Thursday evening as I'm headed to take my final exam, I run into Mrs. Schwarzkopf. Discreetly, she asks if I met up with Rose.
“I did! Thank you so much. She’s wonderful. I don’t know where I’d be without her,” I tell her.
“Oh, I’m so glad. Jerry and I are so happy for you. This couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person. Did you get the money yet?”
“Apparently, it’s a bit more complicated with the amount I won, but Rose thinks there shouldn’t be any problem. We should get word any day.”
From my lips to God’s ears, I think loudly to myself, a silent prayer to a deity I wasn’t so sure was listening to me.
I think I should tell Mrs. Schwarzkopf that I’m going to move, but I don’t want to show my hand too early or jinx anything.
She asks me about my mom and Jude. Not much to share there, but she’s happy to hear Jude is expected home in June.
I don’t think I do very well on my history final. I’m so distracted. The entire bus ride home from class I think about the different schools in the Chicago area I could go to finish my degree. Maybe I’d go to school full time? The idea was exhilarating. Should I stay in dorms somewhere? Or at twenty-four, would I be too old? Either to be considered to stay in the dorms or just with the age difference, would it be awkward making me wish I hadn’t?
The next weeks are brutal as I wait for confirmation of my winnings. Mom doesn’t notice my anxious moodiness, and I’m grateful for that. Heather has been more irritating than normal with her trying to get me to go out and party and her lecturing me with how I’m handling my mother. If she only knew! Everything at work is driving me nuts! Tammy and Joel are fighting, again. It’s so obnoxious I want to scream at both of them. Brenda quit, and Stevie got fired, putting more burden on the rest of us.
Friday morning, almost four weeks since I went to the Lottery Commission to file my claim, the earliest I could receive my first payment, I get an email from Rose. She tells me she had just heard from the Lottery people, and my first direct deposit payment will be made to my account any day. I can barely think straight.
On my lunch break, I bike over to my new bank and dip my debit card into the ATM to see if my winnings have been deposited. Nothing other than the fifty dollars I used to set up the account. I take a few breaths and plan to check again on Monday. When the printout for the account balance shows $184,780—the $184,730 Lorell told me my annual payouts would be plus the money I used to set up the account, I almost pass out. With a shaking hand, I press the buttons to make a withdrawal.
I tap the glowing square to request one hundred dollars.
In seconds, five twenty-dollar bills appear in the dispensary.
It’s all true. The ticket, the winnings… The promise of a new life.
I’m a riot of emotion. I won’t have to struggle for money as I’ve done all my life. I’m smart enough to know that I will need to budget and can’t go crazy, but the money is nearly six times more than I’m earning now. I can live like an average person instead of someone barely keeping her head above water. But, I’ll be doing this all without my mother. She’s not the best mother, but she’s all I’ve got. Will she be okay? Will this be too much?
Regardless, I have to look out for me. I know what I’m doing is right. I’m still taking care of her, I’m just pushing her to be an adult.
When I return to work, apparently Tammy and Joel are back on and sucking face while on a smoke break which is near where I park my bike. I half wonder why I came back to work at all. I should just go AWOL. Never come back. What would it be to me? I’m more than a hundred and eighty thousand dollars richer! It’s not like I need the job reference later. But, I might, I reason, so here I am.
I still have time for my lunch break, but I march into Mr. Elson’s office instead.
“Mr. Elson, I’m turning in my notice.”
“You’re kidding. I was just considering promoting you to supervisor.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not. My last day will be Friday.”
“You’re not even giving me two weeks?”
“It can’t be helped.”
“Where are you going? The cable company?”
“No. I’m moving… out of the area. It’s already done.” This was a slight fib since it wasn’t like I had a place in Chicago yet, but I would stay somewhere. I would work on that over the next week. I am leaving. Period.
He’s stunned silent. I want to feel bad, but he’s not been the best boss always calling me out on minor things. I’m his best employee, and he knows it.
“For what it’s worth, I think you should give Eileen my weekday schedule,” I suggest. I’ve covered for Eileen, who is a part-timer, a few times on the weekend when she’s needed to take time off for her kids. She is a single mom and could use a more stable paycheck.
“Good suggestion,” he agrees. “See, you’d be an excellent supervisor. Are you sure you have to leave?” he pleads.
“Positive.”
Over the next week, I discretely pack my room with things I want to bring to my new life—simply my books and the clothes that I don’t hate in a couple of duffle bags and a few mementos in a backpack. I also visit my cell phone company and upgrade my phone from the basic clamshell to a new fancy and shiny ‘smartphone.’ It’s quite a device, and while it scares me, it also makes me feel very powerful and put together.
My last day of work is harder to work than my first day. At lunch, Tammy and Joel remove their tongues from each other’s throats long enough to ask me, “Hey. Rumor has it you’re leaving. Like, today is your last day?” Tammy asks.
“Yep,” I say simply. To tell them anything more would be a huge mistake.
“Did you get a job at the cable company? I hear they’re hiring,” Joel asks hopefully.
“No. I’m moving,” is all I say.
When I offer nothing more, they shrug and go back to making out on the nasty sofa.
After work, Austin’s van comes into the lot before I’m able to even unlock my bike. He brings the van to a screeching halt next to me.
“Crystal. Are you moving?” he asks as he climbs out of the cab.
“I am,” I say, bracing myself for what surely will come next.
“Wow. Why? Were you gonna tell me? I thought we had somethin’ here.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Can I take you out to dinner? Red Lobster?” he offers. “You can even have the tails.”
There it is. The offer. He’s looking for one last hookup. Is he serious that we ‘had somethin’?
“I have some last-minute packing. I’m leaving tomorrow,” I explain, kicking myself because, in the end, Austin’s not a bad guy and decent in bed.
“Tomorrow? I thought there would be at least another week!” I smile inwardly at the desperate tone in his voice. It’s nice to be wanted.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Can I give you a ride home at least? You know… For old time’s sake?”
I’ll admit that there’s a small part of me that is tempted, but I’m reminded of my mom who brings any guy home, and… I just can’t. Instead, I politely decline, say my goodbyes, climb on my bike, and peddle my way home. For the last time.
I find it oddly ‘comforting’ that my mom isn’t home when I get there. No doubt she’s at any of the local dives. After all, it is Friday.
As I look around the space that I’ve lived in since the day I was born, I try and feel sad that I’m leaving. I try and recall happy times to take with me, but I’m hard pressed to find a handful. Almost every birthday and holiday, Mom had been drunk. When I came home with any of my trophies, Mom was either underwhelmed or drunk and overinflated the value of the award. There was when Jude got arrested for the first time—on my tenth birthday. A couple of memories with Jude weren’t horrible like the times when we played Candy Land. We had only half a deck of cards to move forward with, and we had to make our own cards for Lollipop Woods and Princess Frostine’s spaces. For my sixte
enth birthday, Jude gave me a brownie with a candle on top. True, this was four days after my actual birthday, and the brownie was laced with marijuana, and I felt like I was dying for about forty-five minutes after eating the birthday cake substitute, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
I head to bed, and out of habit, listen for Mom to come home. She stumbles in after a quarter to three. And she’s not alone. When things are silent after four o’clock, I head into her room to check on her. The guy she brought home is also sound asleep snoring like a chainsaw. I set her up one last time with ‘the bucket’ at her bedside should she wake up needing to puke. Tomorrow she’s in for quite a shock. I feel bad, but at the same time, I’m so over this.
5
Look Out Windy City!
CRYSTAL
At 9:48 a.m. on Saturday morning, Mr. Schwarzkopf pulls his large white Buick up to the bus station in Springfield. He gets out of the car to help me pull my bags from his trunk. I thank him and Mrs. Schwarzkopf profusely for the ride.
Mr. Schwarzkopf tells me, “You take care, Crystal-Light. And if you need anything, you just call Judy or me. Keep your guard up and don’t get taken by some shyster. You’re too beautiful and kind for your own good, but remember you are smart. A lot of people don’t believe that beautiful people can also be intelligent. Prove them wrong!”
I hug the couple and thank them again, promising to ‘keep my wits about me and outsmart anyone who thinks they are smarter than me.’ Mrs. Schwarzkopf is too emotional to talk. She just smiles and cries at the same time. I look at the two of them, and, not for the first time, wish they were my real family.
I buy my ticket, a whopping twenty-eight dollars and fifty cents plus tax, and a fifteen-dollar fee for my second piece of luggage and then stuff my two duffle bags in the storage area under the bus and climb aboard with my backpack. As I take a seat about halfway back in the vehicle, I have flashbacks to the last time I took a Greyhound bus. To this day, it haunts me—getting scammed by my very own boyfriend, the shame I felt for leaving my mother, and the shame of returning home a failure.
But that was then, and this is now. I am not a failure. I’m a winner.
I hadn’t just ‘left’ my mother this time. I had a few more years of experiencing her lack of caring about getting better. And her not returning the favor of the more than ten years I had given taking care of her. Besides, I took care of her financially, as well.
I think about how I left my mother this morning. She was still passed out in her bed, her mystery man thankfully having crept out around five-thirty—I don’t know if I would have left had he still been in the house. I went through my normal routine of the coffee, water, and aspirin on her side table. The bucket, thankfully, was still empty. Although this morning, there was an extra little something on her table—a letter.
I tell her as much as I can without telling her that I’ve won the lottery. I tell her that I am going to Chicago because of a job opportunity that I couldn’t turn down—never mind that I don’t know of a job specifically. I explain that I found some grant to cover her mortgage payments. I explain the budget we’ve been living on and when she’ll need to make what payments. And I list some local AA meeting groups. I wish her the very best and tell her I will be in touch. I could only do so much.
I feel guilty. But if I’m really honest, if I’m ‘Al-Anon Honest’ with myself, she’s the one who should feel guilty. She is the one who has forever chosen alcohol and men over me. I’ve been paying the bills because she can’t seem to keep a job for longer than three months at a time, and in between each job, she takes a few months’ break. I’ve been working at odd jobs—raking, shoveling, walking dogs, and babysitting—since I was eleven, and I’ve always used my money to help pay bills because my mother would make a statement about ‘that’s what families do,’ something no child should be put in a situation to do. But I still feel guilty keeping this from her. I know that she will still get her welfare checks. And because I’m taking care of her mortgage for her, the welfare check will cover most of what she will need for food and utilities. But I also know that I have to take care of me. She never has. And I don’t know if it’s possible for her to change unless changes are made for her.
Jude is supposed to be released in a few weeks. I have also mailed a letter to him at the correctional facility. In my letter to him, I ask him to step up. Help get Mom sober and help her learn to be responsible. I think it might be a good thing for the both of them. It will give Jude something positive to work toward, right? I really want to stay for him, to hug my brother. Deep down, he’s really a good person, but ‘there will be time for hugs later,’ I say to myself. He’ll probably be stronger if I’m not there for ‘clean-up duty’ for him too.
With the city of Springfield behind us, I turn my focus to my future. I am so excited about seeing Chicago for the first time. I can’t wait to visit the museums I’d only heard about and seen pictures of. There was a high school senior trip to Chicago. Practically the entire class went. Leo and I were the only two kids in the class who didn’t go because it wasn’t just a day field trip, but a three-day stay with nights in the hotel, and neither of our families could afford it. When everyone got back, they couldn’t stop talking about the sights—the aquarium, the planetarium, the history museum, the food consisting of hot dogs and pizza. They had seen a show at a place called the Goodman Theatre. They went to the Sears Tower, which is now called Willis Tower, and had an impressive view of the entire city.
As the bus heads north, I stare out the window. The view is mostly corn and soy fields with an occasional billboard. These giant advertisements ‘sell’ anything from bail bonds, to restaurants and diners, to healthcare, to ‘gentlemen’s clubs.’ Lots of gentlemen’s clubs. And, not for nothing, but clearly ‘gentlemen’ don’t go to these places. They’re strip joints. But one board, in particular, grabs my attention—one such club named ‘Gentlemen’s Fantasies.’ On the board is a pretty girl wearing nothing! She is lying on her belly and looking seductively at all the drivers racing down the highway with her full, wavy brown hair hiding the nipple on her breast that would have surely been showing. The caption on the soft-core porn billboard reads ‘Let Crystal fulfill your every fantasy.’
And there it is. My name up there. I know I’m not her, but my classmates have continually let me know that Crystal is one of the top names for strippers. Specifically, there were three boys who teased me mercilessly all through junior and high school—Mike Lambert, Steve Jones, and Demitri Papolos. They never missed an opportunity to tell me that the name Crystal sounded like I should be working a pole or stage for money. ‘Singles,’ Demitri used to clarify, insinuating, I guess, that I’m so ugly or whatever that I wouldn’t earn five- or twenty- dollar bills. Jerk. I like my name. I like the sound of it. I liked the fun that Mr. Schwarzkopf had with it with all the beautiful nicknames, and Mrs. Schwarzkopf always said that I sparkled just like my name. But when it came to school, I wished I could change my name.
Why not now? I wonder to myself. I’m heading to a new town. No one knows me there. I can be whoever I want to be. I think about pieces of my name. Heather always called me Crys, but some people will hear Chris and may think it’s more of a boy’s name. One thing I like about the name Crystal is that no one ever thought I might be a guy. I consider the name Jude used to call me, Crys-Talia or just Talia. A character from a TV show he used to watch, Babylon something or other. Talia Jameson, I roll it through my head. I like it. It sounds feminine yet strong. It also sounds like my name could be Natalia. When it’s published that Crystal J. won the Win for Life Lottery, I would be even further from suspicion, at least outside of Harton. I make a note in my new phone to let Rose know.
Feeling more and more resolved in my steps toward a new life, I try to sleep on the bus a little. I hadn’t gotten much sleep last night—nervous about my mother and today. However, sleep is impossible. Not just from the jostling of the large, creaky vehicle, but I’m also nervous about s
ome of the sketchy people sitting near me. Furthermore, I’m wondering about my mother. Some habits never die.
Seven and a half long, bumpy, and smelly hours—courtesy of the guy who sat down in front of me when the bus stopped in Urbana hours later—I get my first glimpse of Chicago. The bus snakes into the city, and alongside the sidewalks, I see people of all shapes, sizes, colors, and trends walking along, many talking on their phones or listening to music. Some are small groups of people laughing and looking like they are heading out to an exciting night on the town. The bus finally pulls into the terminal only half an hour behind schedule.
I collect my bags, stop at a brochure stand in the terminal where I collect a map as well as about fifteen brochures of things to do in Chicago. I’m so thrilled and overwhelmed all at the same time. It’s going to be hard to keep focused on what I have to do, which the first order of business is to find somewhere to live. What I found online last night searching about the cost of hotels in the city, I won’t be able to stay in a hotel as my permanent home with my winnings.
Just outside the bus terminal, I look for a taxi. Following the example I see of the other people on the curb sticking a hand out into traffic when they see a yellow car coming down the road, I mimic the gesture and am rewarded when a cab stops for me. I confidently ask the man with a thick foreign accent to take me to the post office on West Harrison Street.
The ride is a short one. As the cab snakes through the blocks, I’m bubbling with both excitement and nerves. I can’t believe I’m in Chicago! And I still can’t believe things will work out. Will the key for my post box work? What if it does, and I open the box only to find a letter retracting everything, that some error was made with the ticket, and it really wasn’t a winner after all. Then what?
Win for Love Page 5
