How Do You Like My Jacket?

When my Papa died, I didn't take it very well. Even though it was expected, I was a wreck. I always thought that I was his favorite, even though he never would have admitted that to any of my brothers. He was the middle kid too, so maybe that was it. Or perhaps it was that I was his only grand daughter and looked so much like Mom when she was my age.

Oh, I looked you up. You're a middle kid too, right? I guess some of us just turn out rotten. Don't get up! Sit back down. Don't make me use this.

Good. Anyway! After Dad died, it didn't take Mom long. Papa showed up one day and took all three of us to live with him and Gamaw. I know now it was because he sent Mom to rehab. She died in there. It was just too late. I was seven.

I know he blamed himself, that he wished he had acted sooner, and maybe his daughter would still be around today. It wasn't for lack of resources. To everyone's surprise, when he died, he was worth over $470 million. You never would have known it though. When I was 17, I had to beg him to buy a new truck after my phone almost fell through the rust hole in the old one. He went from a 1977 F150 to a 2018. He didn't even know how to turn it on.

In his will, he left 12 percent of his wealth to us. I know you're doing the math in your head right now; it was about $56 million before taxes. I didn't see a single penny of it.

It all went to my brothers. I was tasked with the job of deciding which charities, rehab facilities, or other good-will, non-profit, horse shit organizations the rest of his money should go to. But he did give me a key to a safety deposit box.

I was livid. I felt more than a little betrayed, but this safety deposit box was a ray of hope. It took me a few days to make it to the bank since it was in Pennsylvania. Gamaw said he used to dig for coal up there. "Back in the poor days," she called it.

On the way up to PA, I began to feel better. I felt like an idiot for getting upset and so betrayed after the reading of the will. Of course, it didn't help that the lawyer was some old hag who didn't seem to approve of my clothes. But she did think it was completely appropriate to bend over and show her full cleavage to my married brother. Now that I'm thinking about it, she definitely knew who was getting the lion's share of the money between all of us. I really hope Greg didn't take the old whore's bait.

When I parked in front of the bank, I had to double-check to make sure I was in the right place. The bank was in the center of town next to the only stoplight, and I passed a total of four people on the way in. It was the right place, though.

I'll never forget the smell inside that bank. I was in and out in less than half an hour, and I'll never go back. But, if I think about it, I can still smell it, like asbestos and a microwaved burrito. When I walked up to the counter, the man behind it looked as old as the bank itself. So I couldn't help but smirk when I saw the bowl of Werther's candy. He saw me staring at them and offered me one. I took two.

He was chatty on the way to the box. I asked him how long he had been working there.

"I'd only worked three hours here when I heard that they shot JFK." He said.

"They? He was shot by one guy." I told him.

"Yeah, sure. If you believe that." He put his key in the box and unlocked it. When he stood back up, he looked around and leaned in to whisper. "It wasn't really Oswald; he was a patsy."

"Then who did it?" I asked.

"If you know, you know," he said.

"But I don't know," I said.

He left the room without any more explanation; I was disappointed. I would have loved to know who he thought did it.

The box he took me to was one of the bigger ones closer to the bottom. I don't know why I equated a bigger box to more money, but I did. I put my key in the safe and unlocked it. The drawer behind the door slid out with a satisfying clunk.

There was a box wrapped in brown paper inside. I picked it up and immediately thought of middle school for some reason and ran my finger along the neatly folded creases. I remarked to myself how perfectly the paper was folded and wrapped. I almost didn't want to tear it open, but I also wanted whatever was inside this box.

I decided that I needed to wait to open the box. If I waited, then my patience would be rewarded. So I found a hotel in the next town over, checked in, found my room, and took a shower. Once I was clean and dressed, I would open it.

I sat on the bed with the box in my lap. It was time. I ripped it opened and threw the paper on the floor. A thin white cardboard box was inside. Inside the box was an old jacket.

I was pissed. I didn't know what I was expecting. I knew it wouldn't be cash, but I was hoping for some old stocks or bonds, keys to a big ass boat, a box full of diamonds; I don't know, but not an old denim jacket.

When I say old, I don't mean used. It was used, but only so much that you could tell it wasn't new anymore; it was retro. It was folded neatly and smelled like soap. Despite the anger and jealousy I was bottling up for later, I liked it. 'Hudson Coal Company' was stitched across the right breast, and the buttons were heavy. I flicked one with my finger, and it hurt.

Then I heard a crinkle on the floor. I didn't see it, but I guess a piece of paper had fallen out of the box when I picked up the jacket, and I had stepped on it. I picked it up.

"Put it on and put your hand in the right pocket," it read.

So, I did, and when I pulled my hand out from the pocket, I had a nickel. I thought maybe there was something special about the nickel. So, I googled it, and to no one's surprise, a 2007 nickel is worth precisely five cents. If you had one in mint condition, maybe it would be worth five and a half cents.

I checked the other pockets; maybe Papa just didn't know his right from his left. Nope, empty. I was so fucking mad that I knew I couldn't stay. I didn't know where I was going, but I wanted to leave.

It was late spring, and it was getting too warm in the late afternoon to wear a jacket, but I wanted to keep it on anyway. The jacket felt like I was wearing my anger, and it felt good. If I hadn't been three states away from my brothers, I probably would have done something stupid. Like tell Greg's wife that he probably fucked that old lawyer slut or something, sink his new boat, maybe just take a shit in his driveway, I don't know.

Luckily, I had time to cool down. I was still pissed, but I knew my anger was misplaced. I was somewhere in Virginia on my way home, and I got a hotel. I was nodding off behind the wheel and decided that if I was going to right the wrongs in the universe that I would need to stay alive for it. Those would be your wrongs, along with several many others.

The following day is when I figured it out. I should have put it together sooner, but I'm dumb. What was a 2007 nickel doing in a jacket that had been locked in a box for decades? I got back into my car to leave the hotel and pulled out the nickel along with my keys.

It was a different nickel, a 1986 nickel. So maybe there was another nickel in the pocket, right? That's what I thought until I put my hand in the pocket while I was at Target later and pulled out another nickel! And then another! And another. Every time I put my hand in my pocket, there was a nickel. It took me 30 minutes to pay for a new pair of headphones, one nickel at a time. I thought I was going to get kicked out of the store. That cashier won't forget me anytime soon, at least.

I spent the next week at home just pulling nickels out of my pocket and rolling them. I had a few hundred dollars when I noticed the dates coming out sequentially as I counted them out. Weird right? But it gave me an idea.

I thought about my birthday while I grabbed the next nickel in my pocket. I looked at the date on the nickel. 1982, my birth year. It worked. I pulled out my phone for a quick google search on expensive nickels.

The next coin I pulled out was a 1913 Liberty Head nickel. It looked brand freaking new too. The internet said it could be worth up to $20,000,000. I almost shit my pants.

Things in my brain started to click. My grandfather would always give us silver dollars on our birthdays. Boom, out came a silver dollar. Then one memory I had with him just started screaming at me from the back of my mind. The last time I saw him wearing the jacket.

When I was ten, we were driving somewhere. I can't remember where we were going; all I remember is that I had to pee really bad. We stopped at a gas station, but it was closed. It was the middle of the day, so I'm not sure why it was closed. It looked fully stocked and recently used. The bathrooms were around the side of the building, and we tried to get them open, but they were locked too. I was about to wet my pants when I watched Papa reach into his pocket and pull out a key. He unlocked the door and let me into the little girls' room.

I asked him where he had found the key. He gave me some bullshit excuse about knowing a guy who worked there. My ten-year-old brain thought it was weird, but he had the key, and I generally believed everything he told me.

So! Back to your questions. How did I get in here? And why do I have a gun? Right? Well, I think that you may have figured the first one out by now. Here's the key, see it? And I have a gun because I don't want you running away on me.

It's been over 18 years; you probably don't remember me or recognize me. I've gained some weight; my hair is shorter now, and I can't remember the last time I smiled. I remember you though, how could I forget? I'm going to make sure you remember me this time. Before we get started, I have one question. How do you like my jacket?