“Whenever I get upset, sad or depressed, I take refuge in memories of those early days of my beginning;
remembering the soft palm the gentle touch of that little beautiful decent girl”
A Memory of a Coin’s Journey:
Although I am only a quarter of a dollar, I’m still a very proud coin for many reasons. For one, I am made of a hard mix of fine metals, not like other coins made of brass or copper or the hundred-dollar bill made of printed papers. I am a beautiful rounded shape, dazzling and distinguished by fine details with many meanings. My generation was born in the year 2005, to conglomerate the great American Revolution leadership represented by President George Washington, and to represent the Golden State of California naturalist and conservationist John Muir; admiring Yosemite Valley’s monolithic granite head wall and a soaring California Condor.
Over time, we find our way through business transactions and trades. Each one of us has its own journey between merchants and the public, banks and companies and grocery stores and taxi drivers. We move from pocket to pocket, cashier to cashier, purse to handbag, hand to hand.
It is in my good fortune that I was traded quickly between banks to be part of the salary of one of its employees, and the next day given to one of his beautiful teenage daughters. You cannot imagine how happy I was when I was touched by those gentle, soft, perfume-smelling fingertips. It is what any coin would dream of. It is the perfect place for an eternal stay. It’s the best way to visit the beautiful places. She took me to school and playgrounds with laughter and joy with the other girls. It’s a dream I could never outdo. In the midst of the joy, I forgot the reason for my existence. I was created for trading, dealing and exchange in the market place. I really want to stay where I am, but how? I have no control of my destiny at all.
At the end of the school day the girls went to the convince store to buy candies and refreshments. It was my time for that soft hand to let me go. As soon as I was captured by the rough merchant’s hands, I got a chilling sensation, that went through the vein of my metal strength. I felt the terrible difference between the petite, delicate soft palm and the roughness of the high-powered firm grip through which the sunlight will not be seen again.
I said to myself not to worry. Today I am here but tomorrow will be better and I will see much more beautiful places. A day passed and then another but I was still in the pocket of that stingy grocer who showed a special interest in me. But, why? Maybe because I was new, clean and shining? No, I don’t think so. Because I noticed that he sells more than he buys. He saves more than he spends. He selects the coins he keeps. Unfortunately, I was one of the unlucky ones. Then he goes through us every day counting us and organizing us in categories. He counts us one by one with his big harsh hand with a disgusting smell that chokes the breath of Mr. Washington and Mr. Muir.
But then, the day of salvation came. He took me out of the coin box and put me in his deep pocket. He went to the market to buy holiday gifts for his family, stopped at one of the shops and found interest in a toy. He asked about the price and put his hand in his pocket and took a groping, rubbing his hand, hesitating to buy the toy. He bargains the price with the dealer and when the decisive point was reached, his hand narrowed to suffocate me. When he decides not to buy, he relaxes mentally and emotionally and releases his hands of me. He repeated this position several times, but at the end, he bought the cheapest gifts at the lowest prices and paid only some of the money he took with him. Unfortunately, I was unlucky again.
Oh my God! What to do? It is my eternal nightmare which I will not wake up from. I want to get out of this dreaded pocket and from this stinking box. I want freedom as given to us by the American Revolution. I want people to see the Yosemite to promote the protection of our environment. I want to reach the open air. I want to be traded. I want to travel. I want to be touched by delicate and generous hands. I want to be played with by the most beautiful girl’s fingers and want it to be in the pocket of generous men with pride, who dispassionately compete with their peers by spending more than others to win the heart of their beloved ladies.
Time passes and my journey is a very long one because I am made of solid metal. One thing I noticed is trading and turning over myself and other coins is faster with women rather with men, faster with young rather with elder, faster with poor and slower with rich. But, whenever I get upset, sad or depressed, I take refuge in memories of those early days of my beginning; remembering the soft palm the gentle touch of that little beautiful decent girl.