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He flips a few eggs and shrugs. “Something about the lottery. Didn’t pay too much attention as I don’t play.” He points out to the diner. “It’s too early for this much activity. It’s like our sleepy town woke up for the first time. It’s weird.”
“Did someone from Blackburn win the lottery?”
He shrugs again. “I guess.”
I dart out of the kitchen, searching for Pearl, and the swinging wooden doors swoosh closed behind me. If there’s anyone that knows town gossip, it’s her.
“Pearl,” I say, rushing toward her. “Did someone win the lottery here?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she squeals, grabbing my arm. “This is exciting as a pig in mud!”
“Do we know who won?”
“Not yet. Word is, someone claimed it, but they haven’t made it public. Can you believe it? Someone from here could be a millionaire! They better leave us a damn good tip.”
The buzz of excitement permeates the diner. Conversations grow louder as people talk to their neighboring tables. Everyone is smiling, which is actually nice to see. Many in Blackburn struggle with the sameness of their lives, so no doubt this will bring some excitement to the community. I think about the lonely ticket on my dresser. Too bad it wasn’t me.
My voice is hoarse, and a splitting headache pulses at my temples by the end of the day. The incessant chatter about the lottery has filled every corner of the diner. How much the person was going to end up getting after taxes—four million dollars—and what said person should do with it.
“I hope to never hear the word lottery again,” sighs Pearl. We both lean against the back station, arms crossed, observing the jam-packed restaurant. We’ve given up trying to keep everyone’s cup filled. This unofficially became the hot spot of the day after people left the gas station. Everyone in this freaking town must’ve taken the day off as if they marked today a holiday. If someone wasn’t here, wild speculation was that they were the winner. Nobody wanted to leave, afraid if they did, they’d miss something.
But the missing person would walk in, and the pendulum of speculation would swing to a new guess. The cycle persisted all day. Back and forth, it swung. Roberto issued warnings about loitering, but everyone started ordering drinks so they could stay.
“I hope it’ll be back to normal tomorrow,” I say, relieved to see our replacements walk through the doors.
“It better. My tips sucked today.”
I nod. “Same.” When I counted my tips earlier, a pit of panic surged in my stomach. Saturdays are our best tip days. I have rent due next week, and if I have another day like today, I won’t be able to cover it. It’ll piss me off if I have to dip into some of my savings.
“Bunch of cheapskate busybodies, if you ask me,” Pearl barks as we push past the swinging doors.
That’s for damn sure.
CHAPTER 3
Kali
After the day I had, I wished for nothing more than silence, but there’s a tinge of curiosity brewing in my chest. I click on the TV and press zero-zero-eight on the remote. Maybe they’ll announce the person who won. It’s likely a commuter. With a TV dinner in hand, I settle on the couch to watch the six o’clock news.
I smile to myself when a picture of our small-town gas station pops up. It’s the top story. The camera focuses on Henry and his family. They must’ve been filming when I walked by. He looks great on TV. He’s a natural with his charismatic personality. Why he likes me, I have no idea.
I twirl spaghetti around my fork as I listen to him talk about what the store plans on doing with the one percent bonus they get for selling the winning ticket. When the story pans back to the news anchors in the studio, they add, “No one has come forward to claim the money yet, so if you have a ticket, double-check it. Here are the numbers again.”
Wait? What?
The screen flashes blue with six white numbers on them. My heart quickens its pace.
Oh, shit. Slow down!
I toss aside my TV dinner and rush to find a pen and paper in my junk drawer. Frustrated, I can’t find something within reach to write on, I resort to scribbling the numbers on the palm of my hand before they disappear from the screen.
“No way,” I whisper to myself, walking back to the bedroom, staring at the numbers on my hand. I draw a deep breath, swiping the ticket off the table. With the ticket in my right hand, I uncurl my left hand and start comparing the numbers.
03
“Yes!” I made five dollars! At least it paid for my ticket.
10
