There is a dollar bill somewhere in the world. I know where I left it, but I no longer know if it is there. On one side, a Sharpie marker blacked out all but what was left in the negative space (which I'll keep to myself). The artistry was done during a time when I once thought there was One Martha. In other words, at some point over the past six years when I visited this simple, small fisherman's bar somewhere along the Monterrey-Salinas highway I left behind a mark of my love--and bought myself more patience for the hope that my investment would someday pay off. The bar exists where you'd wonder how any bar like it could survive. And, much like my love, I thought it unique; that its return would come from its location.
Each year, or thereabouts, when bills have completely covered the walls, ceiling, and columns of this place, they pull them down one by one and donate them to a great cause. And since that time, my love has been pulled down from public view. It's worn for the cause, but still legal tender.
Like I said when I began, I don't know where my bill has gone, but I have faith that it has gone to a greater cause. It has done good in the world. I will choose to do the same. I will return to my intended purpose. I have a story to sell.
