From Here to Heaven

When all of a sudden I heard, "Tommy!"

"It was daddy’s voice!" As fast as the chill entered the room, the warmth returned with the sound of his voice. I looked over and saw my father sitting in his favorite chair, in my TV room."I’m so glad you came back daddy."

"I’m here for just a little while. Please help me find my mother. She is lost."

Tears ran down his face. He was gripping something in his hand that he kept looking at. Opening his hand, he revealed an old Indian head penny, Lovingly, daddy placed the penny in my open palm. His hand was warm. This, I knew, was not a dream. He said, "When you carry this penny, you will walk with the spirits from my past. You will be able to find out who my birth mother was. Remember, carry this with you everywhere you go." Again, before I could say anything, he disappeared. Growing up, I loved to collect pennies. My father and I would spend hours talking about my prized collection.

*******

Inspecting the penny, I suddenly feel as if I’m falling. The colors in the wallpaper and carpet blur; my house disappears. I no longer exist in the present. I look at myself. I’m dressed in formal wear not the pajamas I was wearing. My clothes are distinctly from a another time. I look around and I’m no longer in Texas, but in Madison. I find myself in a cornfield where my mother’s house should be. Trying to make sense of all this, I look at the penny still clutched in my hand. Now it looks newly minted, a moment ago it was old and worn. My confusion increases at the sight of daddy’s old homestead; it faces a dirt road, not the busy street I knew. A horse and buggy stand in front of the bright red house. It’s a peaceful place. Chickens mill around in the road; a milk cow grazes on the grass. The backyard is neatly manicured with fruit trees and grape arbors that seem to go on forever.

A small boy in the yard plays by himself. A rugged-looking man carries a double-barreled shotgun in one hand, and a dead raccoon in the other. He walks along the dirt road, with his hunting jacket pockets full of dead squirrels. The belted rope around his waist holds a dead pheasant. He’s a tough-looking husky fellow, about six feet tall with a ruddy complexion. I recognize him as Vincenzo Sapio, my father’s father. Remembering what daddy said, I assume the little boy is my father Frank. I watch as Vincenzo approaches. Frank runs to him eager to help. Vincenzo hands him a squirrel to carry and Frank proudly walks by his side. I feel so good to be here. It looks just like daddy said it did. The air is crisp and clear in this beautiful place.

I try to get their attention but soon realize I’m invisible to them. I am only an observer. I walk to the backyard looking for my father’s mother Antonetta. Turning the corner I see her. She’s wearing a light colored dress, her hair is pulled back under a kerchief. She is picking vegetables and putting them in her apron. When it’s full, she gathers the ends of the apron and goes towards the house. I start to follow her inside, but I’m suddenly knocked to the ground.