The Lucky Spot

It was written right there on the inside cover. His wedding day, his son’s birthday, the day his daughter’s adoption was finalized and the day he found Jesus. He bared down, almost etching the dates into the cover as if he were carving into the side of an old oak tree. While the ink had settled into the burrowed lines he created with his heavy-weighted penmanship, the smudges were still visible where the side of his calloused hand had grazed over it while the ink was still wet. Taped below was his favorite family picture from a few summer’s back. He could almost taste the salt in the air and feel the sand under his feet. It was a constant reminder of more simple times, ones he didn’t experience much anymore.

This little black notebook was the keeper of his mileage and coffee stains, but also of his secrets. It sat upon the dashboard of his truck and traveled everywhere he went. By day it felt the warmth of the sun and by night it flickered with every passing streetlight, constantly being illuminated and then immediately shifting back to darkness again. I guess it was a bit like his life. With the end of every shift, he would open it back up, tracking the pavement he had covered, always beginning and ending with a different city.

Being on the road was no easy feat. He missed his family terribly, but his absence meant that they would go to bed each night warm and with a full belly. Growing up, his father could usually be found headfirst in a bottle. Which meant many nights he went to bed hungry. He swore he would break that generational curse. He always strived to be better than that and he made a promise to himself and his family that they would never have to experience what he did.

He didn’t believe much in luck. But occasionally he would hear a story on the radio about someone who would escape their less-fortunate life and hit the road for a better one. It was never something he thought could happen to him, but from time to time he would remember what his Uncle used to always say. “You can’t win the lottery if you don’t play”.

It was a rainy Tuesday and his eyelids were heavy. He cracked the window and lit up a cigarette, hoping the breeze and the nicotine would awake something in him to help keep driving on. He had 2 hours left of his shift and he had to push through. On the right side of the highway was a well-known truck stop. He’d been there a time or two. There was an old pirate statue at the entrance, covered in moss and mold. It was evident someone had broken off its’ right arm and some young kids were probably responsible for the graffiti on his eye patch. The statue said something about ‘luck’ but it was hardly legible anymore. He'd always wondered why they hadn't torn it down yet.

He pulled in with the intention of fueling up and was hoping the store had his favorite Pork Rinds. If the window and cigarette couldn’t keep him awake, surely the crunch of the rind and the smell that would fill his cab, would. The attendant inside was reading a book with headphones in, completely oblivious that he had walked inside. He headed to the snack aisle and wouldn’t luck have it, there were the beloved pork rinds he was craving. He went to the refrigerators and got an orange soda, a weird combination but damn if it didn’t sound good to him. As he walked to checkout, he noticed a sign that read ‘Winning ticket sold here’. He thought to himself about what life would be like if he won the lottery and could trade in his wheels and the road for a comfortable life at home. Or hell, even a nice trip to the beach like a few summer’s back would be nice. As she took her headphones out, he could hear the song faintly playing from that dirty countertop; his wedding song. It made him miss her even more.

“That’ll be $4.16. Did you want to add a Powerball or a scratch off? We’ve seen a lot of winners recently.” He could tell she didn’t really care if he bought one or not but was probably taught in her training guide to say that to every customer who walked in. “Sure”, he said. “Give me whatever scratch-off has been the luckiest lately.” She pulled a $10 Lucky Spot scratch-off from the roll. “That’ll be $14.16.” He pulled out a weathered $20 bill and laid it on the counter. She gave him his change and he made his way back to the big rig.

As he hopped up inside, he grabbed a napkin from the glovebox and wiped down the scratch-off. The rain was coming down hard and the corner had already begun to turn up. He still had the change in his hand that she had given him and he dropped it all into the cupholder, with the exception of a single penny. 1987. The year he married his wife. ‘What are the odds’, he thought. He scratched from the bottom up, a tactic his Uncle had always encouraged. “Start from the bottom. That’s what anyone does anyways before they win. They start at the bottom and that means the only way you can go up is from here.” He didn’t believe it but did it anyways because well, why not.

As he bared down on the center console, he scraped the film off, wiping the debris into his floorboard. He couldn’t believe his own eyes. His numbers matched not one, but four. Each one revealing a $5,000 prize. A $20,000 winning ticket. Surely this can’t be right. As he double-checked the numbers, he realized those numbers were each of significant value. His wedding day, his son’s birth date, the day his daughter’s adoption was finalized and the day he found Jesus. He couldn’t even process it and while he was religious and didn’t believe much in luck, he knew this was meant to happen.

He stopped at the right time, at that exact truck stop with the lucky pirate and scratched a card with the most meaningful numbers in his life. He closed his eyes and said a prayer, thanking God for what he deep-down believed he didn’t even deserve. It was too late to call his wife and tell her the news so he figured he would surprise her when he finally made it home. He reached onto the dashboard for his little black notebook and tucked the winning scratch-off in the inside cover, right up against those etched and smudged dates that had changed his life the most. He took a sip of soda and opened the pork rinds. The smell was strong, but it was familiar, and it made him smile. He put the truck in drive and hit the road knowing he was that much closer to being home. A place that he would call his very own lucky spot.