A coin – nothing more than a coin. My father flipped it to me the morning he died, the morning he was killed. He wanted me to buy some bread. “Your mother needs some bread,” he said, smiling at me. He always smiled at me. Da flipped me the coin before he strapped his sword to his waist and hung a quiver of arrows from his shoulders. Then, with his bow in hand, he left. I never saw him again.
I spent that day climbing trees. More concerned with laughter and fun, I forgot to buy my mother bread. The coin my father gave me…I still have it. Always, it’s with me. It reminds me of my father, of his smile. He always smiled at me.