A Penny for His Thoughts

Short Fiction, by C.J. Heck

Libby sat scowling into her medium extra sugar, extra cream, Mocha Java Swirl Espresso. The small round table where she sat wobbled and complained, making an audible racket as she shifted the hot paper coffee cup from her left hand to her right, and then back again.

Oh, what I wouldn't give for a folded piece of cardboard to shove under that stupid short table leg for stability -- and some blessed silence! She thought to herself, her frustration level almost as steamy as the coffee.

Libby had to admit, she had never been any good at reading Richard's silences. She tried to remember how long it had been since they talked to each other about anything, other than when the dry cleaning should be picked up, or whether the trash barrels were put by the curb on Tuesday mornings.

She sighed. Sometimes, what’s NOT said says more than what IS said.

She almost didn’t want to know what was behind his most recent silence. There was a time when she would have just asked, "Hun, what's wrong? Is there something we need to talk about?" But not anymore. The silence had gone on too long for that. Besides, there were times when she did politely ask, "What's up, Richard?"

His answer was always the same, "Nothing, Elizabeth. Nothing."

Maybe she should just let well-enough alone. Truth is, she was afraid to ask him the exact words, "What is wrong?"  After all, they weren't married, only living together, and had been for five years. Whatever was wrong would probably hurt and not be something she even wanted to hear. Then again, she thought, maybe it's something I need to hear.

Libby's imagination turned somersaults as she tried to imagine how the conversation might go:

First I would smile and say, "Richard? A penny for your thoughts …"

He would likely come back with, "Elizabeth. Let's not play games. Would you like to tell me where this is going?"

I would probably say, "Well, you walk around in silence these days, Richard. You don’t talk to me anymore. Tell me what's going on in that head ... (and your life, while you're at it)."

At this point, Richard would get very haughty. "Elizabeth, you're being ridiculous. Let's stop all of this foolishness, shall we? What time is dinner?"

Then, I would try again, "Talk to me, Richard.. You know, a penny for your thoughts.  Would five or six cents get me the truth, maybe even spare my feelings a little? Richard, come on, play along! How about two nickels then, that's ten cents. Would that sweeten the pot? Or perhaps, three dimes for two or three honest thoughts -- tell me what you're thinking --right now."

Of course, Richard doesn't like sarcasm, so he would be extremely angry at this point, Libby thought.

"Oh for God's sake, Elizabeth, stop it! I don't know what's gotten into you today! That's quite enough. You don't want to push me! You may not like what I have to say. Do NOT push me, Elizabeth."

If that’s truly what he would say, I wouldn't be able to stop myself. "Okay, Richard, two quarters then. I want to know. Would that buy me your honest thoughts?

Wait, I’ll even up it to a dollar for one clear, loving thought. That’s all I want … it’s all I need, but it has to be the truth, Richard. What is going on in that head of yours?

Do you still love me, Richard?"

Libby slammed back to reality when the hot, medium, extra sugar, extra cream, Mocha Java Swirl Espresso suddenly belched all over her hands, the wobbly table, her lap, and the floor.

She hadn't even realized she was doing it. During the brief trip through her imagination, she squeezed her paper cup so hard out of rage and pent up frustration, it had retaliated …

As Libby helped the waitress clean up the coffee, she couldn't help thinking, "I would never tell him this now, but he could have had me and everything I own forever if just once, he talked to me —lovingly talked to me, and gave me the truth ...

Poet/Writer/Author of 5 books.
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