2. All Your Worth

All Your Worth

by Ryan Brosmer

It was a party for Joey Calhoun. He was turning 22.
Somewhere around 1 a.m. Joey was standing on a coffee table in the center of the living room of Damian and Annie’s apartment. Nobody quite remembers this, but there are plenty of pictures. Joey had a beer in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other.
“JOEY CALHOUN’S SOUL!!!!!” was scribbled out on the paper.

“I’ll sell my soul! For as high as it will go! I’ve got bills to pay and debts that I owe!” It was kind of poetic, but nobody remembers that. They just remember that Joey was offering up his soul. Somebody threw a quarter at him. Another pulled out a dollar, then there were two dollars and it went up from there.
Most people gave up on the novelty of it all after Damian offered up $10. Annie countered with $10.50. Damian went up to $15. Nobody else but Annie was still throwing up cash. But Joey was still on the coffee table shouting about selling his soul, that it was all he had left and once he sold it he could star anew.
“I’ve got standards though. If you bastards don’t put up enough then it’s going up on eBay,” Joey said, to nobody in particular, as nobody was particularly paying any attention. Annie ran around the apartment, asking for spare change. She came back a few minutes later with $36.50. Damian pulled out his checkbook and wrote out a check for $36.75. Annie gave up and stuffed all of the money she had collected into her purse.
Damian grabbed the scrap of paper out of Joey’s hand, and tucked the check into Joey’s front pocket and helped him down from the coffee table.
Joey finished the beer that was in his hand and headed toward the kitchen for another. He was enjoying himself. He was loosened up. It was to be the sort of party that was only truly beginning at 1 a.m.
Annie walked Joey home in the early morning hours, before the sun was up. He lived only a block away and she had sobered up after a quick nap after the bidding war for Joey’s soul.

Joey woke up the next morning with a headache and a check in his pocket. In the memo place was written “soul.” He laughed a bit, grabbed his cell phone and keys and walked out of his house towards the bank. Damian’s voicemail picked up when Joey tried calling him.
“I’m cashing this check jackass, hope you’ve got enough in your account,” Joey said after the beep.
Joey cashed Damian’s check, along with one for $25 from his grandparents. He walked a few blocks down the street to a record store and used the money to buy a few vinyl records. Some of his friends had pooled their money to buy Joey a record player for his birthday.
With the last few dollars he had, Joey went a few blocks past his apartment to a coffee shop. He had enough for a small coffee and a pumpkin and walnut muffin.
The coffee was fresh. He had watched the barista put the pot out just before he filled up his paper cup.
The steam fogged up his glasses, which were beginning to bend from an increased number of nights that found Joey passing out in bed before taking them off.
Joey took a bite of the muffin. It was bland. There was almost no taste at all. It just made his mouth dry. He sipped at the coffee, trying hard not to burn his tongue. He barely got enough to even taste it, but it tasted weak.
Taking the lid off his coffee cup Joey took a bigger sip. He avoided burning himself. It wasn’t hot, or even warm, in his mouth at all. It was like the muffin. That is to say it lacked any slight bit of taste whatsoever.
Joey realized the cup wasn’t warming his hands either, cold from the late November breeze that had chilled him through his sweatshirt. He dipped the tip of his index finger into the coffee itself. There was no sensation at all.

END