Summer vacation just started three days ago… when I also graduated high school as the valedictorian. I didn’t know how that happened, because I doubt I was supposed to be it. Even my dad went to the principal’s office to ask if it’s real. And much to his dismay, it was true.
I think it’s fine for him to think like that… I’m pretty much used to that. I’m sure a man with a son like me would ask God while on his knees: “WHY oh, WHY have you made my wife give birth to this creature?”. Bottom line, my dad, mom two brothers and sister hate me a lot. Mainly because they think I’m lazy and have no such ambition in life. I drink… a lot.
Here I am in my dad’s shop on a Monday, selling and buying stuff from antiques to whatever else you could possibly think of. It is warm today… 25 degrees Celsius. My forehead actually has a coat of sweat. It would be nice to get out of here and get my friends into my pickup and head down to our island and chug down beer and grill meat.
Unfortunately, my boss – a.k.a DAD, Henry – told me I can’t leave.
I don’t understand why. I haven’t tasted beer or any other liquor in a week, and go home early RIGHT AFTER WORK. Why can’t he just let me out for one night?
A customer came with a box.
She’s a red head, pale and beautiful. She seems familiar, but I couldn’t place a finger on it. It’s not every day you get to see red heads here in Alaska… let alone Sitka. She wore Capri pants – which are short pants but not that short and maybe fitted, as said by my sister who I don’t like, and she doesn’t like me either– and Chucks. She has black shirt on, and an oversized loose navy blue sweat shirt.
She looked around and approached me.
“Good morning.”, she greeted me while placing her box down on the counter.
“Good morning. What can I do for you?”, I asked while she pushed her glasses up and ran her hand through her hair to move her bangs away. But her bangs came back over her eyelids.
“Uh… is it ok if I place my box here?”, she asked. “Yeah, sure.”, I said.
“Oh, ok. Thanks.”, she said in a sigh while breaking into a very attractive smile amidst her braces. Even the way she talks is cute. The way she her ‘s’ comes out is ‘sh’; like, instead of saying ‘thanks’, I hear ‘thanksh’.
She reached into her pocket and brought a small black velvet pouch out. She opened it and showed me old coin.
“I’d like to sell this.”, she said.
I leaned forward and took a closer look.
My eyes widened.
It’s a 1895 Barber dime. This coin was minted in New Orleans.
“This is very, very, rare.”, I said.
“The patina looks right, considering the year minted on it indicating when it was made…”, I said. Then I looked at her, and she smiled at me. The right side of my lips pulled up in recognition. “Mind if I?”, I asked, gesturing if I may take it. “Oh, sure.”, she said, handing it closer to me. I took it from her and looked closer at it.
“It has the right marks… it’s authentic.”, I said.
“It’s a really nice coin. It’s… ten times more expensive than the other coins that were minted the same year with it. This coin is n 1895 Barber dime.”
“Oh, wow!”, she said. “So, how much?”, she asked.
“Try guessing.”, I said. “Two grand…?”, she said.
