Five Dollar Bill 500

Fluttering on the wind it finally lands snagging in a fence. Rustling there as the wind tore at it the rest of the night. That very storm went on for at least an hour before letting the bill fall into a modest flower garden.

Nearly a week had passed before anyone had noticed. The sprinklers had been turned off and on, day in and day out. One day must have been a weekend, or something, though. Gloved hands busily worked the soil nearby.

The older woman scarcely believed it when she saw it, a big smile across her face. She could hardly wait to tell her family, and proceeded running  as fast as her aching knees could carry her.

The story was accounted several times over the phone, and at several times to other visitors of the house. Every time she had a chance she would show off the worn five dollar bill she found in the garden and tell her little story. How many days was it since that it rested, bound in leather, stuffed into a pocket.

She only told the story one more time after that though . . .

There was this little child, dirt smudged on his face, excitedly counting the coins he had saved. He wanted to get a set of paints for his father. After all, he liked to paint so, surely, his dad did too.

. . . but, He seemed confused when all those coins weren’t enough.

That elderly woman asked that little boy why he wanted the paints so much, and being the child he was, he told her. His dad was sick in the hospital with nothing to do, and painting always made him happy when he was sick, so dad would be happy too.

She asked him why his dad was sick. He said he didn’t know, but mom cried a lot. Maybe she needed some paints too . . .

He spoke with such righteous optimism that the elderly lady told him her little story, which, by comparison, seemed silly and hollow.

She pulled out that same worn five dollar bill and handed it to the little boy. His eyes were wide, and he even remembered to thank the elderly woman, before putting it on the counter asking if it was enough now.

The clerk counted everything out for him this time, pausing when it still wasn’t quite enough . . . and said it was. With some less then spectacular sleight of hand the clerk dropped another bill into her drawer, shoving the worn five dollar bill deep into her jeans pocket. The two of them smiled to each other as the little boy ran off.

. . . another day, that worn, five dollar bill would have it’s story told once again, and again, and again. Each time, gathering another story with it.


It wasn’t until that elderly woman was lying in a hospital bed herself, that she ever saw it again. A nurse handed this crumbled wad of paper . . .

. . . and told the story, from beginning to end, of all the love it had created.

That’s the story of this five dollar bill.

Pass it on.

(537 words)