Scratchers

With the single swipe of a patinaed 1987 penny, came my downfall.

I scratched with all the enthusiasm that a middle-aged office worker could afford, the rusty coin scraping the matte aluminum foil away from the neon pink and green card that boasted “WIN UP TO $1,000,000!”

I uncovered the last hidden number on the card to find, once again, no matches to the line of winning numbers. With a sigh, I tossed the spent card into a pile of its brethren on the floor of my trusty 2002 Camry. I craned my head back against the headrest and stared at the gray headliner, disgusted with myself. I could have saved the twenty dollars I spent on scratchers and put it into my meager savings, but no. I swiveled my head to the right and stared down at my shameful floorboard, then glanced at the plastic bag in my passenger seat.

I reached into the bag and pulled out the pop and beef jerky that I was sure my doctor would lambaste me for, but I twisted the cap anyway. The sickeningly sweet and spicy twang of Coke rushed down my throat and as I pulled away from the bottle, I swept my gaze across the label wondering why I was always doing this to myself. I tore into the jerky, trying to fill the emptiness that was completely unrelated to hunger and wiped my hands on my slacks.

As I went to recap my bottle, I noticed a small code tucked away on the inside of the lid. I took another look over the label, and saw the tiny letters that denoted a chance to win $50,000 or a new PlayStation. I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t resist the pull of the game. I took my phone off the vent holster and pulled up the sweepstakes website. I glanced into the bottle cap and hastily punched in the code, my greasy fingers leaving smears across the phone screen, and pressed submit.

Within seconds, the screen flashed, animated confetti glittering across the screen: ‘WINNER!’

My heart seemed to stop- whether from the jerky or the excitement, I still don’t know. My chest clenched, and my mouth went dry. Seconds later, my Gmail app dropped down a notification. I tapped into my email and opened the newest message.

“Congratulations! Your code’s a winner!”

I scrolled down the screen, unable to believe my eyes. I had won the grand prize of $50,000. I had truly won!

Seconds later, my phone rang. It was a representative of the company. I gave her my information and she advised that a check would be in the mail within the day.

I drove home in a rush, probably much too fast for the conditions really allowed for, but I made it home in one piece. The melancholy drizzle of rain and gray skies did little to hamper my new ecstatic mood as I threw the car in park and rushed into the house.

“Babe!” I cried out as I wrenched the door open. “Babe! Come here!”

Des came jogging out of the kitchen, Elsie perched on her hip and Bryson trailing close behind. She had a dusting of powdered sugar on her chin, and her salt streaked hair was piled up in a mess on the top of her head, but her honey colored eyes shone.

“You’re home early!” she beamed as she crossed the living room to peck a kiss and hand off the baby.

I jostled Elsie into a comfortable position on my own hip and swept a curly lock of blonde hair behind her ear before plucking a kiss on her cheek.

“Momma!” Bryson squealed as he ran over to clutch my thigh into a hug. I ruffled the top of his chestnut head, and turned back to my wife.

“I think you should sit down. It’s been a wild day, and I have a lot to tell you.”

Worry filled her eyes, and she took a cautious step back. “What happened?”

I smiled warmly and saw her visibly relax, “You want the good news or the bad news?”

Her spine went rigid again as I led her to the couch. I settled Elsie down in the pack-n-play, and popped Bryson onto the sofa between us. I took a deep shaking breath, and locked eyes with Des.

After a few pregnant moments of silence, Des burst out, “Okay, Marnie, just hit me with it. What’s the bad news?”

“I’ve been let go from the office.”

Des’s face paled and her eyes grew large, tears brimming yet unshed.

“What happened?”

“Sales have dropped significantly due to the virus. I wasn’t the only one. Not by a long shot,” my shoulders drooped, though I felt at the same time as if a huge burden had been unloaded from me. We were already on unemployment since Des had been furloughed back in April and not called back. On one hand, I envied her long days with the kids and freedom to pursue her quarantine hobbies while I- an essential indentured servant- kept America moving, but the setback had been detrimental to our finances. Thankfully, our home was paid off, but it was becoming more and more of a struggle to keep the lights on with one paycheck after the unemployment had finally run out three months ago.

“What are we gonna do, Marnie?”

“I don’t know. But, this will help for a little while, at least.” I pulled up the email and handed over my phone.

Des’s head popped up once she processed what she had read. She jumped off the sofa and danced while sing-screeching, “Oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD!”

She paused mid-step and stared dead into my eyes, “So what’s the good news?”

We kept straight faces for only a mere second before we both collapsed with laughter.

***

A week came and went, and we excitedly checked the mailbox every day. I filed for my own unemployment, and spent my days cleaning nervously and hustling Bryson through his online Kindergarten classes. Finally, the check came and we were cleared to cash it. Our once depleted savings was now bulging with possibility. I traded in the Camry for a larger, new-to-me vehicle that would more comfortably fit our family. I bought new business wear for Des and myself, and we worked tirelessly over the next few weeks to refine our resumes.

Together, we applied to nearly one hundred job listings. Our winnings paid the bills, and we lived comfortably for a few weeks, even treating ourselves to a few new things and paying off outstanding bills that had been piling up since the virus changed our lives.

Before I knew it, six months had passed and we’d spent half of our winnings. Where had it gone?

***

Des spent a great deal of her spare time cooking. It was always the one thing she truly enjoyed. Even when she was working, I’d sometimes wake up at four in the morning just to find her baking when she couldn’t fall back to sleep after Elsie had woken her. I watched her as she bustled from stove top to counter, throwing ingredients into the pan with no recipe or abandon. “Cooking with the heart and baking by the book,” she always called it. And it never failed to impress.

As I watched her flit around the kitchen, I worried for the future. We could only continue this way for so long, I knew, but I wished that we could stay this way forever. Time seemed to slow while we were home-bound together, instead of being shoved along all too quickly by the ravages of working life. Tears gathered as I realized that all-too-soon this would pass and we’d be back to normal, to and from work and daycare and school. Seeing each other only in passing as we traded shifts at work and with the kids.

***

Three more months went by and we were down to the last ten thousand of our winnings, and still neither of us had a job. Things were getting better, though. The percentage of vaccinated people was gaining on the percentage of those had succumbed to the virus. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, but it was still too far away to feel real. What would it be like to be able to go to the grocery store without a mask again? Would the job market be better soon? Will unemployment hold out until then?

Bryson came bursting into our room before daybreak, “Momma! Mommy! Elsie woke me up.”

I rolled over to face our son, then pulled him up into bed between us. Des was still tangled up in the comforter, her hair a wild mess across the pillow as she groaned and sat up drunkenly. She stumbled out of bed and drudged out the door to Elsie’s room. I snuggled into Bryson’s hair and breathed deeply, savoring the scent of sleep and lavender that emanated from his curls. Des returned with Elsie, wide awake and giggling, and they tumbled back into bed with us. We forgot the troubles of the real world and snuggled with our children, telling sleepy stories and making imaginary worlds until the sun broke the horizon and our stomachs forced us toward the kitchen.

Des worked her magic and we indulged in Sunday morning sunshine and cinnamon rolls. Bryson helped me water the plants. Elsie took her first steps. We celebrated and danced around the living room, playing pretend and watching movies until the sun crept away once again.

***

The constant beeping annoyed me awake.

I rolled over, reaching across the cold bed for Des, but found myself alone. I creaked open bleary eyes and wiped at my dry mouth, crusted with drool and smelling of old booze.

It had happened again.

Hot, angry tears leaked down my face and stained the pillow. I rolled back toward the nightstand and slapped at the alarm clock before grabbing a pen and my little black notebook. My therapist said that recording my dreams would help me cope and sort out my feelings.

I only felt hollow.

It had been nine months since Des and I got sick; nine months since our family was whole.

Six months since I had to send the kids to live with Des’s parents because I could hardly take care of myself, let alone the children, by myself.

Three months since I’d left the house for anything more than scratchers and the scant groceries I subsisted on. Nothing tasted right since Des passed. The flavor of life was gone.

Three weeks since I last showered.

Two weeks since my final unemployment check was issued.

One week since I’d been sober.

One day until the rent is due.

Maybe today, I’ll win.