her eyes asked him to continue.

“Take the wheel to your life, Penelope. You’ll find your own way,” Will said steadily. He drew closer, and spoke softer, “You’re not gonna wreck on your own. Don’t be afraid.”

They both suddenly stood up straight to branches snapping closer and closer.

"Penny!" she heard Adam bark, "Penny! What the hell is going on?"

Will stiffened his father-like composure, and calmly turned towards the sound of Adam’s pulsing aggression. He called out into the darkness. "Penelope is waiting for you," he said. He then took a breath, squeezed Penelope as he thought a brother might, and slipped away.

Once Will's footsteps faded into silence, Adam sensed it safe to speak, "Penny. People are looking for you. Everyone's concerned.” She looked up, her tears angered him. “You can’t be this selfish!” he snapped. His annoyance was fierce and escalated into fire when he saw the box of cigarettes. "Dunhill! Penny! You don't even know how to smoke! God, only the most fuckin' expensive experimentation for you! " He violently threw the cigarettes through the bushes.

Penny sniffled and shivered in Will's jacket. She felt stronger. Adam looked at her. His stomach sunk to his feet. "Penny?" he said weakly, in a tired attempt to be gentle. She glanced up at him, the light of the full moon revealed her face. In that glance, he again remembered how her copper hair matched the copper speckles in her light brown eyes. He felt a clawing sensation around his heart. He did not understand, he did not know what he did, but he felt the repercussions. The empty champagne glass she handed to him in her earlier haste was still in his hold. He gripped it tighter. "Penny?"

"My name is Penelope," she said with sudden poise. At last, the pieces were coming together, not quickly, not painlessly, but she felt her happiness was once again in sight. She took off her muddy shoes. Despite her cold surroundings, she suddenly felt herself glowing in golden warmth: she felt her worth. She looked up and focused her gaze upon the man in the moon, outshining all the stars.

"Copper-eyed Penny…" he whispered. He felt his body begin to kneel by her side, but he stopped himself and continued standing, looking down at her.

"They're gold," she alleged. She handed back the ring, her eyes fixed on the full moon. So fully engaged in its light, she could hardly hear the champagne glass shatter as it hit the brick path.