The Perfect Coin
Untitled | Aitana Gaudenzi | Mixed Media
The Perfect Coin by Eli Winkler
“You’re selling me a quarter?”
“A very special quarter, sir. It was the last thing my grandfather gave me before he died. I thought it was insignificant at first. He suffered from dementia and didn't really know who I was anymore.”
“So what's so special about it?” he asked wearily, poking it with the end of a pencil. “It looks like every quarter I've seen.”
“There are two major things that make this quarter special,” I recited. I’d been practicing my pitch in the mirror for hours before this. “The first thing you can see if you look at it a little closer,” I could see the excitement flash across his face as he realized that he was staring at a coin from the year 1932.
“Do you know how much this can go for?” he said excitedly. I could tell his heart was racing at that moment.
“As a matter of fact, I do. The price of a quarter from this time can range anywhere from thirty-thousand to fifty-thousand dollars in most pawn shops.” It was becoming difficult to keep a smile off my face as I looked at his shocked expression. I could almost hear him debating in his mind if he wanted to buy it off me or not. Suddenly, his expression hardened.
“You mentioned a second thing that would bring up the price,” he said with a raised eyebrow.
“I did, didn't I,” I responded, unable to stop myself from grinning this time. “You might want to take that pencil and flip the quarter over,” I could tell he was very intrigued. He started flipping over the pencil…
“Woah,” he gasped. The coin had flipped over the shining face of our first president to reveal… The exact same thing on the other side.
“Do you know how much a misprint like that can go for?” I pulled up a picture of a different coin that was misprinted the same way. It had sold on eBay for 1.2 million dollars. “I'm gonna expect more than that, not only is this coin about 40 years older than that one, but it’s also the only heirloom I have of my grandfather.” He seemed to think for a moment before deciding.
“I’ll give you 1.6 for it,” he finally decided.
“Deal!” I responded without hesitation. I wasn’t in the mood for haggling at the moment.
I walked out of that shop 1.6 million dollars richer, but as I got farther away my head felt heavier. I was so sure that my grandfather had given me that coin to set me up for life financially, but without a physical memory of him, all I felt was emptiness.
