A few nights ago, my neighbor’s pre-teen daughter, Bri, lost a tooth just before bedtime. Because the kid still believes in the Tooth Fairy, she looked at her mother and said, “Mom, all I hope the Tooth Fairy brings me is a South Dakota quarter.” Impressed by her daughter’s tenacious pursuit of the nation’s quarters and wanting to hold onto her daughter’s innocent belief in benevolent, otherworldy forces a little longer, my neighbor ignored her own fatigue from a long day of work and running her children around to endless seasons of after-work sporting events to go out for “an evening errand.”
She got into her PT Cruiser and zoomed down the hill. Going into the first gas station, which also doubles as a taco stand and bakery, she asked the evening gas attendant if he had any South Dakota quarters to exchange for the bicentennial quarter she held up to show him. He was puzzled by the request for only a half second before he obliged and looked through his change. “No,” he shook his head.
My neighbor then headed to the gas station on the other side of the hill. While this gas station lacks any foodstuffs of which to speak, the attendant was unfazed by my neighbor’s request and was helpful in a way that only someone who’s received far too many odd requests in the middle of the night could be. He not only looked through the change already in his till, but he opened up a new roll of quarters to further the search. Not wanting my neighbor to go away empty handed, he humbly offered the Nevada quarter. “It’s the one with the wild horses on it,” he said. With an increasingly bleary and crazed look in her eye, my neighbor walked away.
Before heading home, my neighbor thought she’d try one more place, “maybe a bigger one will have it,” she thought. And she drove to the grocery story across the street. Waiting in line behind the young punks and suited up yuppies who grocery shop at 11 p.m., she grabbed Cosmopolitan magazine, a Dr Pepper, a Snickers bar, and some Cheetos. Then she made her rehearsed pitch to the teen-aged girl behind the register. “I know this is going to sound strange, but I need to find the South Dakota quarter for my kid. The gas station on Huntington didn’t have it and the one on Ave. 60 didn’t either and I’ve got a bunch of different quarters we could trade for. I’ll even give you more quarters for just the one.” My neighbor knew she was babbling, but couldn’t stop herself.
The girl looked at my neighbor and unconsciously rang up the other items. She took my friend’s $20 bill and gave her change, without looking at the quarters. When my neighbor reiterated her request, the teen added, “Sorry, I’ve already closed the till, you’ll have to wait until my next sale.” It was late, and she was tired, so my friend took her magazine and junk food and drove home.
Once home, the toothless pre-teen and her little brother were asleep, and the Tooth Fairy was cranky and fading fast when her eyes fell upon the magazine she’d just bought sitting under the coin purse she’d taken to the grocery store. She hit upon an idea and immediately started to work.
The next morning, Bri awoke and came to breakfast. She warily walked into the kitchen and said, “Mom, I think the Tooth Fairy is weird.” Nursing a large cup of coffee, her mother questioned her statement. “Well, she left me a handful of change and this weird note. I think she got into your magazines, too,” Bri said.
My neighbor looked at the note. It was a cardboard heart cut out, with stalkerishly cut letters from a magazine pasted onto it, and the message “Special Bri, The S. Dakoda is on the way soon.” The message was signed “Tooth Fairy.”
My neighbor tried to muffle a laugh at her own crazed solution to last night’s problem, when her daughter added, “She did give me a handful of money and the state of Illinois, which I needed, but she really should learn how to spell ‘Dakota.’”
© Laura Genao 2006
Lo Que Dijeron