James Shot of Opportunity

There I was looking down at it; I couldn't believe my eyes. I was looking down at a winning scratch ticket I had purchased at a gas station, saying I had won twenty thousand dollars. I was sitting down in amazement at my kitchen table, shaking under the light of a 60-watt bulb in pure excitement; An emotion I wasn't accustomed to. The walls in my little house reflected something else—drab emptiness with a damp orange glow coming through the curtains from the lamp posts outside. And the television in the other room flickering that I left on for company.

See, I loved Gambling, but it didn't love me back, and whatever was left; I spent on drinking and a pack of Cigarettes that I would often save for when I had nothing else left. I eat when I can, and it shows in my tall, slender sun-beaten skin. I had short salt and pepper hair, a reminder of my age and misspent youth. Blue eyes now wide as hell in disbelief at my great fortune. What was I going to do with it? I always thought I'd win something at some point, but it actually happened! like being shot with opportunity. I smiled grimly.

I was free now to go and do whatever I wanted. I felt rich; this is the most money I've ever lay claim to. My family, when they were alive, didn't see much ether and, like me, wasted it on good times; the likes you'd think would never end if you had seen their careless smiles on their faces. All gone now to cancer and busted livers. I was alone living in the house dad had left us now, pondering what I should do with my newfound treasure. I could blow it on thousands of lottery tickets and try and hit it even bigger; the thought of it was amusing, but I didn't want to end up not having anything. It's not everyday life hands you a lemon this big. Well, I might as well go to the bar and think it over, I thought; I do my best thinking with a beer in my hand anyways. I'll see how the night unfolds then; as I got up from my chair and put on my denim jacket to leave.

Later that evening, I sat down next to the old jukebox in the dimly lited bar room with more stories than a war vet. A quiet night for a Saturday, I thought to myself. What can I get ya? Snaping gum as she spoke, it was Racheal, one of the waitresses who worked here, about the same age as me. In her late forties with long beautiful brown hair, light skin wearing the bars uniform; skimpy black tank top with jeans. Just what's ever on tap, I flirted. She shined a smile at me as she turned away, I always liked her, but I lost so many people; I felt safer by myself, but she always seemed to get a reaction out of me anyways. Here's your drink, Racheal said sweetly, putting it on the table, leaving again before I chimed in.

Who's all here tonight? The brunette replied; Tom (the bartender), Jeff (the boss), and me. Oh yeah? I said, is Jeff busy? Teasing her a bit, Jeff's always busy counting his money, she said with an unamused tone. I gave her a scared upward node as she left. It just occurred to me that I owed him money on a boxing match, which I didn't have. I'm getting out of here, I whispered to myself, quickly downing my beer I had planned on sipping. Not so fast, James. The voice coming from across the room was Jeff; there was nowhere to go. This encounter was happening whether I liked it or not. I must owe money everywhere, I thought; after a while, you start to lose track of the debts you have with people. The bastard sits down beside me. He was abnormally muscular, mid-sized with a white dress shirt with sleeves rolled up, exposing his tanned hairy arms with what looked like tattoos he had picked up from prison at some point. He had freshly cut black hair like he was going on a date or something with his nice silver watch and pressed black pants. His dark eyes looked delighted, as if someone was offering him a free steak dinner. Hey Jeff, I said in a hushed tone to the mutant. Where's my money? He giggled. Must be in my other pants, I said smugly, trying to save face. This guy wasn't some rift raft that they throw out of here from time to time. He was the boss, and he looked it, his menacing aura lacking effect from the laughable overuse of cheap cologne. I want my money, he growled suddenly, not in such a chipper mood. I have it just not on me; Bullshit, he snarled, starting to get up, clenching his fist. I could see Racheal and Tom looking shocked over his meaty shoulder from the bar. Then where is it then? I had just come on to some money there; I'll have it by the end of the week. Prove it, he said. I didn't want to show him the ticket and announce to the world what I had. Jeff? Why do you think I came here tonight? He pondered with a dumb look on his face; I continued; I wouldn't have come here unless I had good news for you, I won some money, but it's going to take a while for it to clear I came here to tell you that.

I lied now using my brain, which I should have done earlier before walking into this place. Jeff started to lower his fist; really? He grumped. Really I said to him, cooly leaning in the wooden chair like I had everything under control. OK, but if you screw me, I'm coming for your head, understand? he said, leaning on the table pointing his sweaty finger at me. Yes, Jeff, I'll be here in a week, I said assuringly. You better, he said as he shoved the table and walked away back to his gremlin hole. Phew, that was a close one, I thought, wiping off the sweat from my forehead. I should get the hell out of here as I put on my jacket heading to the bar with Racheal and Tom, still in shock after what they witnessed. I pay for my drink, wink at Racheal, and run off to get some sleep; tomorrow is going to be a long day.

When I got up the next morning, the first thing I did was drive to the gas station in my rusty Buick to put the ticket safely in the hands of the manager. I arrive, and after I had given my full name and phone number to him, we were both satisfied, and I made it home without a hitch.

I was told that I'd get a call within the week to receive the money to my relief. I wanted to pay that ogre off and all the others so I could have some peace of mind for once in my life. Days I spent hovering over the telephone smoking cigarettes; I'd watch some T.V and clean around the house, anything to pass the time. I woke up Wednesday morning on my couch to my message machine, blinking a message. I must have slept through the ringing, I thought; my finger darted to the play button. A cheerful voice came on; Mr. Hathway, we are pleased to inform you that your winnings of $20,000 are now available for pickup today at 12 pm. Thank you for choosing shell gas, and have yourself a nice day. Mr. Hathway had a ring to it, I thought after jumping up and down in ecstasy.

I jumped in my car a little before noon and got to the gas station with bells on. As soon as I got to the steps and opened the door, they jumped out, yelling, congratulations! Blinded at all the people and confetti, I made my way up to the end of the station. It had a table set out with soft drinks, chips, and a white cake that wrote in blue icing, "congratulations James on winning $20,000". We ate and laughed for a while, took pictures together with the big check, and dare I say it, had fun. And it would seem as fast as it happened; it was all over.

Half expecting a briefcase full of money, they handed me a black notebook holding a check in the likeness of the big one. In the notebook, it wrote in pink gel pen, "with or without money; you can always write a new chapter in life. The girls here thought it was a nice touch, added the manager. I thanked them all before I left and was off. What a whirlwind that was, now returning to a much more relaxed day outside. Losing the time, I drove to the bank as quickly as possible, and to my luck, they were still open. You can't rely on them being available around here, I thought to myself. I deposited the check, and I took out a ton of cash for food and drinks and enough to pay Jeff off, and I set out for the bar. I get there, and by then, the regulars all had heard about the money. Which I wasn't over the moon about. I suppose them knowing couldn't be helped even with my discreetness; I would have blabbed it out drunk anyways; the only thing to do now is live it up, I thought. The commotion alerted Jeff when I had entered the bar. I approached him, finally giving him his money; here you go, it's all there, I said as he counted it, not yet saying anything. Next time I want it faster, he snarled, waving the bills up and down at me, and he went off back to his lair. I sat down at the head of the bar, grinning. Again it was Tom and Racheal working and two other waitresses. A round of drinks for everyone, Tom, I yelled, now welcoming them into my success. We had a blast, truly one for the ages. And the food, I don't remember having a meal like that in a long time, even if it was just burgers and fries. When all of a sudden, I felt a deep deadening feeling in my chest like someone was sitting on it, trying to head to the washroom to splash water on my face, I fell over and passed out.

My eyes dimly opened to a yellowish-white light. I was in a bed of white sheets and a nightstand next to me that had cards and flowers on it. Hello? I muttered as a nurse promptly came in; what happened? I said weakly. You had a heart attack, Mr. Hathway, the nurse now looking at a clipboard to see if everything was in order. What a world, I muttered, falling asleep as I lay my head back on the pillow. I woke up again, this time to a visiter, it was Racheal, to my surprise, holding a card signed by everyone at the bar. Are you an angel? She laughed; no. Good, that means I'm still alive. She smiled sadly. Something stirred up inside me, sensing that life was short. I blurted out, would you like to grab something to eat after I heal up sometime? And with a smile that almost spoke; my plan of coming over here worked! she said a giddy "sure." Now I don't usually take advice from kids who write in pink gel pen but almost dying does funny things to a man. And they had a point; I could write a new chapter in my life, and this seemed as good of a time as any.