I’d been strong until then, telling myself that I had misunderstood something. Leo wouldn’t do this to me. But everything pointed to the fact that he did.
Then the tears started. I didn’t sob. I just leaked. Where would I go from here? Was I strong enough to stay here on my own without a friend? God, I could use a drink. No! I am not my mother’s child! I scolded.
Then I started to worry about Mom. I’d been gone for six days already. How had she handled my leaving? Did she even realize I had left? Was she drunk? Was she puking? Passed out? Was she alive?
I had no one. I had been abandoned. My mother was many things, but she’d never left me. She was ill, but it was a disease. Not her fault. And I’d left her. Abandoned her. How selfish was I?
I pushed the stupid tears from my face with the back of my hand and decided. I pulled my purse tight over my shoulder and hitched a ride to the bus station. From the fifty-two dollars in my purse, I bought my twenty-two-dollar ticket home.
~
So here I lie, seven years later. With a mother who is still sick and a slave to the bottle and has so little sense of self-worth she lets herself be used by every man who so much as looks at her. I know I’m her enabler. I had been to enough Al-Anon Family Group meetings. Maybe I should go back, but I can’t seem to find the will. Just like my mother can’t find the will to stay sober.
Instead, I allow and enable my mother to continue her reckless behavior. Along with her government funds and my stupid job at the customer service counter at the electric company, I buy the groceries, and I pay the bills. I also pay for one college class a semester at the local community college. I’ve already finished three classes. This semester I’m taking World History. I have class on Tuesday and Thursday nights from seven to nine. Finals are next week. At this rate, I’ll graduate with my associate’s degree in 2028.
But this is not what I want. I want out. I want a new life. I want to go to college—full-time. I want a job that makes a difference in the world. I just don’t know exactly what or how to get that life.
So, this Friday morning, April 13—yes, Friday the 13th—my alarm clock sounds at 5:25 a.m. and auto-pilot kicks in with my eyes on the future, not the past. I crawl out of bed and make coffee then check on my mother, who is sleeping it off, like always. Then I take my shower and get dressed in khakis and the navy polo shirt with the electric company’s logo we are made to wear. Finally, I slap together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch and mix up an instant powder pack breakfast drink with milk in my travel tumbler, a reward I’d received at work for perfect attendance.
I pedal my bike—a Schwinn I bought at Goodwill for eighty dollars and my only mode of transportation—to work grateful that it’s not raining the four-and-a-quarter miles to the neighboring town of Carlyle where I work. I know the farmers in the area would like the rain, but I prefer to ride my bike in dry weather.
As I lock my bike up to the light pole at the back door of the utility company, something catches my eye. It’s green. It’s money green. It’s not hidden. It’s in plain sight although folded into a small square. Holding my breath, I reach for it. Is it one of those clever ads made to look like money? An insurance guy who has an office in this strip mall had put out ads like that a few months back, and the entire parking lot was littered with his clever ‘Hire Me and Save Big Money!’ flyer.
Rubbing my fingers over the texture of the paper as I pick it up, my stomach flips. It’s definitely money, not a flyer.
My blood races and I’m trembling. I secretly hope it’s not a one-dollar bill. Not that I would mind a one-dollar bill. A one-dollar bill is a small coffee at the newsstand right across the street from the electric company. A five is a Value Meal at McDonald’s, and my mouth waters. For a fleeting moment, I hope it’s a hundred dollars. The memory of a sixty-five-dollar shirt I saw at the mall last week flashes in my mind. I would never dream of buying it on my wages with all the bills, but with found money… just maybe…
Smoothing the bill open, the corners of my lips turn up seeing a ‘1’ and a ‘0’—the number ‘10’ in the corner—and Alexander Hamilton looking off in the distance with his polite grin. I quickly survey the parking lot. Maybe someone dropped it, and they're looking for it. Finding no one around, well—no one looking for anything—I declare, “Finders keepers,” although I do feel a little bad for the person who lost the bill. I know it would put a real dark spot on my day. I feel a little like Charlie from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory when he finds the golden ticket in his chocolate bar. However, I'm not imagining buckets of chocolates and candies. I could get a couple of Value Meals or a coffee, an extra-large, and maybe super-size my lunch. Yeah. That’s what I will do with this found money.
I smile to myself as I cross the street to Joe’s Newsstand, the aroma from the rich brew he serves wafting out, calling to me. But as I walk to the counter, the wall of scratch-off lottery tickets catches my eye—the wall with a flashing ‘LOTTO’ sign. Shiny tickets of all colors—green, red, pink, and purple—glimmer back at me, all with the hallmark gray squares hiding the possibility of riches. Above the variety of scratch-off tickets are posters declaring the amounts that people have won buying tickets from this very newsstand. I smile to myself. Wouldn’t that be awesome?
“Red!” Joe calls out with his bright and giant smile, a stark contrast to his ebony skin. He always calls me Red, even though my hair is more a brown with reddish highlights, rather than an intense redhead. “So good to see you. Small coffee, extra sugar, extra cream, yes?” he asks, his thick Jamaican accent making the drink sound far more exotic. Furthermore, I’m astounded that he has my coffee order memorized. I’m far from a regular making my way here only every other month, if that, when I feel like treating myself.
“You know something, Joe? I would like a lottery ticket,” I declare out of nowhere, surprising even myself.
“Feeling lucky today?” he asks, flashing his blazing white teeth at me. “Regular Lotto? Powerball? Mega Millions? The jackpot on that one is up to two-hundred and forty-six million. Can you imagine?” he asks.
“I think I want a scratch-off. I have ten dollars.”
“You could do a few dollar ones. A fiver and a few dollar ones…”
Inspecting the wall, I zero in on the ten-dollar section of scratch-offs. A one touting “$5,000 A WEEK FOR LIFE!” blazing across the top catches my eye. “Win for life, please.”
“The two-dollar one for one thousand a week, the five-dollar one for twenty-five hundred a week, or—”
“The five thousand a week for life,” I say, my voice shaking. Imagine winning that much! A long shot for sure but so was finding this money, I rationalize.
Joe shoots me a quick wink then tears the ticket from the ribbon. After punching a few keys on the register, I hand him the ten-dollar bill, and he hands me the blue ticket. “Good luck,” he offers cheerfully.
I slip the card into my purse, then run back across the street to work before I am late. I stash my purse in my locker and rush to clock in, but my rushing around is in vain. And Mr. Elson is quick to catch me.
“You’re late, Ms. Jameson. That’s what? The third time this month?” I look at my punch card and see that I’ve clocked in at 8:01 a.m. today, and twice at 8:02 a.m. I look up at the tray of punch cards and see that I’m far from the last employee to clock in. What’s his deal?
“I’m sorry, Mr. Elson. I just—”
“I don’t want your excuses. Just be here on time, okay?”
“Yes, sir,” I reply and collect a cashier tray before heading to my window in between Desiree and Troy who are already servicing a long line of cranky customers.
All morning, the ticket in my purse calls to me, but there’s a steady stream of customers disputing their statements, signing up for new service, canceling service, or paying their bills.
Lunch break. I sit in the bleak, gray, windowless break room, Dr. Phil is on the TV blathering on about some whiny kid who won’t listen to
his parents. Listening to the drivel, I munch on my PB&J wishing I’d not bought the ticket and instead gone to McDonald’s.
After I finish my sandwich, I pull out the ticket. I read the instructions and find a nickel at the bottom of my purse. I start by scratching off the gray squares for my numbers, the ones I need to match to the prize numbers to win. After revealing my six numbers—10, 24 13, 5, 2, and 18—I start in on the fifteen prizes. The potential of winning “UP TO 15 TIMES!” has my blood racing.
One by one I reveal numbers that don’t match any of my six. Then I reveal the number ‘13’ in the prizes. A smile spreads across my face, and I’m hopeful that I’ve at least won the ten dollars back. What I reveal next causes me to stop breathing.
I look over my shoulder to see who else is in the break room. Tammy and Joel are talking about some club near St. Louis that they want to go to, completely oblivious to what I’m doing. No one ever notices me anyway, so I’m not really surprised.
I turn my attention back to the instructions again. The number ‘13’ is clearly in the top row. My numbers. The number ‘13’ is absolutely in the prize section. And under the number ‘13’… ‘$5,000/LIFE.’
Oh.
My.
God.
2
Now What?
CRYSTAL
The rest of the day is a blur. In a haze, I go through the motions, but my mind is on the card in my purse. The purse I didn’t put back in my locker, but rather keep on my shoulder and across my body. Can’t say I didn’t learn anything from Leo. I fight the urge to pull the ticket out and look at it again.
As soon as five o’clock hits, I go through the closing of my register, fill in the blanks on my Daily Transactions record with the amount of cash received, clip together the checks and credit card slips as well as the new contracts and the canceled service orders.
I want to go and turn in the ticket, but I have no idea how a win like this goes. Do I go to where I bought the ticket? I can’t imagine Joe would be fishing out five-thousand dollars from the till and hand it to me. Besides, I wouldn’t want that much cash on me. I have some research to do.
“Crystal,” Austin calls to me in the parking lot, pulling up in his work van and pulling me from my first-world problem.
Austin’s a technician at the company and also lives in Harton. He’s nice, but I don’t let him get too close. And he’s better than the half-dozen guys I’ve dated over the past few years. After Leo and how that all worked out, I will never give my heart over to another man. But Austin is… okay. He’s always been honest, and he’s easy on the eyes. When I need a ride because the weather is bad, Austin gives me a lift since my only mode of transportation is my bike. I never even went for a driver’s license. We don’t have a car that I could even drive, so it doesn’t really matter.
“Wanna go to dinner?” he asks, which is Austin’s polite way of asking if I want to hook up. At least he always bought me dinner before we got it on. But I’m not interested in dinner. Or a hookup.
“Thanks, Austin, but not tonight.”
“You okay?”
“Me?” I ask nervously. “I’m great. Why?”
“Nothing. You just look… happier than an, ‘I’m so excited it’s Friday’ kind of way.”
The lottery ticket in my purse is suddenly heavy, and I wonder if it’s glowing. A winning lottery ticket. A ‘win-five-friggin’-thousand-dollars-a-week-for-life’ ticket.
As casually as I can muster, I simply shrug.
“Well, if you change your mind, give me a call. I may just stay in and watch baseball. But I’d much rather take you out.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Slipping my leg over the seat, I mount my bike and head home with one hand on the handlebars and one hand on the strap of my purse.
The whole ride home I look at the cars and think about buying one. Of course, I’d have to get my driver’s license first. With $5,000 a week for life, I could do that! No more bike chains falling off the chain wheel. No more grease stains on the inside of my left pant leg.
Turning into the trailer park, I coast my bike up to the side of our white box, and for some reason, it looks grungier, more run-down, and more unkempt than usual. Ours isn’t the worst one but a far cry from many that are tidy and neat. I imagine hiring a crew to clean it and plant flowers like the Schwarzkopfs’ nicely-maintained home three lots down.
I dash inside our house calling out for my mom. The silence, along with a quick survey of the dilapidated front room with its ratty, light blue velvet, second-hand sofa, beat-up dark wood coffee table, and the nasty, matted brown carpet says that my mom isn’t home. On my way to my room, I peek in hers just to make sure. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d come home to find her passed out in her bed. Her bed is unmade with the mauve, satin bedspread still lying on the floor, but she’s not in there.
That she’s not home yet is a good sign that she’s still working and didn’t call in sick. It’s already 5:37 p.m., and she’ll be home soon. Unless she’s already found a bar. It is Friday, after all. She usually comes home to ‘freshen up’ first, though.
I head to my room, and behind my closed bedroom door, I take out the blue-and-silver card and read the back. I notice the section where I am supposed to sign and print my name as well as write down my address. I grab a pen and quickly follow those instructions so that even if someone does find the ticket, it’s mine.
Once the back is filled out, I read the steps to claiming my prize. If I’d won a small amount, less than $600, I could collect the prize at any place that sells Illinois Lottery tickets. For larger prizes, it says I can mail it to the Prize Claim Center in Springfield, but that doesn’t feel safe. I wonder if I can somehow get to Springfield to handle it in person. I also wonder about protecting myself. I definitely need professional advice. However, it’s well after business hours, and it’s Friday, so I won’t be able to do anything until after the weekend. I look around my room to find a safe place for my winning ticket. I can’t leave it in my purse. More than once—more than a dozen times—I’ve found money missing, no doubt taken by my mother.
I think about under the mattress, but I’d learned once before that under the mattress isn’t the safest place. I shudder and feel sick about the Leo days and his betrayal. I check out my bookshelf and my academic knickknacks. There was the Clinton County Spelling Bee trophy I won in the eighth grade, the plaque I earned from when I was in the math club and the competition we won in my junior year of high school, my certificates for honor roll—six of them—and my high school diploma.
I used to dream about going to college. I planned on going to Southern Illinois University. But it was more than an hour away from home, and my mom really couldn’t be left alone like that. I didn’t have a car to get back and forth easily. And Jude was in jail… for the first time. I had been offered a couple of scholarships, but those didn’t cover all the expenses, and the idea of a big school loan was terrifying. So, I decided to take a gap year—get my family on their feet and save some money for school. That gap year—which started with my disastrous attempt to leave home—turned into two, then three… Now I’m seven years away from graduation, and none of the scholarships are still available.
I examine my favorite books on the shelf—my prized possessions. I’ve been collecting the classics—editions I bought from the library when they would sell copies that were too tattered and worn. I have a whopping seventeen books.
A book is a great place to stash a winning lottery ticket. Mom thinks fairy tales are foolish, she’d never pick one up. I select my favorite, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. I’d bought that book for six dollars. It was old, this particular copy printed in 1963. It’s not a picture-book version by any stretch. It’s the original tale.
I used to think about all the people who held that book and folded the corners of the pages. Some people underlined parts, I imagine for writing term papers. Page 103 has a stain—it’s a tan, circular ring like the bo
ttom of a coffee cup. What kinds of secrets do these books hold? If only they could talk. But I’m glad they can’t because this one is going to hold the secret of my winning ticket.
I carefully tuck it deep into the pages of Chapter Five, the part of the book where Alice encounters the Caterpillar. Alice talks about how she doesn’t know who she is and can’t remember a poem. She eats a mushroom and grows bigger when she eats one side and grows shorter eating the other. I certainly feel like Alice right now.
Feeling a little more secure about the ticket having signed and hidden it, I turn and head to the kitchen to make dinner for my mom and me.
I make my famous tuna and peas casserole, but when my mom should be getting home from her newest job as a housekeeper in an old-age home, I get a phone call.
“Hey, Crystal-baaaby. It’s Mama. Lissen, baby. I hope I caught ya in time, and that ya didn’t start makin’ supper yet. I ran into an old friend and got to talkin’. We’re gonna get some dinner at the Italian place in town and continue catchin’ up. I mean, it’s Friday, right? Okay?”
“Um, yeah. No problem,” I reply, totally crushed. “Just tuna casserole. It’ll keep. I’ll put yours in the fridge.”
“Thanks, baby. Don’t wait up!” She squeals and giggles to someone as she hangs up the phone.
I look at the casserole with the crispy potato chip topping—perfectly browned—and feel let down. Again. I don’t know why I’m surprised. This isn’t an unusual occurrence. I guess a winning lottery ticket is enough good luck for one day. And at least she isn’t bringing home a strange man again. I hope.
I had been imagining what our future, my mom and mine, would look like. A future with $5,000 a week for life. After the payment on this trailer and community fees, the electricity, the water… we could buy a car and would even be able to afford getting a new TV, one where the corner isn’t distorted from the time my mom bumped into it when she staggered in late one night. And cable instead of relying on the sketchy antenna! We could get cable! Maybe not all the premium channels, I’d have to see how the budget works out, but the thought makes me so happy. And I would be able to go to college full-time without working at the electric company.
Win for Love Page 2
