Head's Up

James turned right onto the winding gravel driveway toward his grandfather’s house. Rows of trees lined each side that usually had an enchanting feeling to them, but not today. Today, even with the brilliant light from the setting sun, the drive had no magic. It was beautiful, but not in the way that glows – in an empty sort of way.

He stopped in front of the house and turned off his engine. He sat there for a moment, trying to conjure the energy to get out of his car and go inside. He was drained. He was sad, but he could not cry. He felt nothing, and the last thing James wanted to do now was go inside and sort through his grandfather’s belongings. He did not have much choice, though. There was no one else.

He opened his door, letting in the crisp autumn air, and began toward the front door. James paused as he grasped the door handle. “The lamps won’t be on. There won’t be tea brewing,” he thought, preparing himself for this new experience. “You won’t hear him whistling. He isn’t here.”

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He did not know where to begin. How was he supposed to go through all his Grandad’s things? What was he going to do with all of them?

He meandered slowly through the halls, turning on lights as he went. The house felt too heavy and lifeless, for lack of a better description, and the lights almost helped.

James found himself in his Grandad’s study. He traced the shelf-lined wall along the left-hand side and the long, back wall of the room. His eyes wandered over the shelves of familiar books. He ran his finger across the lip of a shelf and looked down at the thin layer of dust he scooped up. It used to be his chore to dust these shelves. He wiped the dust of on his jeans and turned around.

There was the chair and the sofa in front of the window he and Grandad always sat in. So much of his childhood had been spent laying on that couch reading, listening to Grandad’s stories, playing games, and napping. He sat in the chair and gazed around the room. The setting sun cast a hazy light into the room that revealed the dust in the air and have the room dingy overtones.

His eyes affixed on Grandad’s desk on the far end of the room. It had been cleared off except for a familiar small chest centered on top. He stood up and walked over to it.

James looked down and saw an envelope behind the box that had his name written in Grandad’s slanted cursive handwriting. He walked around the desk slowly and sat in the leather, wingback chair.

He opened the envelope and unfolded the paper inside.

“Dear James,

I love you so much – more than you know. You have brought so much joy into my life. I am so lucky to have had you as a grandson. As my time draws nearer, my wish for you is that you always remember how lucky you are. There will be times – perhaps now if you are reading this when I am gone – when it seems your luck has run out. But there blessings everywhere. (Hint- Sometimes the biggest blessings in life are all the smallest.) You just need to remember to look for them.

Love,

Grandad”

James set the envelope and letter to the side and pulled the wooden chest forward. It was an oak chest the size of a bread box with a brass trimming around the edges and a brass hasp. A key waited patiently in the padlock on the front.

Suddenly, memories of this chest flashed in his mind. His grandfather had kept it in the desk drawer. It had been there for as long as he could remember, and he had seen his grandad bring it out every now and then. He once had asked Grandad what was in it – to which the response had been simply, “My greatest treasures.”

“What kind of treasures could be inside?” he thought. He imagined jewels, gems, rings, and family heirlooms. None of those things would make him any happier, but the excitement that came with his growing curiosity was a welcome distraction.

James reached out shakily and turned the key. The padlock sprung open. He unhooked it and released the hasp. Slowly lifting the lid, he peered inside.

On the left side of the chest, there was a stack of small, black notebooks. On the right side was a jar of pennies. He lifted the contents out of the chest and set them on the desk in front of him.

“What is this?” he thought as he picked up the notebook on the top and began thumbing through it. It was full of short journal entries.

One read, “1-5-2019: Another penny at the grocery store. I am lucky to have food on my table and luckier still to have my grandson home from college this weekend. I have missed him so much.”

Another, “3-26-2019: I found this penny heads-up on my stroll this morning. I am so lucky to have the strength to walk in the mornings, though the sunrises were much sweeter with James, I am lucky to have the memories they bring.”

“4-12-2019: A penny under the sofa cushion. This has been an unbelievably lucky life.”

April 12th – the day before the call arrived. This was probably the last thing he ever wrote. Some of the last thoughts he ever had.

James put the book down. “What are all of these?” he thought. He thumbed through the other journals. All of them had similar messages. All of them mentioned, he assumed, a penny that now sat in the jar in front of him.

He set the journals back on the desk. As he sat back, he noticed the book on the bottom had a piece of paper gently protruding from the top. He leaned back in and lifted the other notebooks off, setting them aside. James opened the journal, pulled out the paper, unfolded it and read.

“6-4-1994

We celebrated James’ 4th birthday today by doing “only fun things”, as he requested. That, of course, meant pancakes for breakfast, pizza and ice cream for lunch, playground at the park, and a movie. He is so much his mother’s son in that way. I miss her terribly…

On our way out of the cinema that evening, James spotted a penny on the ground. I stopped him from picking it and said something along the lines of, ‘Wait, don’t pick that one up. Tails-up pennies give terrible luck. If you find a penny that is heads up, however, you should pick those up. They will give good luck.’ James frowned at that and I could see his brain working in overdrive. Then he reached down, turned the penny over and said to me, ‘Now you can pick it up and have good luck!’

I had not smiled as big as I did then in a long, long time.

I would not say that I am lucky, nor have I been lucky in my life. I certainly would not say I have not been lucky these last few years, especially. But I realize now that luck is not magic or coincidence. It is not something that happens to you. Luck is a perspective. Luck is gratefulness. Luck is choosing to see the good in your circumstances even when it all seems bad. And this lucky penny will sit on my desk as a reminder of how truly lucky I am.

Today, I am thankful for James. I am lucky to have the opportunity to love again and to watch him explore and learn and play. I am lucky to make new memories with him that honor my daughter.”

Tears came readily now. He sat in stillness and silence, crying and rereading the letter. After several moments, he set the letter to the side and dried his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater.

He looked at the jar of pennies. There must be at least a thousand of them. One thousand journal entries. One thousand lucky pennies. “Not that they did him much good now,” he thought.

“That is an awful thought,” he countered himself. “Of course they mattered. They mattered to him.”

James glanced at the journals again but did not have the will to continue reading the entries. He was sure he would later, but at that moment he did not have the mental energy to read any more.

As he picked up the jar of pennies and turned it over in his hands. Something unusual inside caught his eye. He held it up to the light. There was something, he couldn’t tell what, buried toward the bottom of the jar.

He opened the lid and dumped them out on the counter. In the sea of pennies there lay a small plastic box. He lifted it from the mass of coins. It was sealed on the front and inside there was a small coin. It was the size of a penny, but it had an eagle on the front. He turned it over. There was a small post-it note on the back with his Grandad’s handwriting that read “The luckiest penny. 10-17-2005”

He lifted the post-it on the back. Underneath was a label that read “1858 Flying Eagle Penny. Value: $20,000.”

“Holy shit,” James said in disbelief. His mind raced with all the things he could do with that small fortune. He could travel. Pay off his car. Pay off his student loans. Put a down payment on a house. Invest. Put toward retirement. Pay for his grandfather’s funeral, even…

He put the cased coin back on the desk and began pacing the room. “This is not fair,” he thought. “I did nothing to deserve that money. Right?”

“But it was left here for me. Right?” he argued to himself.

He stopped by the window. The sun had set only moments ago. The clouds were warm shades of pink and orange – the best of Midwestern sunsets. He looked up at the sky through the trees and watched the clouds slowly change shape and color.

James closed his eyes closed and took a deep breath. He turned away from the window, opened his eyes, and walked purposefully toward his car. He dug around the cup holder, pulled out a penny and returned to the study. He grabbed the jar, put the eagle coin at the bottom, and scooped the rest of the pennies back on top of it. His penny sat on the desk next to the jar.

James rolled up his sleeves and retrieved a pen from the front drawer of the desk. He found the most recent journal and turned to the next blank page. He wrote.

“5-4-2019: I am lucky to have had a Grandad who loved me. I am lucky to witness beautiful sunsets. I know I am lucky for many other things, but I can’t think of anymore right now. I love you, Grandad. I miss you.”

James dropped his penny in the jar and placed it and the books back into the chest. He closed the lid. The padlock shut with a click. James placed the chest in the passenger’s seat and drove back down the driveway.