The Glass Top Coffin (standard:drama, 1347 words) [6/12] show all parts
Author: Stephen-Carver Byrd	Added: Dec 31 2002	Views/Reads: 2659/1820	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
***Part 6*** Pennies From Heaven

“THE GLASS TOP COFFIN” 

***Part 6*** Pennies From Heaven 

By Stephen Bryan (HurricaneWarning) 

Ten minutes passed like an hour when Mr. Moore stuck his head out the
door. “Got the floor relatively clean, at least decent enough to walk 
on. You coming in, boy?” Jordan nodded then watched the remains of his  
7-Up sizzle into the dark gravel, akin to agitated acid. He tossed the 
few remaining pork skins into a small weedy area to his right. There 
were no crows. Jordan stood up and thought to himself---even the crows 
have enough sense to stay away from Wally Perkins. 

“You ok, boy?” Mr. Moore asked as Jordan slowly walked into the store. 

“Yes sir, I‘m ok,” Jordan softly replied. “He just got to me a little. I
shouldn't have let him get that far.” 

“Oh, forget about it boy,” said Mr. Moore who was finishing the last of
his chores with the fishing worms. “He's always got some damn fool way 
of getting under a person's skin. Him and that whisky go together real 
well.” 

“I guess you're right,” Jordan said, putting his empty 7-up bottle into
an old wood carton. 

“Just remember,” Mr. Moore educated. “Some days you're the windshield
and some days you're the bug.” 

“Guess I was definitely the bug today,” Jordan said, feeling somewhat
better now. 

Mr. Moore turned and pointed to the mop and bucket. “Well, I guess I got
splattered right along beside you.” They both laughed. 

Jordan walked to the cash register and pushed the green “NO SALE” key. A
big brass bell rang out with distinguished pride. He took his two-cent 
bottle deposit from the penny cubby and started to close the drawer. 
Then Jordan saw it, the little white box at the very back of the 
register drawer. He pulled the box free and rubbed the top softly. 
There was red ballpoint pen writing. It said: 

“FIRST SALE” 

APRIL 4th 1955 

He removed the blue rubber band and opened the little box. Inside,
resting on soft white cotton, were two Indian head pennies, both in 
mint condition. They were special to Mr. Moore because they were in the 
change of his very first sale, eight years ago. They were also special 
because of a minting error. Mr. Moore once pointed out to Jordan that 
there were only eight feathers on the Indian's headband instead of the 
normal nine. Jordan once asked if they might be valuable. “Never even 
checked,” he had told him. “They're going to sit right here in this 
register drawer as long as I own this store.” Jordan read the dates on 
both coins: 1889, the year Mr. Moore was born. 

He poured them into his hand then rubbed them with his fingers. They
felt smooth and slippery. 

Mr. Moore, the mind reader, yelled from the back of the store, “Now why
do you want to mess around with those pennies, boy? You know I'll just 
have to clean them.” Jordan just smiled. 

“Don't worry, I'll clean them up, Mr. Moore,” he yelled back. Jordan
held them both up to a wide eye and counted the feathers, eight, and 
then flipped them over and rubbed the other side. Pouring a dab of 
alcohol onto an old rag he rubbed it into the coins then sat them back 
into the box just the way he'd found them; one heads-up the other 
heads-down. He put them back into the drawer, closed it and walked to 
the back of the store. 

“See you tomorrow, Mr. Moore,” he said, holding up his little finger. 



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