The Imaginary Tales of An Unknown Man: Lottery


Every good story has a great opening line. That was mine. It was a November I would never forget. The cold weather stung your cheeks, brought tears to your eyes, and that wasn't even the climax.
I live in a small port city on the eastern coast. Fog would roll in early in the morning, just like the Carl Sandburg poem. The street lights all had their halos and distant dogs would bark at the darkness.
I got up early to go to work, if only I had a job. For the most part I would sit outside in a heavy jacket filled with goose down, hold a cup of coffee in my hands and watch the steam mix with my breath just before taking a sip.
I let my mind wander as it tended to do, unchecked. Going over what I had to do for the day, or what I wanted to accomplish eventually. Occasionally one of the neighborhood's stray cats would wander up and I would set my coffee cup down beside me and go just in the door to get it some food. I had a soft spot for strays and runts.
I suppose it stems from my childhood with my first cat, we called him "Oliver" after the cartoon, he wasn't orange. I also think I had a weak spot for them because in a way I saw a little bit of myself in them.
The cat would eat quickly and just as fast off it would go, slipping into the blackness like a rain drop into the ocean, neither seen, nor heard. And so I sat once again alone with nothing more than my thoughts. And as I did my coffee began to get colder and colder. But let me tell you more about that day in November, when the weather was so cold it stung your cheeks and made your eyes tear up.

He woke up early, before his alarm clock had a chance to buzz like a nest of a thousand angry hornets. He placed his feet on the cold hardwood floor and quickly withdrew them. Today was an especially cold day. He eased one foot towards the ground, searching for his house slippers in the shape of blue bunnies, their ears sliding on the floor as he would walk.
He found them and wiggled his feet in, the soft lining smooth against his feet. His pajama bottoms were just long enough to somehow get caught on the bottom and wear thin in places. He was rather particular about his pajama bottoms, always red plaid, nothing else would do. And so he shuffled along out of his room, to the bathroom and on to the kitchen. There he would make his cup of coffee, waiting for the automatic drip to start as scheduled.
The house was lonely, long since had the pitter-patter of children's feet died out, long had the voice of a significant other ceased to dominate the hallway with a grunt and a groan having been awoken by the smell of coffee. No it was just him in the house, even the fish had died. He left the tank up, its pump intact still going at a task of which served no purpose.
The coffee pot would finish and he would get down a mug, "#1 Dad" it would read, a chip here and there on the lip from over use. He'd pour the coffee and add four scoops of sugar and stand at the glass door and look out as the sun began its eternal cycle.
Today would be a good day he thought. A good day indeed. He stood there a good thirty minutes breathing on the door and making happy faces with his finger. He then turned and headed to the front door, opening it to see the morning newspaper lay where it always did. He picked it up and walked inside, unrolled it, found the entertainment section, specifically the sudoku puzzle and tossed the rest in a waste basket sitting beside a large cushy easy-chair before flopping down in it careful not to spill his coffee.
He sat in the chair until he completed the puzzle or he just gave up, which ever came first. Today he gave up, it wasn't until nine o clock before he did, so he wasn't a mental slouch in any way.
His pants were getting a little tight as he put them on, might have to get some new ones, or go on a diet, the former would happen faster than the diet, he though. And so having had his morning cup of coffee and the sudoku puzzle under his belt it was time to head to town. He wasn't lucky, but today was a good day.

The truck bounced and bumped its way to Harry's Corner Grocery. He never understood why it was a corner store, it was in the middle of the block. Ace Hardware was on one end and Bates and Moore on the other, but nevertheless there he was, on schedule to buy the days lotto ticket.
The bell above the door dinged as he entered, today was going to be a good day, even the bell knew it he though. He walked to the counter and the clerk slowly made their way over as they tend to do on sleepy days.
"What can I get for you?" They said.
"One Matching Millions."
The clerk pulled one out and handed it to him, and in turn he handed them a dollar. He placed it in his coat and walked out of the store, the bell dinged behind him. He stood by the trash can and scratched it odd, match three and win that amount. Only had to match three out of six dollar amounts. He began to scratch, five dollars, a million, twenty and twenty. He stood a good chance of winning twenty dollars, today was going to be a good day. He continued to scratch, a million and a million.
He was about to throw the ticket in the bin and then he realized he had gotten three amounts. He had won a million dollars, him, not someone else, but him, "#1 Dad".
The news spread pretty quickly, news cameras were seen, numerous pictures for the newspaper, even the one he gets. A week passed and he even saw his picture on the front and yet he still only wanted the sudoku puzzle from the entertainment page. The front page with him standing next to the states lottery commissioner with the winning lottery ticket in hand even went into the bin.
He had calls from his estranged  wife a few times, but never answered the phone. He was on front page again when a news reporter stopped by his house and asked what he was going to do with all the new money he just won. He said he had given it a lot of thought and figured out his answer: for the most part, nothing, however for the community of 10,354 people, he would given them all fifty dollars and by a new coffee mug, one that read, "#1 Dad" to put beside the one he already had.

That November day I won a million dollars on a single scratch off, it was a cold November day, fog rolled in just like a poem, dogs barked, the wind stung your cheeks and made your eyes tear up and it was a good day.