Exact Change Only | Hanne Larsson
The blood and sores on Isaac’s hands have long since healed into wrinkled scars, his throat no longer hoarse from the screaming, just rusty from lack of use. He knows who he is still, despite his surroundings, though feels no hunger nor thirst.
Clink, rattle, beep-beep-beep, whirr, clank on repeat; had Dante known about this level of hell no doubt he would have included it. At all hours, all items on all shelves chosen and paid for, keeping him awake. Except the one Isaac needed choosing most of all – the one to set him free.
He’s lost count of the years stuck here; when they swapped the vending machine from one model to a new, sleeker one his heart leapt at the thought that he would finally be human again, able to resume life somehow.
Almost immediately that hope was squashed by the thought of him crumbling to dust on contact with his humanness and time ticking on.
He’d held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut as they unplugged his familiar machine, only opening them when he heard the workmen disappearing back down the corridor, laughing. A quieter machine this one, with an in-built chiller. He shivered for ages.
If only he could get someone to hear him speak. If only the same person would pick the strong mints three times and release him.
Isaac had been very successful, he recalled, his greatest successes for the home shopping channel being engagement rings. He would twist and turn each one for the camera, gushing about how the intended would undoubtedly say yes, all the while wondering if the woman he wanted to propose to would accept something as trite as a workplace perk. Marie deserved grander than his 35% discount. He truly loved her, had done since their fourth date where she’d spilled coffee on his shoes and showed up at his flat the day after with a new pair. They’d cost a pretty penny, much more than the pair she’d ruined; her own way showing her love for him. And so, he’d set out to find the perfect ring, money be damned.
‘Pick the mints, the mints, the mints,’ he hums at a reasonable volume as someone draws near. But it’s only Neville, who always goes for the Pepsi and bag of ridged crisps.
‘Today she’ll kiss me, I know it,’ Neville mutters, slotting the money in. ‘I need a fresh breath.’
Isaac straightens inside his confined space. If Neville, one of his few regular customers, is picking mints, there’s a chance after all.
Clink, rattle, beep-beep-beep, whirr, clank – Neville wanders away, Isaac adding him to his potential rescuer list.
One minute on his way out for dinner with Marie, to propose, the next stuck in this contraption, his memory remaining stubbornly elusive about how he’d ended up here. He’s settled for a genie-in-a-bottle story to fill the void.
He wonders where she is these days, whether she’s mourned him in some way, whether she’s moved on. Isaac hopes she thinks of him often, and fondly.
More footsteps – a man in a hat and trench coat sidling into view – stopping to scope out Isaac’s wares. Isaac longs to sell him something, to use his talent for gabble to make the man buy three packs of mints, but he learned long ago the pointlessness of it. Even a poltergeist has more luck at visibility.
The man tilts his face upwards to stare at the top shelf, staring straight into Isaac’s eyes.
‘Who are you?’ Isaac gasps, pounding at the glass. ‘Why have you got my face?’ He can’t help himself; he carries on beating the glass as the man goes through the motions of vending machine choice.
Clink, rattle, beep-beep-beep, whirr, clank. Isaac doesn’t even check what item his doppelganger picks.
‘Here you are, Isaac.’ His own face smirks at him. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back – I’ve got to catch you up on your life; it’s much better than anything you could have done.’
He rips his old wounds anew trying to get anyone’s attention, and they still seep when his twin returns days later. His hands throbs, and will scab. His heart aches.
‘Looking for a ring?’ the man giggles, leaning against Isaac’s prison. Up close, Isaac sees he remains fresh-faced, perhaps not too many years have passed in here then, perhaps there’s a chance. ‘She was a wet drip, with these looks I knew I could do better than her. Such stories to tell. I am so glad you released me.’
Isaac recalls his youth, his playboy antics, of the way his TV job led to date after date. He never thought it anything but enjoyable. But then he wanted children, he wanted one person to care more than the rest. Marie arrived.
Replacement-Isaac proceeds to elaborate, in excruciating detail, about all the things he already knows about, as if Isaac has never heard of women. Isaac sighs, tuning him out, the man giving no further clue as to the how of his prison.
He only realises he’s gone when Neville’s familiar tread startles him; Maria gone forever, what would be the point of escape now?
‘More mints mean more kisses,’ Neville smiles, the money rattling in.
Two days pass, Isaac’s anxiety spiking at thought of what would happen if he’s released. Does he even try to find Marie? Other-him spoke with such delight about Isaac’s entrapment, but he can’t bring himself to wish for retribution.
Neville returns, snappily dressed, bouquet and exact change in hand.
‘Need my lucky mints!’ He laughs as Isaac hits the glass, trying to stop him.
‘Buy the gum, the gum! Surely you want to do more than just kiss the girl? The gum will get you there, I promise.’ Isaac employs all his sales persuasion to change Neville’s mind. There’s nothing for him out there.
‘But I want to do more than kiss Lisa. Perhaps I should plump for the gum instead?’
Clink, rattle, beep-beep-beep, whirr, clank.
Hanne (@hannelarsson) is a British Swede who longs for her childhood’s 95% humidity and hawker centre food. Her stories are fed by moss-covered rock-trolls and what-if scenarios.