No Coincidental Gifts

Many a time, I find myself counting change from newspaper sales and discovering more than just coins. A trinket here, a foreign coin there—charms and oddities that seem to travel through time and space, landing in my cash bag like gifts from the universe.

It is the sort of thing that keeps the day interesting.

It is rare to return to my truck and find something perched upon it that is not a parking ticket or a stern warning from a deputy. Such was the case when I discovered a red, five-inch metal 1955 Chevy Stepside pickup, much like the one I used to own, sitting on my hood.

Who left it there remains a mystery, and why I have taken up my pen to write this. Maybe the kind soul will reveal themselves—or not—and that will be fine, too.

The simple mysteries of life are not for solving in haste, after all.

Pleased as punch with my newfound treasure, I placed the little truck in the coffee holder by the gear shift and resumed my delivery route. Down the hill I went, through Gold Hill, Silver City, and on toward Dayton, the tiny toy rattling along as I mused over the identity of my mysterious benefactor.

An hour later, I returned to Virginia City. I parked in front of the gas station, grabbed my latest bundle of papers, and stepped inside, where I met up with KC.

She had been gone for over a month, off to India with her husband to a wedding for her cousin. She greeted me warmly, and as she paid for the papers, she asked, “Do you want these presidential coins or paper money?”

“I’ll take the coins,” I said.

“Good,” she replied, “Because a woman came in, sold them to me, and told me to give them to you.”

Naturally, my curiosity piqued, “Who?” I asked.

KC shrugged, “A woman, about my height. I can’t remember her name, but she said you’d know. I’ll have to ask her next time and write it down for you.”

I thanked her, wished her well, and returned to my truck.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, I dropped the coins into my cash bag, glanced at the toy truck, and thought, “There are no coincidences in life.”

And so, the mystery lingers like a wisp of fine smoke, just out of reach but not out of mind.