The Nickel

A two-faced nickel rested at the bottom of the river. It was not particularly shiny or nice and it wore the dents and nicks of a used and forgotten item. Stuck neatly between two rocks, it did not stray from its spot, despite frequent rains that swelled and swirled the waters.

Once, long ago, the nickel had lived in the pocket of a boy. That boy’s name was Timmy and the nickel remembered him well with those wild red curls, that crooked-toothed grin and eyes that sparkled with joyful innocence. Timmy had been proud of the two-faced nickel and the nickel had been proud to be Timmy’s. Often, he would take the coin out of his pocket, flipping it up and catching it again. Somersaulting through the air, this is how the nickel saw the world; earth and sky tossing and turning, it was a colorful, free and wonderful place. Exploring that place along with them was a boy named George. The three were constant companions and the nickel often thought back to those times.

George, the older of the two, reached out a strong arm. “Come on, Timmy, you can do it!” A bit of good-natured impatience mixed in with his encouraging tone. Sweat had plastered wavy, brown tendrils to his forehead and he brushed them aside with the other hand. “Come on!” His smile was too wide for his face.

Timmy grasped the outstretched hand and was pulled from the slippery stone onto the bank of the river. Together they skidded across the wet earth, mud seeping through shoes and socks. Of course, they could not be bothered to care. Timmy pulled the nickel from his pocket and started flipping as they turned to look back at the feat they had just performed. Only three small stones providing footholds to cross the river in great, large leaps. George had easily hopped from one moss-covered rock to the next, but his legs were much longer. From its twisting and turning position, the nickel could see the grumpy look on Timmy’s face.

“Don’t worry, kid. You’ll grow big and strong like me.” George flexed his arms exhibitionistically and winked.  Timmy could not keep a smile from cracking his glum expression. Nickel still gliding through the air, the three of them ambled down the length of the winding river. A hot sun baked down on two happily bobbing heads and glinted off the two-faced coin. The world was warm and audacious and carefree and endless.

This is how the boys, and the nickel, spent their summers, their falls, their winters and their springs. It was not unusual for George to get Timmy into a bit of trouble. Nor was it uncommon for Timmy to get George into a bit of trouble. Of course, the nickel did not get into any trouble, but was happy to tag along. Oh, the places the three of them had seen together; cities, countrysides, forests, mountains, and the length of the winding river. Oh, the adventures they had experienced. Not a single day passed when they were not together, blissfully blundering through life as young boys do. Adventure stretched before them and they found it together, grins on their faces, mud on their clothes, and the nickel whistling through the air.

Then, one day, Timmy had lost the nickel; or the nickel had lost Timmy. All it knew was that once it had been free to travel in his pocket or fly through the air and now it was trapped beneath a crystalline prison. It always looked up to the same bank where the red maple grew tall and strong and bright. It watched as season gave way to season. Many falls passed, cool days that lit the maple leaves aflame, burning a glorious red until snow came to drop them from the branches, landing them with a soft ripple on the glassy surface. Many winters passed, freezing winds that hardened the waters, inviting skaters to cut swirling patterns into the surface. Many springs passed, thawing the world and bringing on mighty cracks in the ice, cutting fissures through the surface and revealing a warming sun above. Many summers passed, cloudless days when the children played in the waters and fun chased away any gloom; breezes fluttering through young leaves. The nickel longed to be a part of that life again but for years it could only sit and watch the world turn 'round. It watched the sun rise and return again to its place of slumber. It watched the birds building nests in the great branches.

It watched the man sit by the maple and knew there was sorrow in the slump of his shoulders. The man used to cry, but now he just stared into the river. Wavy brown hair rippled with the water at the will of the wind, and he did not bother to brush it away. Long, boney hands dangled over pulled up knees in a position that spoke of a mind far away. There was a familiarity to him that the nickel could not place.

“I’m sorry,” the man would say. “I’m sorry I’m the one still here.” Sometimes the words were soft, barely audible over the rush of the river. Sometimes they were a scream that penetrated the waters and sent out waves of heartache. For hours he would stay there, speaking into the depths. The nickel looked up and felt pity for the face that looked so lost. But each day the face came back a little less lost than the day before. With each season the weight slowly lifted from the squared shoulders and a peace found its way into the kind eyes. Today there was almost a smile playing across the lips and suddenly the nickel knew who it was who had come so often to talk to the water. Hands in pockets, George stood on the bank, shuffling boyishly from one foot to the other.

“You know that girl I was talking about? I asked her to marry me.” An actual smile, too wide for his face, broke through with those words. “Wish you could be there, man. I still can’t understand why the river took you away from me.” He pulled off his shoes and waded in a few paces, bending down to brush fingertips across the surface. It had been so long since he had touched that water.

 “Everyone is happy. Happy hasn’t felt right in a while but I think it’s back to stay. Anyway,” he shrugged, a mixture of joy and melancholy warring for control over his features. “I miss you, Timmy.”

He looked down and squinted. The nickel was sure it had been spotted. Pulling off his shirt, George dipped beneath the flowing surface, kicking up mud that blotted everything from view. A hand reached through the muck, grasped the nickel and lifted it out of the water. George’s face beamed as he ran a long finger over the familiar nicks on those two faces. The nickel tumbled through the air back into the waiting hand and was dropped into his pocket.

“Always with me, brother.”