Smiles When she was younger they taught her that everything has a price, as they loaned out dollars at the local mall and laughed gently when she spent them all too quick. She learned for herself that not every price is paid in cash because a smile at the bank teller earned her a lollipop and a smile at her father earned her one more story and when she smiled at the little boys they brought her wilted weeds crumpled in grubby fists and when she smiled at the little girls they made room at their tea parties for her and her doll. And back then she knew that she could buy the world, she need only grin at it. But the economy's gone bad now, and smiles don't go as far as they used to. When she smiles at the bank teller the tired woman just keeps up her monotone memorized monologue "how can I help you" "savings or checking" "have a nice day". And her father never looks away from his work when she comes around but she's not a child anymore so it's not supposed to matter that a smile no longer pays for an hour together. And now it's the boys who smile at her, but they don't smile they smirk, leer. Wide grins, squinty eyes, she feels like she's been dipped in grease and smiling back is like putting change in their parking meters when all she wants is to give them a ticket for loitering and send them on their way. And the worst now is when she smiles at girls, trying to bring back the smile that sent little boys out to the back corners I the playground to bring back dandelions and violets, and they don't even notice. And as time goes on her smiles mean less and less to the world so smiles mean more and more to her and soon she's collecting, setting each one on a velvet pillow in a glass case, a label on the front marking the date and time and previous owner and she lines her walls with them and waits because deep down she still clings to the idea of the gold standard and her grandmother once assured her that not even gold could shine as bright as her smile.