Charles was an old man. He had been seated on the park bench for three hours and had now read his little magazine front to back four times. Charles was dressed for the weather. It was an antagonistic cold, dry and windless, and it gnawed at his ears relentlessly even as he retreated them further and further under his thick wool hat.
As Charles was about to restart his magazine for the fifth time, a boy, six years old, ran up to his bench and sat down. The boy was holding a colorful balloon animal gently in his mittens. After a beat to catch his breath the boy swiveled towards Charles and looked him up and down, over and over, seven times, with his mouth completely agape. The young boy had never seen a man as old as Charles.
So Charles broke the silence. “Well, where’d you get the balloon, young man?”
He boy was startled to hear Charles speak. “Well, uh,” he paused, then continued, “I got it from the guy round the corner,” he paused again, then added, “For a dollar!”
Charles grinned widely. “Well, when I was younger, I used to get them for a nickel. In this same park, you know?”
The boy was silent, mouth agape again. Charles’ breath didn’t seem to make any fog as he spoke. The young boy figured that old guys were just colder.
“You know how many you could get for a dollar if they still charged a nickel?” Charles asked.
The boy closed his mouth and thought, then exclaimed, “A lot!”
“Yes, but how many, exactly?”
“Oh. Uh.”
“That’d be twenty whole balloons.”
The boy furrowed his brow. “So I was right.”
Charles smiled again. “Well. I guess so.”
They sat for a moment and the young boy kicked his feet.
Charles spoke again. “When I brought my son here, they were up to a dime for each balloon. Do you know how many you could get if you had a dollar if they cost a dime?”
The boy kicked his feet some more but kept staring at Charles who didn’t look quite right.
“Well, anyway, you’d get ten then. When my son brought his kids here, they were up to fifty cents.” Charles waited a moment, somewhat expectantly, then continued, “Which is two balloons for a dollar.”
“Two balloons for a dollar,” the six-year-old repeated.
“That’s right. I never got to see how much it cost for my great-grandchildren though. But I guess it’s a dollar now. What a racket.”
“A racket. My dad likes that word. Racket.”
Charles tilted his head. “Yeah, a racket. A highway robbery. A dollar for a little rubber balloon animal.”
“What a racket,” the boy said.
“That’s right.”
The boy kicked his feet again.
“Well, I ought to be going,” the very old man said, “I think I’ve read this magazine enough times.”
The boy nodded. The old man smiled again and fished around in his pocket. He snagged an old nickel and gave it to the boy. The boy looked down at his little nickel, whose face and lettering was worn soft, then back up at the man. But he was no longer there.