“With the end of the penny, is the clock ticking for the nickel?” — CNN
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It keeps replaying in my head. It was a normal morning at a normal time, maybe ten, maybe ten-fifteen, and we were all settling down to work. People were making jokes the way they always did, “keep the change,” “turn on a dime,” “shave and a haircut,” that kind of thing.
Then the guys came in. They looked like the same guy multiplied by four: all newly pressed khaki uniforms and those damn clipboards like they were here for an audit. But they weren’t. They headed straight for Penny’s desk without any hesitation or explanation. The one in front said her name with his finger on his clipboard, like he was reading off a form letter.
Penny hardly said a word in return. She just stood up, took off her credentials, put them down on her desk, and stood. The second guy pointed at her, and she went to stand between the third and fourth guys, who led her out.
I couldn’t work the rest of the day and couldn’t sleep all night. Every time a floorboard creaked, I sat up in bed and looked to see if it was the guys. Because I was next. I knew it.
Maria was asleep when I left in the morning, but I called her after our morning meeting. I guess I was tripping over my words. I don’t even know what I said. “Calm down, Nick,” she kept saying, “calm down.” But how am I supposed to calm down when I can see the door from where I sit, and I know that they can just push it open? Who’s going to stop them?
I keep listening for boots in the hallway, even though I don’t even remember if they were wearing boots. All I remember is Penny and the way she stood and went with them so silently. There’s this little pinch just under my ribs that tells me that my time isn’t long.
