Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Wooden Piggy Bank


When Luke was six, I started stealin’ money to get more crack. One night I got so desperate, I snuck into my brother’s room and went straight for his piggy banks. Took ‘em all back to my room and uncorked ‘em. All but the wooden one. I was gonna smash it, but—no shit—it’s eyes were lookin’ right at me. It was like no matter where I moved the damn thing kept starin’ me down. Like a damn moral compass or somethin’. Even after the bugs came and the cravings got real bad, I never busted open the piggy bank. And that’s good, I guess, since Luke loved it so much. Carried the damn thing everywhere. They had the same eyes, I swear. Brown and kind. They drove me insane. I’d stand in the doorway and they’d both look up at me with that wet-puppy expression. One night he asked, Will, why do I look different? And it was the pig, that damn pig, starin’ up at me with all those quarters, and, God help me, I told him. Told him that he was a mistake and that Mom probably screwed Lionel or someone else and that’s why he didn’t have yellow hair and why his skin looked like chocolate and not to bother mentionin’ it to Mom because we didn’t talk about shit like that. When I finished, he was crying and, damn it, the pig looked sad too.

2 comments:

  1. Well, the pig's expression most definitely influenced this little story. I thought the pig was both cute and sad at the same time. For some reason, when I was looking at the pig, a very different voice than usual popped into my head and I went with it.

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  2. Love that the object inspired you to work an unusual vein, and you do a good job with the voice. I wonder why Luke didn't complain about the other banks, though, even if he couldn't be sure the narrator stole them and used his money. What might make Luke show this restraint, or even protect his addicted brother? Might Luke be saving his money for something in particular? It's worth trying to lay out a little more clearly what this relationship is like.

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