Uncle Al

She was dead. I went to the soundless player piano, picked up her glasses and put them on. I figuratively saw the world through her eyes and ignored the slight blur from the prescription stronger than my own. She had placed them on top of the enigmatic black Moleskine she authored from time to time. I left the house tucking the little black book in my generous coat pocket. I left the door unlocked and walked away, eyes to the street glasses inching down my nose.

I traveled about 100 yards and discovered a bicentennial quarter in the winter grass by the stop sign. I picked it up and was taken by its unique feel. It had an indescribable energy about it. Weighty, yet light. Still, it was by all means a quarter. I had one exactly like it when I was 8. It was 1976 and the American colors had thrown up everywhere. My boisterous 3rd grade teacher offered it as a prize and being the Hermione Granger of the class, I, of course won, easily knowing what E. Pluribus Unum meant. The bicentennial was in full swing with only a month until the July 4th celebration and I brought home that treasured win.

Could this be the same coin? No way. I’m sure I had spent that at Slackums on some Swedish fish. I put the quarter dollar in my jeans pocket and continued down the road. I walked a little further and found another by the Shanihan’s house. And another by the Robinson’s. What’s going on with this? Bicentennial quarters? Maybe some kid lost their collection. I reach down to pick up the fourth quarter by the church school. It was on the brick wall we weren’t allowed to sit on as ruddy elementary school kids. I’d have to check if anyone posted “lost coins” locally.

I ended up at the library where she had spent hours and had possibly read every single fiction book in the adult section. Sitting at the empty back corner table, I took out her black book and placed it on the table. The leather edges were worn and appeared gray and shaggy. It seemed a sacrilege to open it. What did she scrawl in these bindings? Her death was sudden yet these words would be immortal. No one here to object. Still, I procrastinated. It was private, after all. I took out the 1976 quarters and placed all four on the smooth leather. My memories flooded. It was a remarkable vacation that year. We went camping- all eleven of us shoved into a travel trailer for four. It was July hot near the mid-East coast but that doesn’t matter to an eight-year-old. A metallic blue banana seat bike and a paved campground road meant freedom. The memories abruptly stopped as I watched the coins melt right into the cover of the now less than ordinary black book. Seared. Embedded in perfect symmetry like they had always been there. The entry sealed leaving no trace of removal. Her glasses fell off my face as I drew back in disbelief. How in god’s creation…? I was low on sleep from mourning my loss, but I didn’t think I was to the point of hallucination. What did this mean? I suppose it was time to open this less than normal manuscript.

“Be careful who you call your friends. I’d rather have four quarters than one hundred pennies.”- Al Capone.

Well, that’s an interesting quote to find in her book, I thought. Al Capone?

I turned the page and read more. “It’s by no mistake that you are the one to find this book, Amy. I never told you of this heirloom, out of fear of judgement of meddling in the universal powers of thought. But if anyone could understand that, it’s you. I collected these thoughts in this book the instant I knew my death was eminent. I couldn’t write anymore or be more descriptive. Thoughts are flighting when reaching toward the vastness of light and timelessness. I hope you are able to figure it all out. Infinity love, Ma.

I turned the next page, looking through her eyes and now looking into her thoughts. “I have a dear friend, Dierdre. She and I were school friends in Chicago and both of us moved our sophomore year to Miami Senior High. She had a remarkable uncle. He taught her how to swim, ride a bike and make spaghetti. (which to this day is the best ever!) Uncle Al is now gone, but he left her much to share with her friends. Set a trip to visit Havana, Cuba. Stay at the Hotel Sevilla in the 6th floor suite. There is a tile decorated with wine grapes all alone where the north corner meets the east. Use a knife to scrape off the grape vine and you will see a key embedded in the artwork. Take it. On foot, travel a half a mile to the Capitolio Nacional. Set in the floor directly below the dome is a copy of a 24-carat diamond. This is your compass. The top of the diamond points a plaque with ‘E. Pluribus Unum’ tacked into the white Capellania limestone and block granite. Pry off this plaque and you will find a safe. Use the code 92-95-52 to open it. Inside is a gift from Dierdre’s uncle. The grape vine key will open it. Deirdre was told of these locations throughout Cuba to share only with her three closest friends. This site, she graciously presented to me. After Castro stole Cuba, these locations were not accessible so I have never been able to visit the Capitolio. But now you can. Deirdre is still alive but do not contact her at all about this gift. Good luck and know that I am always with you. You may also possess this book to fill with your thoughts. The instructions for it’s use are retrieved by tapping the four quarters on the front in clockwise sequential order.” I tucked the little black book back into my oversized pocket and exited.

This is absurd! Could it be factual? I had to tell my husband. Truth be known, we were flat broke. What could I sell? I raced home, her glasses bobbing up and done on the bridge of my nose leaving a mark as I arrived breathless to our modest apartment. I plundered my mother in laws old-fashioned yet bursting jewelry box. She had several gold items that perhaps would cover the flight and hotel. But what if it was a hoax on Dierdre’s side? I’d use this emergency collection for naught. But what if it was true? How stupid could I be. An old leather book came to life with words from my dead mother and I’m going to question its validity? I unlocked the fire safe, grabbed my passport and stuck it in my overnight bag. I grabbed the necklaces, bracelets and teeth (yes, eww.) and headed to Super Pawn with some change for the bus, a bag full of hope and a pocket full of imaginings.

The bus ride seemed to take forever. How many damn stops are there on Route One!? Fortunately, the gentleman I worked with before at Super Pawn was there and I successfully left with $2,678. I went immediately to the Travel Agent next door and booked our trip. I called my husband from the agent’s office and told him to without further ado to meet me at BWI with an overnight bag and his passport. No questions asked, he met me there as I told him I’d enlighten him to my folly on the way.

Humidity isn’t good for hair. It gets frizzy and always seems to look greasy. However, when my face hit the Cuban breeze, I didn’t stop for vanity. My husband and I hailed a 1957 Larkspur Blue Chevy and we checked in to Hotel Sevilla. The sixth-floor suite wasn’t exactly what we had expected. It wasn’t as adorned as our imagination allowed; nevertheless, we found the wine grapes in the granite which led to the key to our lucrative future.

No one truly seemed to care that we were scraping up a building or prying a plaque off the capital. Maybe it was because the tropical rain kept most people from touring. As we walked through the shower to the Capitollio I was reminded of the Capone Quote. Four Quarters. 100 Pennies. Such truth. If there is one thing in life I’ve learned, it’s that sincerity and integrity in a friend makes life worthwhile. I’m now taking advice from a mobster. Yikes. Maybe it’s true, though. Perchance he was a mobster but still a respectable man. Is that conceivable? Through all our life, we will leave a trace. Like I wanted to do with my mother’s glasses, perhaps we do need to look through the eyes of others to truly get a grip on what this excursion on earth is all about. We need to consider the advice and wisdom around us. Whether it be from a quarter back who considered a comeback in the fourth quarter to be a failure of the first three, a bootlegger who was driven mad by mercury shots and syphilis or a lucid dream about a little black book with a true story ending in $20,000 worth of diamonds, life needs a tale. An adventure. A risk. A truth.

One night in Havana was certainly not enough. The music stained my ears, and the culture embedded in my head a la Lil Uzi’s. But it was time to leave. We returned to the states with a leftover from prohibition. I’m glad Uncle Al liked diamonds and favored sharing his earnings with those he cared about. It’s spaghetti for dinner tonight. I hope it’s as good as Dierdre’s. All we can do is supply the demand.