All the possibilities

All the possibilities

I look down at the small, smooth, white piece of paper.  The numbers, in their square-ish font, smile back at me.  6 30 33 44 3 9.  There they are.  Would they be my destiny?  Would they change my life forever?  If only I knew.

I wake up a week later, unexcited to crawl out of bed and start my day.  Me, I’m your typical 40 year-old-divorcee.  I do billing at a small doctor’s office in my small, boring town.  Easy, uninteresting work, shitty pay.  When people ask me what I do, I explain.  They nod and smile, their facial expression revealing a failed attempt at conjuring up question or comment in response to my job description.  It’s always quite awkward.

So, it is another torturous, pull-yourself-out-of-bed-and-get-your-ass to-work morning.  I stand up, stretch and yawn, and give my pot belly a pat.  On my way to the bathroom, I notice a white ball under my desk.  I stop and look down to further investigate, and then it hits me.  My lottery ticket from last week!  How the hell did I forget about that?

To be honest, it’s not too difficult to imagine how I forgot about it.  I buy at least two or three a week.  Sometimes scratch-offs, sometimes PowerBall, something Pick Three - just depends on my mood.  Some might say I’m wasting money; me, I see it as an investment in my future.  I will win one day!  I will win!

I lean down to pick up the lottery ticket off the floor.  I feel old age creeping up on me as my back aches during its first bend of the day.  I suppose I’ve had a good life overall, but the stress of the past few years, what with my infertility and subsequent divorce, have taken a toll on my body.  I just don’t feel as young and spry as I used to.

As I lift myself up, white ball in hand, I think of how AWESOME it would feel if I won.  Back problems no more; I could visit the chiropractor every day. Heck, I could hire my own person chiropractor… and masseuse!  I could buy that leather sofa I’d been coveting at Williams-Sonoma…I could get those golden earring I’d always dreamed of..I could buy all of Tiffany’s for Christ sake!  And then a yacht!  And a little house in Tuscany, where I’d sip wine and watch the sunset from my porch each evening.  Oh, all of the happiness I would encounter, all of the beautiful things that would surround me.  I would no longer be me; I saw myself as Glinda, the Witch of the North, from the Wizard of Oz; covered in a white, sparkly, puffy princess dress, donning a silver, diamond covered, gleaming crown, and an expression of pure bliss and merriment splattered across my wrinkle free, Botox-filled face.

I look over at the clock, realizing I overslept, and am due in at the office in less than an hour.  I rush to the bathroom, complete my cleansing ritual in record-breaking time, and am on my way to work.

 

Stupidly, I leave my round, wrinkled up paper dream on my desk in my bedroom.  Normally, this would irk me, and I’d be overcome with curiosity all day.  But, today I find an odd tranquility surrounding me; I feel light and free.  I know, I just know, that that white ball of waxy paper and cheap ink holds my destiny, and that folded in it lay everything I’ve ever dreamt of.

Nine hours later, I am driving home.  I stop for some fast food on the way.  As I bite into my dry, meatless hamburger, I delight in the fact that this will be my last fast food meal.  After collecting my winnings, I will be eating lobster and caviar every night.

As I drive to my house, I feel at peace.  I hum along calmly to the music on the radio, a confident grin across my face.  I pull into my driveway, and turn off the engine.  As I do this, I feel a wave of sadness fall over my insides.  Who am I kidding?  There is no way I won, impossible.  I am a sad sack of shit, my happiness relying on some implausible hope of winning the lottery.  I look in the rearview mirror, my eyes staring back at me, two dark circles of nothingness.  I am nothing, I will always be nothing.  A childless divorcee, chronic back pain sufferer, and one lonely son-of-a bitch. 

I turn the key to open the front door.  I throw my bag down, walking through the living room to my bedroom.  I turn on my laptop on my desk, and look at the crumpled up paper sitting beside it.  I stand there in silence as the computer processes away, revealing my messy desktop after much buzzing.  I click onto the lottery website, bookmarked of course, unable to resist temptation.  Once there, I click the pulldown menu, selecting the date I bought my ticket (after a great deal of calendar calculating, I was able to figure out the date).  I look at the six numbers staring me in the face, and my heart races.  I feel my body once again fill with hope, feel the thrill run up my spine, through my arms and legs, shaking me up.  I pick up my white crinkly destiny, and slowly unfold it, flattening it out.  I look at the paper, and feel the exhilaration of a minute past vacuumed out of my body.  

“Walmart”, with its huge capital W, is on the top of the paper; under that, a list items (tampons, Tylanol, and Ben and Jerries Ice Cream); prices to their right.  I look at the numbers on the computer screen as I squeeze the paper back into a ball.  I swallow the lump in my throat, throw the paper in the trash bin, and turn around toward my lonely, silent living room.