A Medal

Everyone always says, "whattya want, a MEDAL?" - like it's something absurd, to want a medal! Who doesn't want a medal? I'm talking about a physical object, designed and manufactured, possibly by hand, possibly using gigantic machines calibrated by hand, crafted specifically to award to you.

An amulet of recognition; unexpected, protested, but undeniably - even you have to admit it - deserved. Well-earned. Someone has officially decreed you did something awesome. Officially and prestigiously, they decree it in the presentation of the medal. They decree it wordlessly. It is the gleam of medal itself that speaks. Everyone there knows, you most of all, what this medal means.

You take it.

Grinning, looking side-of-the-eye, head down, abashed. The crowed is wowed and hushed, or maybe there is no crowd - just a photographer and a small, select handful of personages. <i>You are in a deeply-stained walnut study in a historical public home,</i> for the honor. Cameras blink

- silent flashes.

You don't even know what to say. But you mumble something, which comes out brilliant, every choice and dulcet syllable catching in every ear within shot, because of your mumbling. Even the deef ol' codger positively festooned with medals of his own bursts out in stifled laughter at the aptness of your remark! And how well its wit reflects on you. Look at him. He's nodding his head exaggeratedly, eyes squinched, smile wide trying not to laugh. He has lived your moment himself, many times, and in mirth you sense he has finally grown wise enough and ready to pass the torch.

You take it.

It is a hard token, heavy in the hand.

Of some considerable heft just to look at, even.

A big round flat cartoon coin, with something shiny, intricate and substantial stamped into each side - a different design on each side! Both meaningful, but not the same meaning.

Different, complementary meanings.

In later years, you will reflect that the meaning on the outward side is clearly meant for others' eyes, to instruct and inspire, but the medal's inward-facing side (its true obverse, you'll later grow to feel) is stamped with what seems almost a private message, deeply-meant. For your heart only - a message from the medal to you.

They bring you the medal on a cushion, lifting it off for you (a ridiculous pang - you want that cushion, too!); the ribbon partially unfurls. You stifle an involuntary blush, but your sigh escapes in a breathless gasp you can't quite stifle. The ribbon is of more than one color - a bold deep, shiny green across the right 2/3rds, and with a thin, gold stripe separating off the left third of purest royal blue. And the specific colors! - and the pattern! - itself, it would mean something heraldic, but since you've remained scrupulously unstudied in such vain, bloodstained pursuits you can only gawp. The question mark over your head, the dazzled wonder in your eyes, are audible to everyone in view. The whole thing would now mean something heraldic - the individual design elements of both sides of the medal would mean, would tell - each element individually and all taken together as well, would tell. You, yourself -

With the assistance of guiding hands, smoothing and fussing - lift the medal over your head. And it settles heavily on your shoulders. Falls perfectly over your sun center. Everyone steps back.

As your breath catches and you grin, and blink, somehow almost overcome with relief.

Honestly.

Who the FUCK does not want a medal!??