The Penny Reading Game

In the small dining room of her home, she sat at the square table, her wrinkled, sun-spotted hands trembling. Before her was a glass pickle jar half-filled with dozens of pennies.

Some of the pennies had a shiny copper gleam. Others a red tint. Still others the color of burnt sienna.

In the afternoon, she would use her shaky right hand to hold the glass pickle jar while the fingers of her left hand fumbled for a penny. She would hold the penny into the bright midday light (without the assistance of her magnifier) and examine the year etched on its metallic surface.

1971.

She would sit and tumble dry the year in her mind.

1971.

Sometimes, blurry visions would surface. More often than not, the repetitive seance summoned empty rooms painted black.

1971.

She put the penny aside to fish out another penny.

“1939!”

She was surprised at the sound of her excited voice. She quieted it.

“Momma was born that year.”

She closed her eyes and tried to create an image of her long-dead mother. She could smell her perfume and caught a glimpse of a wide hat. However, she could not make out her momma’s face.