Only took a dollar to buy Barker Ajax his ticket out of town.
“Give me a lottery ticket in change, please.”
“Megabucks or the scratch game?”
“Scratch me, miss.”
“One scratch it is, then. And good luck to you, sir.”
Barker was thinking how much he’d like to jump her tender young bones, meanwhile she’s treating him like her dad.
Lately, every turn in life seemed to lead to either a tough, possibly impossible climb or a precipitous, possible deadly decline.
***
Six months later. Barker Ajax is sitting in his usual corner table at Delilah’s on Northwest 21st street. Finished with somebody else’s New York Times, convinced the Western world could only be saved by a corporate merger with People’s Republic of China, he remembered the lottery ticket in his wallet.
JOKERS WILD was the name of the game. “Get 3 of a kind or 2 of a kind and a joker to win prize,” Barker read the ticket. He read everything. “Joker is wild” – hence the name, he interrupted himself – and can be used as any card.”
Get three 9’s, win $1. Three jacks pays $2. Three queens is worth 5. Three kings will get you 10. Three aces pays $50. And Barker’s personal favorite, get three jokers, win $25,000.00.
The ticket also said “Oregon Lottery dollars constructed Rogue River handicapped fishing access.” Which is swell, Barker thought, but it don’t feed the dog. Twenty-five grand would make me well, Barker thought next. The feds would want their share, but they’d have to find me first. Twenty-five thousand dollars, the words just roll off the tongue. My twenty-five thousand dollars, such a beautiful phrase.
Could do such things with such stakes, he thought. I could fly with the eagles, I could run with wolves, I could swim with dolphins. I could learn to play akido and I could paddle my kayak atop magical waters.
Your odds of winning are 1 in 3.95. Barker just wondered what the heck that could possibly mean to him. He had lost interest in math when his eighth grade teacher Mr. Nussbaum had introduced letters of the alphabet.
The way he looked at it, his chance of winning was 1. He had that one ticket, bought at the Korean Korner store, from the girl who thought he was old.
She was wrong. He wasn’t old. He was broke.
He was worried about being broke and old.
That’s why he was so disproportionately pleased about having a $1 lottery ticket. Barker Ajax again felt the fantasy of fortune fall across his soul.
“Please, God,” Barker Ajax prayed aloud on yet another grey, rainy winter day in Roselandia’s top cafe, “let this be your sign, the sign, dear Lord, of your forgiveness. I ordain this under your grace, Heavenly Father. Just let me have the money this once. Thank you, God. Just do this one thing for me, your Immenseness. I will be worthy of your support. Honest. You can trust me. After all, I’m a writer, which is no different than a member of the clergy, if you think about it.”
Once before when he had given much the same speech, Barker could have sworn he had heard the deep voice of Bill Cosby ask, what was in it for Him?
There was a God. Of that Barker was sure. Maybe a helluva lot more than one. Barker himself believed in She Who Is Indescribable. A wispy, pretty thing with a wisdom greater than his mother’s and that genius lady in Parade magazine. The one who answers all those brain stumpers.
Mom could solve the puzzle with just one letter showing.
Barker solemnly untied the purple suede pouch that hung from his key ring. He pulled apart the leather thongs. They didn’t come apart easily, because he didn’t open the bag for months at a time. Mostly never.
From the bag he pulled a small metal dog.
“Win Up To $25,000. Just Scratch It.” Barker took the dog by the throat and starting scratching.
Scratch. Joker. Bingo.
Another scratch. A second Joker.
Jesus, Barker thought. Oops. Forgive me, Barker apologized. This was no time for blasphemy.
The third scratch.
Barker wanted to scream.
Three of a kind!!!
He wanted to dance and sing “If I were a rich man, yodiodiodiodiodiodioh, I don’t know the rest of the words, I’m just so freakin’ happy, yodiodiodiodiodiodoh.”
Instead, Barker sat back quietly in his chair. A loud rush of air left his chest. A stealthy smile slowly slipped across his features.
The years fell away from his face. His back had stopped hurting, he hadn’t noticed when. He needed another cup of coffee. He got up to get it and he felt taller. He was halfway there when he remembered he had left the ticket right on top of the table. He wasn’t worried.
The ticket was still on his table when he returned. It was still his. $25,000.
Barker Ajax saw somebody he knew and realized at that moment he was not going to tell anybody about the money. It would be his little secret.
The drive to the state capital was as uneventful as junk mail . The bureaucrat – maybe 27, long dark strands artfully arranged on his bald pate in the design of an actual hair cut – at the lottery commission seemed to relish the part about how they would be keeping four or five grand. He made some little joke, practically tittered. He seemed a little sadistic about it. Completely unnecessary.
“Don’t give it a second thought,” Barker responded cheerfully. “Happy to do my part. Wasn’t my money to begin with, if you think about it. You’re keeping five of mine, sure, but I’m leaving with $20,000 I didn’t have when I walked in here.
The man’s complexion turned milkier.
“It’s been a pleasure doin’ business with you,” Barker called over his shoulder, as he opened the door. “Bye.” Barker waved. The bureaucrat didn’t. Probably worried he’d muss his head.
The first thing Barker did was cash the check. He left the money in the bank. All but $300. Walking around money.
Barker secretly wanted to shout for joy.. He had $300 in his pocket. “Walking around money.” Ha, that’s funny. Three hundred dollars. He was rich.
Felt good. Damn good. He felt good. Real good. Like his entire circulatory system had just been flushed with a breath mint. Freshhhhh.