Coins
Caribou Coin (AI- generated image through Canva)
How often do you get the chance to change your life?
When that old bum told her about this location, she thought he was deranged. It was just a brick wall in a forgotten alley in this bustling city. She wanted to get away, worried that the bum had other motives.
"I shouldn't have given him all those coins," she chided herself under her breath. The bum followed her and urged her to listen to the secrets that only he knew. He wanted to offer this information as a thank you for her generosity. She sped up and tried to make several turns, but every time she thought she'd lost him, there he was, just a few paces behind her, waving.
So she ended up in this alley—a dead end. Turning around to face the tramp, she felt fear and anger. He looked too weak to harm her, but it was a nuisance nonetheless to be followed.
"Here we are," the bum smiled a toothless grin. It was as if he had planned for them to end up here all along. Her eyes travelled from the gaping hole on his face to his right arm, alarmed to see he seemed to be reaching for something from his pocket.
"Leave me alone," she tried to sound calm, wishing her voice wouldn't tremble. He finally found what he was looking for and started withdrawing his hand from his pocket; she raised both arms to shield her face.
"Look!" The bum said. From the corner of her eyes, it didn't look like there was any weapon in his hand. She lowered her arms slightly. As soon as she did that, he threw something toward her; she raised her arms again.
Nothing. No impact was felt.
"Lady, you just wasted me a quarter," the bum sighed.
"A quarter?" She was confused. She didn't hear any clink of a coin hitting a hard surface. She lowered her arms again. The bum held out his arm this time, and the unmistakable silver caribou was in his palm.
"Watch this." The bum smiled his toothless smile and threw the coin toward her with one fluid motion. She quickly sidestepped and saw the coin disappear into the brick wall behind her. She thought she saw the wall become transparent for one millisecond, revealing a corridor with many doors.
She turned her attention back to the bum, unable to form any sound in her throat; she stared at him. He returned the gaze, soot-filled wrinkles around his eyes. "If you could relive one moment in your life, what would it be?" He asked.
Photo Credit: Squarespace Stock Image; Upsplash
The summer breeze carried the scent of the ocean, engulfing this small fishing village. She couldn't tell if she was tasting her tears or sea salt. As she walked home, her heart hardened with each step. It cannot be helped. This is the only way she could get out of the village and have a bigger life. The tears had all dried up by the time she arrived at the front door.
In the dingy living room, her mom was sitting on the bamboo chair, removing the thick stalks from the sweet yam leaves. As always, dinner would be stir-fried sweet yam leaves with dehydrated shrimp.
"Ma, I am home."
Without lifting her gaze, her mom nodded toward the bowl containing the discarded sweet yam stalks. She walked over and picked it up, as she had done many, many times before, took it to the backyard and was immediately surrounded by their two pigs. She threw it on the ground and quickly retreated indoors, leaving the beasts grunting away in delight with this treat.
Rinsing the bowl at the sink, she said to her mom, "I am ready to give the matchmaker my answer."
Her mom pursed her lips, "As long as that's what you want."
She clenched her right fist slightly, "Yes. I am ready to get married and move away."
Her mom stopped the task at hand and looked at her with the same eyes. "Then I guess I should congratulate you. Go on and tell your father."
His room was at the end of the dark hallway. As she drew near, the familiar smell of antiseptic and herbal medicine intensified. Lifting the tattered curtain, she looked in the general direction of the figure on the bed, "Ba, I am going to get married."
The figure on the bed tried to prop up his body to no avail. She walked over and supported his back onto the pillow. There was not much light in his dim eyes. At least in this dark room, she didn't need to look at his wrinkled-rimmed lips and toothless mouth.
The man she called Ba said, "Well, it's about time." A whiff of fruity scent as he tried to catch his breath from sitting up. She didn't know why he sounded relieved. One less mouth to feed? It was not like he had ever supported this family.
"Now, this calls for celebration, and I think I deserve something sweet!" The old man looked up at her. Was there a hint of pleading behind his words?
"No, the doctor said you can't." She laid him down again on the bed and left his room before another word could leave his mouth.
She found the small metal box on the top shelf in the kitchen. Its lid was decorated with laughing children with golden locks. As she tossed away the wrapper, a cruel smile appeared, delighted in the sweet saliva swirling around the treasured morsel on her tongue. Her tongue moved the hard candy toward her left cheek. It hadn't felt the stinging slap for years since Ba took to bed.
Photo Credit: Squarespace stock image; Upsplash
She opened the drawer with her secret stash. Boxes and boxes of sweet delights gifted from her business associates for the holidays, safely hidden from her children. It's for their own good, so they do not get fat or get diabetes. They do not know how to control themselves.
Sure, they get mad at her, telling her that her lifelong body shaming is the root of their unhealthy eating habits. What a bunch of white people's nonsense! Kids nowadays, how dare they talk back to her, their mother?! Where do they find so many words to say?
Perhaps she should go back to the moment when her husband raised the idea of immigration. Children in the old country are more obedient. Society reveres a slim body shape as the beauty standard, so her daughters will likely have more self-control. Just look at their bellies; who in their right mind will marry fat girls? On top of it all, her husband, to curry favour with the children, often encourages them to eat whatever they like. Such a transparent attempt to play the good cop, making her out to be the villain.
Or maybe she should return to the day she said goodbye to her high school sweetheart? They were together for 3 years. It was the age of innocence. She had to outgrow him quickly when the families started questioning their marital plan.
His smile froze when she delivered the news.
"You're leaving," he said softly, a hint of sorrow in his eyes.
She nodded. She was genuinely sad but knew she had to amplify her devastation so that it'd look like she had no choice.
She had told him she was marrying someone else. He didn't protest much. Since his parents hadn't arranged for a matchmaker to ask for her hand, he hadn't got much ground to stand on. His family was like hers, hovering near the poverty line, and there was no way they could have offered a sizable dowry. Not only that, this boy, for all his kindness and smarts, had no ambition. He was content to stay in this village, following his father's footsteps, living off the ocean.
He smiled sadly, a bittersweet expression that tugged at her heart. "I understand. I have nothing to offer you. Just promise me that you will find happiness wherever you go."
She had watched her mother scrimp and scrape through everything in the household to keep everyone fed. Her father, a government official making more money than anyone in this village, spent all his earnings on luxuriating himself. Never once did he offer any support for his wife and three children. He had no ambition or social skills to advance in his bureaucratic environment. He was satisfied as long as he had enough to buy imported sweets and clothing for himself. He looked down on his uneducated wife, lamenting the more suitable matches he could have had if only his ancestors had not squandered away their family fortune.
No. She didn't need happiness. She needed financial security and social status, and this arranged marriage was the ticket out of here.
As she stood there in the alley, her heart raced with a mixture of fear and anticipation. Turning her head towards the bum, she noticed that he had produced another coin in his palm, its silver surface seemingly imbued with secrets and possibilities. He nodded and tossed it towards her. She caught it this time, and with one swift motion, she hurled it towards the brick wall.
The air seemed to ripple as the coin connected with the wall, and the world around her wavered for a split second. But when her surroundings stabilized, she returned to her luxurious penthouse apartment. The scent of opulence filled the air, and the glittering cityscape lay before her.
Photo Credit: Squarespace Stock Image; Upsplash
She examined her reflection in the window. Gravity and time had done their jobs well. Her husband, a useless man spoiled by his wealthy upbringing, had no money sense. He never adapted to the hardship of immigration and they eventually ran out of their savings. She scrimped and scraped through the early years to ensure her children had a comfortable life. She was able to leverage her husband's title to advance their upward mobility. Eventually, she amassed enough wealth for her family to enjoy a life of indulgence. As she became more successful, her husband retreated into self-pity. Like her father, he rarely made a financial contribution to the household. He was the man in front of the public, and she acted the wife. As they got older, he demanded to be given more and more money in his personal account as a safety net. She would give in to keep peace at home. The children need a stable home—she'd tell herself, and later, her children, that she stayed for their sake. They had to know how much she sacrificed for them. They should feel grateful for how lucky they were to have her as their parent and how they were blessed to not have to live a childhood of poverty like hers.
And so, she lived out her days in a gilded cage of her own making—wealthy, powerful, and misunderstood. People admired her success, but few knew the turmoil within her. The memory of the encounter with the bum began to fade.
As the years rolled by, she often found herself standing by the window, gazing out at the city. The reflection of her face stared back at her—the face of a woman who had weathered storms fought battles, and emerged as a conqueror. The face of a woman who did whatever was needed to take care of herself and her family.
One day, as she stared at the city below, a reflection caught her eye—a glimmer of silver. She reached out and picked up the caribou coin that had somehow entered her penthouse. The sight of it triggered a flood of memories—the bum, the alley, the choice she had made.
Sighing, she pocketed the coin, feeling its weight against her heart. Every decision she had made was a piece of her story. Life was a tapestry woven from choices, some made with clarity and others clouded by circumstance. She had no regrets.
