The Lottery Winner

by Pete Thorsen

  The Lottery

  Winner

  Pete Thorsen

  Released on Kindle & in Print

  July 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher/author, except that brief selections may be quoted or copied for non-profit use without permission, provided that full credit is given. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely accidental.

  Chapter 1

  In 2009 Jake Gloss won the lottery. It was played up big in the local newspaper. Hometown Veteran Wins Lottery was the second-page headline. His total take-home winnings after taxes were sixty-seven thousand four hundred seventy-three dollars and a few cents. It wasn’t the big national lottery.

  It has been almost nine years, and I still have that newspaper clipping. You could say that day was the high point of my life. Or maybe more accurately the major turning point of my life. At that time I had recently left the military after an eight-year stint.

  The military was kind enough to show me the world. At least parts of the world. The parts where no tourists would ever travel. Like Afghanistan, Iraq, parts of northern Africa, and a couple of other places. The military taught me to kill and allowed me to get in some practice at it until I had honed the skill some. Then when my eight years were up, I left the Army and came back here.

  I can not say I came back home. I had no home, and I don't even know why I returned to this area. The four corners area of the United States is not all that pretty for the most part. Much of this land is a pretty ugly barren desert. There are no real industries here where you can get a middle-income job. For the most part, it has scruffy looking towns with scattered scruffy looking homes in between them on the desolate highways. And the people you meet tend to be scruffy looking individuals.

  Maybe I returned because the land matched my feelings at the time. Who knows. I grew up around this area, and I came back to this area. Then I won the jackpot in this area.

  At the time of me winning that jackpot, I had very little to my name and no prospects. The economy was in the dumper, and there were few jobs anywhere let alone around here. But then I won. I was a rich man. So I went out and got drunk.

  The next morning I did not feel very good. Like most people with a hangover, I swore off drinking. At least for most of the day. Once my head felt a little better I went out and walked down the sidewalk near where I woke up. I walked and walked. Even though with each step as my foot hit the ground it made my head hurt even more. At first, I was not thinking clearly because my head still hurt. Gradually my head felt better, and I could think again without so much pain.

  A few hours later it was late afternoon on a Sunday. I walked to a cheap restaurant that did not serve alcohol and had a good supper, my only meal of the day. Then I walked back to my cheap one bedroom apartment and pretty much just went to bed.

  The next morning I walked to a real estate office and asked if there were any places for sale for less than sixty-seven thousand dollars. The real estate market had also fallen on bad times like the rest of the economy, and there were a surprising number of homes from which I could choose. Like six places. All were fixer uppers the agent said. Like dumps, I asked, and the agent politely replied that indeed in their current condition some of the properties did not have much curb appeal.

  The agent showed me on the computer what was available. One caught my eye for no real reason. It was in the country and had sixteen worthless acres of land. It had a completed garage and a not completed house. Both buildings were built from cement blocks with metal roofs. The well, septic, and electric were already installed. But it was not livable in the present condition.

  The agent drove me out to the property. It was listed at fifty thousand dollars. When we got there, the area was desolate looking. Not a big surprise. There were no trees and only some scraggly weeds on the whole sixteen acres. The weeds all appeared to be dead. Let's just say the place could not be called cheerful.

  The green metal roofs looked nice and had a shine to them. The cement walls looked as desolate as the surrounding countryside and were even somewhat similar in color to the land. Both buildings had plain cement floors. There was a heavy wood stove with a shiny metal pipe going through the roof in the house. There was plumbing stubbed out in spots, and some interior walls of bare wood studs were up.

  You could see from side to side and end to end in the house. It was basically, just a big cement room the same as the garage. I told the agent that I thought I wanted to buy it. The agent suggested I offer forty-five thousand cash, so that is what I did. My offer was quickly accepted, and I was then a homeowner.

  At that time I owned a car. It was a well worn but still running Subaru all-wheel drive. It looked poor and matched me and my house. Over the next month and a half, I got enough work done on the house so I could move out there to live. I did not tell the county I was living there but for me enough was done so I could live there in relative comfort.

  Once I was living there, I went out looking and eventually found a job. Between that job and always working on the house, I did not have any spare time. I had no experience working on construction or building or finishing a house. But I learned mostly through trial and error. And let me tell you there were a lot of errors. But gradually the house got looking more and more like a real house, at least on the inside anyway. The outside I left just the way it looked when I bought it.

  Time went past like it always does. I went through a few jobs. Well, I actually went through quite a few jobs. I am not all that nice of a person. Several times I had the police talk to me. But I was never arrested. I always tried to have the other guy throw the first punch in front of witnesses.

  Eventually, the old Subaru died, and I bought an equally old pickup to replace it. The pickup was handier to haul stuff but got less mileage. While I had that Subaru I had bought a small cheap used trailer to haul all my building supplies for the work on the house. I still have the old trailer and still use it sometimes but hauling in the pickup sure is easier though using both allows me to haul much more in one trip.

  Winning that lottery money turned my life around in many ways. It allowed me to buy this place and pay cash for it. And luckily I was smart enough to do that. When I bought this place, it gave me a purpose, something to do every day, something constructive and worthwhile. It saved me. I have no doubts about that.

  While many, many vets commit suicide every day I don't think I would have; it's just not my style. I could have found myself behind bars in prison though. Or while not suicidal I do have little regard for my safety and well-being, and I certainly could have wound up dead.

  But this house saved me. It gave me something to do every day and kept me busy for a long enough time span for me to adjust back into civilian life and get my head on straight. Well at least straighter anyway. This house kept me alive and out of prison. Pretty good work for a simple ugly house.

  Now I still work on the place, and I almost always have some kind of a real job. Having this house meant I had no rent payments every month and allowed me to save some money on occasion. Even after paying cash for this house and land I still had over twenty thousand dollars of my cash winnings to keep me going and to also use for finishing the house, so it was livable.

  And I learned. I learned about construction work, and I learned to look for a bargain. I learned to get up every morning and to work hard all day. I learned to take setbacks in stride whenever I made mistakes. I learned that mistakes were
just another normal part of life. I learned that mistakes were not the end of the world but instead just a part of learning and living.

  And I learned that I could live just fine back in the real world after living in the military world for those long eight years.

  Chapter 2

  Just like most everyone else, my life was not all a bed of roses. But I helped myself a lot. I quit going to bars and getting drunk. I mostly quit fighting. But that was basically because of me avoiding the bars and the drinking. At the urging of someone I worked with for awhile, I did go in and sign up at the local VA hospital. So now I can get the free hospital care there, and I don't need separate health insurance.

  Not that I would have ever bought and paid for health insurance anyway. I did get minor injuries at a couple of jobs and had to go in and get sewed up, but the bosses had to pay for that.

  Overall I guess my life isn't going all that bad. Especially when I hear all the complaints from everyone else that work with me. All of those other workers seem to be broke all the time. Of course, it is their own entire fault that they are broke, but none of them would ever admit that, to themselves or me.

  They drive newer and fancier trucks than what I drive. That has to cost them money. They have the latest fanciest smartphones rather than the cheapest, pay-as-you-go one that I use. They talk about what they watch on the TV at home so they must all pay for satellite TV service and that has to cost money. And they all sound like they go to the bars on a regular basis and I know for a fact that costs a bunch of money.

  So they are always broke and blame everyone from their boss to the politicians to anyone else they can think of, just not themselves. I sure don't feel sorry for them. They even ask me to borrow money to them sometimes. I always say no. Sometimes they ask me why, don't I trust them. When they ask me why I don't lend them a few bucks until payday, I always tell them the truth. I say it is because I don't want to go to jail.

  Why would you go to jail if you borrow me money they always ask me if the conversation lasts that long. And again I tell those seeking a loan from me the truth. I say because I would hurt you if you did not pay me back and you would call the cops or one of your buddies would call the cops if you could no longer speak. Then I would end up in jail.

  That always ends the loan conversation. Always. And the same people never ask me for money again. But then I get a different job, or different people get hired at the job I'm at and sooner or later they end up asking me for money. And why ask me? I am never their friend. I am only a co-worker at best. And they know that I make the same amount of money as they do. They can plainly see that I drive an old junker pickup.

  Maybe it is because I don't complain all the time about money as they do. Of course, I don't complain about anything because I don't talk much. No idle chatter from me. And after people ask me stupid questions and only get a grunt or no acknowledgment at all they often start just ignoring me. Them leaving me alone is what I wanted to happen from the very beginning. I don’t work to gain friends; I work to gain money. Many people just do not understand that principle.

  Though I don't talk, I cannot help but listen. Often my co-workers are talking about things I don't know anything about or have never even heard about. They talk about sports players and such of which I know nothing. They talk about TV shows that I either never heard of or that would not interest me anyway.

  Many times they have talked about a TV show called The Walking Dead. It is apparently a TV show about zombies I gather and judging from their constant talk, it must be popular. They talk about it as if zombies are real. They talk about how tough they would be and what they would do. Sometimes I know a smile appears on my face with some of the stupid comments they make. I really doubt that they have ever killed anyone, whether a regular person or a zombie.

  They talk about guns and how good they are with the guns they have or at least say they have. I know some of them have guns or at least did at one time. When they are broke, they sometimes would offer to sell me a gun or two through the years. And I have bought a few guns for just pennies on the dollar. Their loss is my gain I figure. I don't feel sorry for them. I pay what I figure they might be able to get at a pawn shop, which is very little. I usually try and get them to throw in any ammunition or other items that go with the guns too.

  I have seven guns right now. I don't need anymore. I don't even know why I bought these other than the fact that I know they were cheap at the time and I know I could always at least get my money out of them again if I wanted to sell them. And I do like to shoot them occasionally. I shoot right at my place.

  That is getting to be somewhat of an issue. When I bought the place, there was no one around for a long ways. Now in the last few years, a couple of places have been built in the area. None real close but still close enough to hear me shoot. One of these new homeowners came over to my place one time when I was out shooting. He basically, told me I couldn't shoot at my own place.

  I told him it was none of his business and he should leave right away. He was smart enough to do exactly that, and he drove away raising a big dust cloud. The county deputies came just awhile later. They tried to raise a stink about me shooting. I did not talk much to them when they were here. I just said it was my land and I would do as I pleased and that I would never shoot anyone and never had so far.

  They did not like it when I would not talk to them much. The cops kept threatening to arrest me. I let them talk. After a while, they left and so far they have never come back. And I have shot just as much since that incident as I did before it.

  Other than that one encounter I have had no trouble at my place. And I am doing OK here. I have propane for heat, hot water, and cooking but I usually heat with wood. I even cook on the top of the wood stove in the winter. The stove is hot, so I thought why not?

  There are no trees on my land. And it is some distance to where there are any big trees. But I usually work in construction now, and I bring home every piece of wood product that I can. Even plywood and such. And pallets which I cut down or just break apart to burn in the wood stove.

  I have built a large shed here. It is a very crude looking thing, and it only has three sides and a roof. I used almost all reclaimed materials from job sites. And in this big shed, I store the wood I use for heating. Sometimes I buy firewood also if I think it is a good price.

  I like the wood heat, so I don't mind paying for the fuel. You can get permits to cut wood on the nearby National Forests. Many people do this. The permits are just a few dollars, and apparently, you can cut and haul as much wood as you want in the allowed time period on your permit. I’m not sure because I have never gotten a permit or cut any trees.

  When construction workers get laid off in the fall even drawing unemployment they cut and sell firewood for extra money. As long as it is cash sales the unemployment office never finds out about this added income. So with many people cutting and selling wood the price stays low so I do sometimes buy firewood. I try and keep the large shed full of wood all the time.

  I also scavenge wood anywhere I can legally take it. Besides at the job sites where I currently work I can often get wood from other job sites. I always ask whoever is in charge first. Many of these other job sites are being run by people I have worked for or with in the past. They usually allow me to get as much discarded wood products as I want to haul away.

  The ash from the wood stove I dump on the ground in one area not very far from my house. I am considering trying to grow a few things in a small garden. The ash I figure will help make the soil in that spot better. When I have the ashes spread out, and in the spring when the ground is soft and slightly damp I go out with a shovel and turn over the ground, so the ash gets mixed in some with the soil. It keeps the ashes from blowing around later when everything is dry here. I really don't know if that ash will help the soil, but I need to dump the ashes somewhere anyway.

  Chapter 3

  Things were going pretty good for me and for most other people
too it seemed like. I had a few dollars in the bank, and I had been at the same job now for well over a year. The gas prices were reasonable and had been for quite awhile. At least on the surface, things were looking pretty good I thought.

  And nothing really happened to make things worse. At least nothing I could point to anyway. But things gradually started to decline it seemed. I didn't even notice maybe for awhile. Like most people, I just worked then went home, and that was about it. Unless something effected my personal life, it could easily slip past me without me even being aware of it.

  And I think that is what happened to me and countless others. I had to ride into the larger nearby city of Durango with the boss one day, and I was quite surprised to see a pretty big protest going on there when we arrived in the town. I had never really seen a protest in person before. And when I spent some time to look, I saw several of the businesses near the protest had boarded up windows. It looked like it was not the first protest to happen there and the last time maybe it had turned into a violent riot instead.

  "What's the protest about?"

  "I don't know this time. People just seem to be protesting all the time now. And what they want or what they expect to change are usually not very clear. At least to me. Sometimes I think people are just getting frustrated with how everything is going, so they protest. And often the peaceful protests turn ugly after dark and then stuff gets broken."

  Then as we continued our drive through the city, I noticed many businesses seemed to be closed. So I asked about that too.

  "Looks like there are quite a few businesses here that are closed. Way more than I ever expected or have seen before. I have thought things were going pretty good now."

  "I know what you mean about thinking things are going well now. My business looks like it is doing pretty good too. The work crews are busy all the time, and we seem to have no down time. But honestly, my bank account is flat instead of growing like it should be if the business is so good. I just can not seem to get ahead even though business is relatively good. I have been doing this job for many years, and I am careful with my money. More careful than most people.