She watched him pull out a dinged up can from his drawer and dump the contents out onto his desk: a few crinkled bills and scraps of paper, but mostly just a shower of coins.

“My prized coin collection from seventh grade,” he muttered. “Never knew it’d end up like this.”

With a smirk, he slowly counted them up, picking through the pile for the quarters first.

“Sixteen dollars so far. Quarters really add up, you know.”

Clink, clink, clink.

“I expected the Maryland ones to be worth more or something,” he said softly.

“This doesn’t feel fair,” I said. “It’s your coin collection. Shouldn’t it be worth something more?”

He looked straight at me.

“What’s more worthy than running away with you?”

I looked straight back into his eyes and replied, ‘”Your eclectic Maryland quarters.”

We sat in silence a while longer, and I continued watching him, realizing that I was in the presence of this boy’s maturation, that I was witnessing him slowly grow up, but it didn’t make me feel sad.

Clink, clink, clink.

Lots of people might think that converting your sacred collection of quarters and watching numbers and dollar signs change might be giving into the worst form of adulthood, but no one expected those numbers to be used like this.

He was giving up the small objects that he could touch and feel for a dream he’d always pushed out aside.

---

Creds to Michelle: