November 2, 2020

Rashi’s Dime

I don’t know what it is with these fucking shoelaces. I am on my way home from my daily walk in the ravine and it is the third time I have to stop, take off my gloves, and tie them up again. I refuse to do a double knot because A. I am not an 8-year-old boy, and B. Because I know I will never untie the double knot and I will become the guy who slips in and out of his running shoes, or even uses a shoehorn, because he is too lazy to untie the knot. Anyway, I step off the walking path in order to let the couple walking their dog behind me get past, and bend over to retie my right shoe.

And that is when I see it.

A dime.

On the ground.

Heads up.

You almost never see a dime on the ground. A lot of pennies. Some quarters. Sometimes even the odd Loonie. But you almost never see a dime.

I don’t know why that is.

My friend Becky says finding a dime is supposed to be a sign or message from someone you know who has passed away. But I don’t know. Seems a little subtle. I mean, a rainbow I could understand. A dime on the ground is a little like a whisper at a rock concert. Anyways, this is not the time to be picking up strange things from the ground. I mean, I have a mini bottle of Purell in my pocket. What am I going to do? Pick up the dime, put it in my coat pocket, then take out the Purell and sanitize my hands, then wash my hands again when I get home? Then what? Keep the dime in my coat pocket?

No. I don’t need that aggravation. If someone wants to send me a message from beyond, let them use WhatsApp like the rest of us.

So I go home and don’t think about it again until the next day when I go on my walk. This time, my shoelaces are fine. I have, in fact, switched shoes. But I stop to take a drink from my water bottle very near the spot where I tied my shoes for the third time yesterday.

The dime is still there.

Which makes perfect sense. This isn’t a golf course where every second group is going into the trees looking for lost golf balls. This is a patch of grass a few yards away from a foot path. There is no reason why anyone would find it.

I drink my water and go on my way.

The next day I don’t even make a pretense. I make a beeline for the dime.

It is still there.

I leave it undisturbed.

When I get home, I call Becky.

“I found a dime on my way home from the ravine,” I say. I don’t say I have seen it three days in a row.

“Someone is trying to send you a message,” she replies without missing a beat. Then she says “I wonder who it is?”

“I have no idea,” I say.

Then she says “Where are you keeping it?” I don’t tell her I didn’t actually pick it up. Instead, I say “In my jar with all the other messages from dead people.”

“No really,” she says.

“No really what?” I reply.

“Where did you put it?”

“What difference does it make. It’s a weird question.”

Then she says “I don’t think you picked it up.”

I don’t talk for a second. Then I say. “How do you know?”

And she says “I’ve never seen you pick up anything in your life. There is no way you picked up a dime.”

“You’re right,” I admit. “I didn’t pick it up.”

“You have to go back and pick it up. Someone is sending you a message.”

“Becky, you know I don’t believe in this nonsense. I was just telling you in passing.”

“Go back tomorrow and pick it up. If it is still there, it is a sign.”

“Nobody is sending me a message.”

And she says “I don’t know.” But she says it in that way where the word ‘know’ takes about ten seconds to pronounce. It is very annoying.

I say “Goodbye crazy person.” And then I hang up.

But now I am beginning to think maybe I should have picked up the dime. If someone is trying to send me a message, who am I to be blocking the calls.

I get up early the next morning and drive to the spot near the walking path. I park illegally across the street and go to the spot.

Needless to say, the dime is not there. I search for about twenty minutes. Some passerby with a video camera would have gotten some pretty good footage of an old Jew on his hands and knees looking for a dime.

Damn.

Somebody else got my message.

I find a bench and call Becky. I wake her up.

“It’s not there,” I say.

“What’s not there?” She asks.

“The dime. The dime is not there.”

“What dime? What time is it?”

“Becky, my dime. My message dime. It’s not there.”

And then she says “Ok.”

I say “Ok?”

“Look, if it’s not there it’s not there. There will be other dimes.”

“What the fuck. Yesterday you were telling me it is a sign and today you are saying there will be other dimes? What kind of friend are you?” Now I was upset.

“Calm down. I am not the keeper of the dimes. It’s just a Bubbe Meise. It’s not a big deal. Besides, if you saw it the next day then maybe it would have been a sign. But it was gone. It was probably a wrong number.”

I saw it three days in a row.

But I don’t say that out loud.

“Becky,” I say, “let me ask you this. I found it. Why do I have to pick it up?”

Becky says “Let me convene a meeting of the rest of the Coven. Relax, I’ll bring you a dime.”

But now I couldn’t relax.

I text my friend Steve. He is a lawyer and a very, very smart guy. I type “Hey, if you have a short window, I have a legal question to ask you.” Which isn’t exactly the truth but he is never going to get back to me if I text him and say I want to ask him about a dime I almost found on the ground.

He texts me back “Now.” Steve uses text as if the phone company is charging him by the word.

I call him and dispense with a preamble.

“You know how a found penny is supposed to bring you good luck?” There is no way I am going to mention dimes and dead people.

He now says “Seriously?” He also takes about ten seconds to pronounce the word. He and Becky should join a club. But I have him on the phone so I forge on. “Is the act of finding the penny enough or do you actually have to pocket the penny?”

“This is your legal question?”

“Well, it might be more a question of semantics.”

“I don’t know what you are asking.”

“Do you have to pick up the penny and take it home or is the act of just spotting it enough to bring you luck?” I know I sound like an idiot. But I also know Steve is going to eventually get past the lunacy and give me his actual opinion. One I would never get from anyone else.

“You found a penny?”

“Say that I did.”

“You didn’t pick it up?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you pick it up?”

“It doesn’t matter. I just didn’t.”

“You understand that finding a penny does not bring you luck, right?”

“I do.”

“Finding a million pennies on the other hand...”

“Steve. I’m just trying to settle an argument.”

“I think you have to pick it up.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” And I am about to hang up when he says “Although.” This word also takes about ten seconds to pronounce but this time I don’t mind as much.

“Although what?” I ask.

“There is a dissenting opinion,” he says.

“Go on,” I say.

“I don’t necessarily subscribe to it,” he says.

“What?” I say.

“Full disclosure,” he says, “it is from Rashi.”

Rashi was a famed Jewish scholar and scribe.

“Bring it on,” I reply.

“One could make the argument that leaving it on the ground is an act of kindness greater than the luck it bestows. Leaving the mazel for someone else is on a higher plane.”

“I would be paying it forward.”

“Your words not mine,” he says.

I say “Ok thanks.”

He says “You know how much I charge an hour for my opinion?”

“It is worth every cent,” I reply. But he has already hung up.

I feel much better.

The minute I hang up from Steve, the phone rings again, it is Becky.

She says “I think since you woke me up you should buy me breakfast.”

I say “Ok, I will meet you at Bagel Plus.”

Becky and I have a great breakfast despite the group of unruly teenagers having coffee at the table beside us. Although I have driven and not gone on my daily walk, I am surprisingly famished. We share a mushroom omelette, egg white of course, and some lox bagel and cream cheese. Then I order French toast, which I know Becky will not touch.

“Look who has made a speedy recovery,” she chides. “I was worried about you.”

I say “Sorry about that. Just kinda lost my mind for a second.”

I pay the bill and Becky and I get up to go. At the table next to us, the teenagers have left their waitress forty cents. I smile to myself and decide not to judge.

I hold the door open for Becky then say “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” I grab the four dimes and replace them with a toonie. When I get back outside I casually drop the coins at my feet.

Just in case someone needed a little Rashi backup.

The end.