The Penny (draft)

When returned from the restroom, Johnny saw the penny on his chair at the dinner table he was sitting. Its copper shined underneath the florescent lights of the diner as it ominously stared at him as it sat on the red vinyl-cover chair. He was far enough away from the penny that he couldn’t tell if it was heads up, or tails up. This moment in time will can make his life wondrous or wretched.

“Oh no.” That was all he could manage to say as he looked at the penny.

Patron after patron noticed as Johnny stood in the middle of the antiquated diner’s aisle. Silence waved away from where he stood. The clank of forks, knives and spoons hit dishes – one even broke as it fell from a waitress’s hand – as everyone paused and waited. They wanted, or rather needed, to know if the penny was good luck or bad luck.
He took a step toward his seat, everyone gasped. With his second step, they exhaled.

It’s been a generation since Archbold, Ohio had been cursed by the penny. No one knows why or how, but it first appeared several years ago when a young woman found a tails up penny sitting on her chair at the public library. As the story goes, she had gone to look for a book and when she returned to her seat. A penny was in the middle of the wooden chair. She asked people around her if someone sat in her spot, or if they placed the penny there. No one saw anyone there and she packed up her things and left. As soon as she left, though, the wind picked up. It knocked down a large tree branch and hit her in the head.

Newspaper reports stated that if the tree branch would have hit her an inch away, she would have survived. She was found, though, clutching the penny.

The next day, a man was at work asking who placed a heads up penny in his seat after returning from the copier. Like the woman, he asked who placed it on his chair. No one knew. Placed the penny on his desk and decided to check the lottery numbers. He pulled out his ticket after pulling up the lottery website on his computer. He let out a wild scream as his numbers matched indicating he won $250,000,000.

The photo in the paper showed him kissing his “lucky” penny.

Back-to-back days of stories about pennies – one disastrous, one miraculous – got the town talking. Ever since then, people in Archbold paused before they saw a penny sitting on a chair because they knew their lives would change – either for the very good or the very bad.

Not all who have gotten a tails up penny had died. Some have been severely maimed, others financially ruined. And likewise, not all who found heads up pennies hit the lottery; some went on to professional success. No one knows why or how the pennies get to the chairs, or why they show up with such randomness.

Johnny took a second step forward and could make out Lincoln’s head. The 27-year-old released the breath he held, and then the rest of the people in the restaurant. The bustle of the noon lunch went back to normal but only for a few minutes. That’s when a woman’s scream.

“Nooooo! No, no, no, no!” She rapidly shook her head covering her mouth with her fingers. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she trembled. The restaurant’s patrons were immediately silenced again.

The 35-year-old single woman glared at the shiny new tails up penny.

Johnny looked over at the woman. He could see the horror, the devastation in her face. Then he looked down at the penny he now held in his hand. That sparkling round copper-based penny held something great inside it which was just for him. It could be fame, luck, fortune that would come to him soon.

Johnny navigated the crowd of human statues to the woman who stood in shock, fearful of touching the penning that still lay on the seat. When Johnny picked up her penny, a quiet chatter erupted. He inspected her penny, then looked at his.

“You know – .” He paused looking at the woman.

“Julie.” She managed to say her name in between loud sobs.

“You know, Julie. This has never happened before – two pennies being found in the same place at virtually the same time.” Johnny held up his penny, showing her its head. “Let’s see what happens.”

The crowd, which had begun to quiet down, had began its hushed chatter again as Johnny held the face of his penny to the tail of Julie’s penny.

“Wait.” Julie stopped Johnny. “You can’t give up your future for me.”

Johnny winked at the woman and pressed the two pennies together.

EDITOR'S NOTE: This is a draft version of "The Penny"

A Mother's Story (draft)

John wouldn’t stop pacing, which made Mary more nervous. Soon Mary would give birth to their first child and she wanted everything to go perfectly.

Mary coughed and gave her young husband a stern look from her hospital bed. “I’m just so excited.”

“I know, but sit down. Watch TV or something.”

John laid on the couch looking at the television and then smiled.

“You know, when Brianna’s born, you think she’ll be a great athlete like her old man?”

“Oh, I love this game,” Mary said. “And nice one on Brianna.”

They often talked about what their unborn child would become, and used various names to see if one fit.

“I think Emma will be a Girl Scout.” Mary gave John a big grin.

“But Joan,” John said with a slight pause, “could be an animal lover like her mother. Maybe she’ll be a vet.”

Mary ignored John’s last statement as she softly and slowly repeated the first name John used, “Brianna.” In her normal cadence she said her full name, “Brianna Anderson. I think that’s the one. How’d you come up with it?”

John shrugged. “It just came. Divine intervention you could say. It seemed natural.”

But John’s smiling face slowly turned solemn. “You think we’ll be good parents – considering …?”

John and Mary had a rough childhood. They met at school and both were orphaned almost a decade ago when their parents died in the same car crash. They became circumstantial best friends, and that bond led to love.

A year after high school, they were married, and a year later Mary found out she was pregnant. John often thought about what he’d do with his child – play catch, go to the park, build a jungle gym. But doubt frequently intruded his thoughts.

“We’ll be fine, Honey. As long as we love her, we’ll be okay,” Mary said in her most assuring voice.

“Am I ready for this?” John said desperately.

“Well, it’s a little late for second-guessing, Johnny.” She flashed a coy smile.

“I’m serious, Mary. What if I drop her?”

“She’ll bounce.” Mary giggled.

“I said I’m serious.”

“I know you are, as am I – well, not about the bouncing part.” She smiled. “You are going to be a great father. I know it in my heart and in my soul. You’ve lived a rough life. We both have. That just means we know what not to do.”

John had been placed in more than one foster family. He had suffered verbal abuse by the father of his first home, and physical abuse by the children of his second and third. Mary never trusted her foster families after being removed from her first one after being sexually abused by a friend of one of the children. The family shunned Mary when she made the accusation.

Through it all, John and Mary stayed in touch. When they were first placed into their foster homes, they would send text messages. Once they were old enough to drive, they’d meet at the mall, the movies, or a coffee shop.

Mary motioned John to sit next to her. She tapped her chest over her heart. “As long as we use this, we will be just fine.” She looked into her husband’s eyes and said, “I love you, Johnny.”

“I love you, too.” John kissed Mary on the forehead then hovered over her belly. “And I love you too, Brianna.” He kissed Mary’s belly. She giggled.

“I love that – Brianna.”

* * *

John hadn’t prayed since he was a child and his parents took him to church every Sunday. None of his foster parents were religious, so he stopped going.

He stared at the altar in the hospital’s chapel and prayed. He didn’t know what to pray for though – maybe for the pain to go away, or just some sort of guidance.

He was in the birthing room when the nurses escorted him away. Brianna’s head started to come out when all the monitors and machines made every alarming noise to say, “Something isn’t right.”

“Mr. Alexander, please, I need you to come with me.” A nurse pulled at John’s arm.

“No, I can’t. I need to be here. I can’t leave. Why do I have to leave?”

John tried to stand steadfast.

“Sir, please.” The nurse begged. “We need to take care of your wife.”

Reluctantly he left with the nurse and looked over his shoulder to get the last glimpse of his wife. Outside the room, he fell to the ground and sat there helpless, hopeless and alone.

The hospital’s priest sat next to John.

“You know God tests us in many different ways during our lifetime.” John looked confused.

“The doctors let me know you lost your wife. They were concerned.”

“Yeah,” was all John could muster. The two sat there for a few minutes before John spoke again.

“We met in grade school.” He managed a short smile. “We were both orphaned … that was our bond.”

“We would have been married three years this July,” he added before another pause. “I just don’t know what to do. I didn’t know if I could be a father with Mary, and now I’ll be a single father … She was everything to me.” A tear streamed over a cheek.

“Well, you do have a piece of her in the nursery. What’s her name?”

“Brianna,” John managed. “But I don’t know how to do it without … without her.”

“Well, God’s plan is mysterious, and we won’t know why until He calls for us.” The priest placed a hand on John’s shoulder. “I can’t possibly imagine what you’re going through, but I have helped many people get through difficult times. And what I’ve learned is that there will be pain – even though it’s not exactly the same each time – but there will be pain … and doubt.”

John placed his hands on the back of the pew in front of him and then placed his head on his hands. He cried as he said, “I just, I just don’t know what to do, or how to do it.”

The priest paused to collect his thoughts. “I can cite you all the verses in the Bible about losing a loved one, and how to overcome that incredible grief. But it really all comes down to this simple truth: You love that little girl, and love her with all your heart.” He tapped his hand three times against his chest. “There’s no doubt in my mind, body and soul that she’ll love you back – and that’s success to me.”

“I believe you will be just fine, my son. And He will always be listening.” The priest motioned his eyes upwards. “And she’ll be watching, too.”

“How will I do it?”

“Like I said, your answer, my son, is in that nursery. She is your life now, and you are her life.”

The priest stood up. “And tell her about the greatest woman you have ever known. Make sure she knows her mother.”

* * *

The priest went upstairs to the nursery with John. He asked the nurse to bring out Brianna. John sat down in a rocking chair. The nurse placed the hours-hold infant into the nervous, grieving father’s arms. The priest sat in a chair next to him.

“Hey, Brianna,” John said in a soft, slightly high-pitched voice as he rocked. “I’m your daddy.”

“This is silly,” he said, looking up at the priest.

“No, no. You’re doing great. Go on.”

John looked back down at the infant, holding her in one arm, lightly stroking her face with her other hand. “Let me tell you a story about a wonderful woman, named Mary.”

EDITOR'S NOTE: This is a draft copy of "A Mother's Story"

Skipping Rocks (draft)

Emma scoured the bank of the Ohio River to find the flattest, roundest rock. She spied a dark gray half-dollar-sized one, right where the water met the rocky shore.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! I found a perfect one.”

Emma grabbed the rock and ran over to Mike, who stood 10 feet away looking for his own.

“Great,” Mike smiled. “You ready to try?”

It would be Emma’s first attempt to skip a rock.

“Hold it like this.” Emma’s dad fixed the stone between her thumb and finger; he gently squeezed fingers.

“Okay, okay, Daddy,” the 5-year-old blurted. “I got it. I got it.” She was bouncing up and down, her face strained.

“Now throw it like this, but faster.” Mike took Emma’s arm back to the side and moved forward along the same path. “And be careful not to hit anything.”

The rock plopped into the Ohio River. Emma growled. She’s definitely her father’s daughter, Mike thought.

“You got to do it a bit faster, honey.”

Emma let out a deep sigh as she rocked her head back.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get it soon.” Then Mike confessed, “You know, I didn’t skip my first rock till I was at least seven.”

Emma widened her eyes. Inspired, she tried a few more times before she skipped one twice. The next one skipped three times.

“Way to go, Emma!”

She sang: “I’m better than you were! I’m better than you were!”

“Yes you are, honey. Two years better.” Mike smiled.

Emma gripped another flat rock and held it out. “Your turn.”

Emma laid the rock into Mike’s hand. He flipped it a couple times before he gripped it tight. Mike looked over his left shoulder.

“Ready, Emma.”

“Ready, Daddy.”

He unloaded the flat projectile. “One, two –”

Emma gasped, then screamed. She cried as feathers floated down. The duck’s lifeless body bobbed on the water.

Mike didn’t notice the duck fly down to the water when he took aim. The rock struck its head as it fluttered to land, killing it instantly. Mike immediately turned to Emma, took two steps and enveloped her. Tears streamed down her face.

“You…killed…it,” Emma screamed, as she sobbed between each word.

“Oh, Emma. It was an accident, honey,” Mike spoke as calm and soothing as possible. “I didn’t see it.”

Mike stroked his daughter’s hair, squeezed her tighter. He rocked her back and forth. “Shhhhh. It’s okay. Shhhh.”

Mike eventually let go of Emma and grabbed an old dry-rotted wooden plank lying on the bank. As he paddled the water, the duck floated to shore. Mike slid the plank under the duck.

Emma wanted to bury the fowl, but the ground was too hard to dig. Disappointed, she agreed to float the duck down river.

“Do you want me to say a prayer?”

“Yes, daddy. I think Elizabeth would like that.”

“Elizabeth?” Mike smiled knowing Emma often named things she loved. She nodded, eyes red and wet.

They bowed their heads as they embraced.

“God, look with love on this dead – um, duck – and make this duck – ”

“Elizabeth,” Emma interrupted.

“And make – Elizabeth – one with You and Your Son as – Elizabeth – comes before You. Amen.”

“Amen,” Emma repeated.

Mike picked his daughter up, resting her on his hip, and they watched the funeral bed float under the glow of the setting sun.

EDITOR'S NOTE: This is a draft copy of "Skipping Rocks"

The Kick (draft)

With his eyes closed, Jake took a deep breath. He will end the game with his foot. As he opened his eyes he counted off the steps – three back, three to the left. He leaned forward, grabbed his facemask to adjust his helmet and let his arms fall. His eyes focused on the spot where the ball will be placed just seconds before his right foot swings over it.

He’d done this act 35 times last year, and 39 times the year before in his rookie season. All of them successful. But he’s not certain this time. His normally focused mind isn’t.

Just before he entered the stadium, he listened to a message from his wife – the woman he’s known since high school and dated all through college. She always left a message before every game to wish him good luck. It’s given him confidence, security. But that’s vanished.

“Jake,” she started, “good luck today. I know you’ll do great. But there’s … something I need to tell you. I … I won’t be at the game today.”

He knew something was off when she started with “Jake,” but just ignored it.

After a short pause, she continued: “I can’t believe I’m doing this on voice mail, but … but I won’t be home when you get home. I’m leaving. There’s no one else. It’s, it’s just I … can’t do this anymore. It’s something I just can’t explain. I, I gotta go.”

“Can’t do this anymore?” Jake said to himself as he listened to the message in his car. “What does she mean by ‘anymore?’ ”

He repeatedly tried to call her back, but her voice mail answered each time. He pleaded on the phone, hoping she’d listen to the messages and call back.

His teammates suspected something was wrong. They’d asked, “Jake. You cool?” or “Jake, what’s up, you don’t look so good,” or some variation of that. He shrugged them off saying, “Ya, just nerves I guess.”

Jake was never nervous. He was always smiling and joking before, and often times during, the games.

But he needed to focus this time. He couldn’t let any of his life’s drama matter now. His team needed him in this moment, even if his wife didn’t. He focused his eyes on his holder’s hands, imagined making the kick – just like every other kick. Snap, step and swing the foot. It was usually just that easy for Jake. Usually.

The referee blew his whistle and whipped his right arm around in a vertical circle to signal for the clock to start. Five seconds remained. Four. The snap. Three. The step. Two. The swing. One.

EDITOR'S NOTE: This is a draft copy of "The Kick"