Written by: Kaela Street
Date: July 24, 2003

Title: The Gold Coin

Alan sat in the busy airport terminal on the outskirts of Miami, soon to board his flight back to England after a hectic week in Key Largo, Florida. He held tightly onto his passport and ticket, the long wait for the check-in and even the gentle air-conditioning did not help him stay cool. Hearing the request for first class passengers to come forward, he rose to his feet, picked up his small flight bag and walked over to the girls waiting to take his boarding card from him. Moments later, sitting in the comfort of the airplane, he accepted the invitation from a stewardess and ordered a glass of red wine.

As passengers milled into the body of the airplane, Alan wondered if others had flown to so many destinations as he had done in his thirty two years, for as a software engineer, he enjoyed the opportunity to travel world wide, often at short notice. From his shirt pocket, he retrieved a large gold coin, deformed with age yet in excellent condition for the hundreds of years it had lay at the bottom of the sea inside the wreck of the Spanish Galleon known as the Atocia, it sank during a storm while crossing the Caribbean. He knew that buying trinkets for his wife, Jenny, was the only way he could make up for not being at home, and with each trip, he tried to buy something that she could treasure in his long absences. The marriage of ten years was suffering, and while he was home they had arguments and rows over things that to Alan, seemed meaningless, and Jenny seemed to demand more from him each day.

Alan had seen the coin in a display case, he had also seen the replicas, just as stunning, but costing a hundredth of the real thing he held in his hand. This coin had a gold wire frame with a loop attached to a gold chain, he felt it would look perfect on Jenny, and he smiled knowing how proud she would be to wear it when they went out next time. Once the airplane was in the air, sliding through clouds over Miami heading east to Europe and England, he picked up the telephone from the side rest and dialed his home number. It seemed to ring for ages before the voice of a man answered the call. He asked for Jenny, and was told that Jenny could not come to the phone, but asked who was calling. He told the voice it was Alan, and asked again to speak to Jenny.

The line was closed and as Alan heard the dial tone come back, he feared that something terrible had happened at home. He dialed again, but it rang of the hook. He stabbed in the mobile number for Jenny that too rang and rang, eventually going to voice mail. He felt annoyed and scared at the same time, "Call me, Please babe, I am on the way home, see you tonight Jenny, Let me know your ok darling". He hung up and realized Jenny could not call him, his Mobile was switched off in the airplane and he did not know the number that she would dial to contact him on the airplane.

Hardly touching his meal, and taking no interest in the range of movies available to him, he tried to sleep, but sleep did not come easy for his mind raced trying to work out who the man’s voice had been on the telephone. Another call, this time, when the phone was picked up, he demanded to speak to Jenny. The phone was put down on him again. He dialed again, but the phone now showed as busy and his call was rejected.

Hours later, as the airplane landed at Heathrow, he peered out of the window and watched the gray overcast sky as the non-stop rain seemed to flood the tarmac as the airplane slowed down. The run along the Gantry to the arrival lounge seemed to consume him and dragging his overnight bag, its little wheels almost scorching the floor, he made it to Customs and Immigration. Passport checked and welcomed back to England, he made for the car parks and breathlessly ran to his car still nestling in the dim fluorescent overhead lights of the dirty concrete parking area. As he cleared the airport and headed for the M4 motorway, he punched in his access code for the car phone and again called home. Still the line showed busy, his foot now pressing the accelerator harder and harder to shorten the journey time.

Weaving in and out of the slow traffic, he headed towards the M25 and then hoped the roads were clearer on the way to Oxford, his home, his wife and the joy of being home again. The speedometer climbed as he started to take risks in the crowded traffic lanes, the rain relentlessly cascading before him, the spray reducing his visibility as the Jaguar quickly and quietly pushed its way forward. The accident was over in seconds, the car catching another and flipping onto its roof, followed by the impact of the heavy goods vehicles. He felt no pain as the car was crushed about him, seemed to realize little as the flames took hold and probably wondered what was happening as the life was squeezed from him by yet another impact.

The police traced his wife and delivered the news of his death, she seemed to care little, for Jenny, the marriage had died years ago with his constantly being away, she explained that his buying trinkets for her was no compensation, she had loved him, but had started to hate him replacing himself with junk from other countries, they were no replacement for him. They offered her the items of personal value that had been recovered, amongst them, the golden coin from the Atocia. She looked at it, described it as more junk and gave it back to the officer. The officers left feeling saddened, and the coin eventually passed to an auction of goods that the police could no longer find a home for. The bidding was furious, and eventually the hammer came down on a fortune, for the coin was one of the most rare ever found. How much Alan had paid remained a secret, but the person that bought the coin, could have bought a large country home for the same amount. Alan had invested in the coin, hoping it would make Jenny happy, but he had failed to understand it was not the presents, but his presence that would have saved his marriage to Jenny.

Written by Kaela Street, copyright 2003. This article is not to be reproduced in part or in whole in any other media form without the express permission of Kaela Street.