E.A. Petrick "Blind Luck" (Short Story) for Literary Potpourri)

Dad says he won the lottery. He stands in the hallway, in front of the door, his black lunchbox on the floor, beside him. He is not bending down to take off his construction boots, like he usually does. They're dusty, as always, and if he takes another step and lands on Mother's clean welcome mat, she'll go ballistic.

I'm trying to squeeze by him to get to the door and out. Benny, my best buddy and the guys are waiting for me. We're in the middle of a ball-hockey tournament. Whoever scores the most goals will get the Eric Lindros rookie card. Tonight, I feel lucky. If I score five more goals, the card's mine. But Dad says he's lucky -- we're all lucky tonight -- and for the rest of our lives.

"Hi, Dad," I say and shuffle along the wall to get to the door.

"I won the lottery, son," he says and stares at me the same way he stares at uncle Joe when he talks and talks, because he's gone through a bottle of wine and can't stop words from coming.

"Yeah, Dad, okay. I've done my homework. The guys are waiting for me," I say and reach for the door handle.

Dad turns around so suddenly that I jump back and hit the wall, trembling, scared that maybe he found out about the apple core I threw at Monica and got sent down to the Principal's office. But Dad does something even stranger than yell at me. He locks the door.

"I've won the lottery," he says, when he also puts on the chain and rattles it, the way my sister does all the time we're home alone. "We have to be careful now."

I stare at the chain and the deadbolt in place. How am I supposed to go outside and get to my street ball-hockey team?

"Helen!" Dad suddenly screams and I hit my head against the wall again. "Helen, I've won the lottery." He finally moves forward, dusty boots and all. I hear my mother's shoes, clattering on the wooden basement stairs. She must be running and that's bad. She's always lecturing us not to run up and down those narrow stairs, or we'll kill ourselves. Maybe now she'll get a soft carpet to cover the wood and won't nag so much.

My Mother's doing laundry again. She carries an armload of our jeans and sweatshirts, as she staggers forward, balancing the pile.

"Throw it down!" Dad shouts at her, waving his hand. "Throw it down. You don't have to do that shit again. I won the lottery."

Mother watches him the same way she looks at uncle Joe, when two bottles of wine are empty. My sister comes up from the basement. She carries the rest of the laundry -- her beaded tank top and her thong.

"Throw it away!" Dad shouts. Laura curls her upper lip then makes a sound like my basketball, when I stuck a nail into it.

"I won, I won, I won -- all seven numbers," Dad shouts again and shuffles his feet. Soon there is a dust pile around him. "It's here." His voice cracks, like when he smokes too much. He slaps his chest and then takes out his wallet. He holds out something, a slip of paper. He shakes it once at Mom and Laura then puts it on his lips. I wonder if he's going to eat it but he kisses it.

"We're millionaires," Dad says in a voice he uses at Christmastime, when he says grace.

I sneak a look at the deadbolt. Maybe I can slide it with one hand. The chain would be trickier. It rattles. They'd hear me for sure.

"Seven. The blind luck has found us," Mother says and her voice makes me turn and stare at her. She sounds like she needs cough syrup.

"All seven and I've already checked - there's only one winner - and that's me."

"Augusto...!" Mother needs to get her inhaler pump. I move along the wall in case Dad yells at me to go get it.

"Helen." Dad says her name as if he forgot it and uncle Joe reminded him. He says you can't believe anything uncle Joe says.

"Augusto!" Mother sounds now like she emptied the inhaler pump into her mouth in one shot. She drops the laundry and rushes at Dad with outstretched hands.

Laura says, "No shit," and puts her tank top and thong on the round table beside the flower boat Mom got at my cousin's wedding. Mom and Dad are hugging and hopping around in the dust patch on the floor. Laura tries to squeeze her hand between their bodies to grab the ticket.

I grip the deadbolt and pull as hard as I can. Dad had jammed it tight but I get it to slide. I smile and take the brass head of the chain. It rattles as I slide it.

"No!"

I drop the chain and jump back, hitting the wall. This time it hurts and I swear. "You must not open the door, ever again," Mom cries and all three rush at me, past me and attack the door. Soon it's bolted and chained.

"The guys are waiting for me," I say, trying not to cry.

"We've won the lottery, honey," Mom says and pats my head. She hasn't done that in a long time. Ever since I started to gel my hair, and that was a couple of years ago, in grade five.

"You goofy jerk, you want the whole street to clue into it?" Laura punches the air in front of my nose. I kick her in the shin.

Dad grabs me by the shoulder and marches me into the kitchen. He makes me sit down at the table. He points Laura to sit on the other side and then he sits between us. Mom stands over him, her hand on his shoulder.

"We should wait for Jimmy," Dad says in a voice he used when speaking to the police officer who brought Jimmy's summons. Jimmy's my oldest brother and drives a car. But he doesn't like to pay his parking tickets. He works in a warehouse, with Uncle Joe.

"He'll be here in half an hour," Mom says. "He phoned and said he'd stop to gas-up first. Is it really true, Augusto?" She bends down until her face is in line with his. They look like they do in their wedding picture. The one that Mom had put in the frame that's on her night table.

I look down the narrow hallway and see my chance. Dad's black lunchbox is still standing where he'd dropped it. I get up. Dad's hand lands on my shoulder like Laura's knapsack.

"Sit down, son. We have to have a family talk."

"I'm just going to get your lunchbox, Dad," I say. I figure the way they are, pod-people eaten by the lottery cocoon, I have time to slide the bolt and unhook the chain. I'm late and the guys would have started without me, but I can catch up. Maybe not five goals tonight, but I'd still be good for three or four.

He lets me go and I smile, when the house starts to shake. Someone's banging on the door. Mother screams, crosses herself and starts to pray. Dad makes a sound like Brisk when he sees a guy delivering fliers. Laura looks scared. I volunteer to go open the front door. I wonder where Brisk is, all through this. Mom has probably chained him again outside, in the yard. Or he might be in Laura's closet, eating her stained underwear.

"I'll go," Dad says and rises. He stands there for a moment, as if praying, then marches to open the door.

"What the hell is this...?" It's Jimmy, speaking my mind. I wonder whether now that he's here, I might be excused. After all, I'm the only minor here, a child. Well, Laura is still too, but she'd scratch your eyes out if you said a sixteen-year old is still a child.

Our kitchen is small. Jimmy clogs the doorframe. My escape route is cut off. I sit down, as my victory and Eric Lindros card fade away.

Jimmy leaves a dent in the kitchen wall where he punches it when Dad tells him what happened.

Dad laughs. "What the hell?" he says. "This old shack will be the first to go." Go where? I wonder. Our house sits tightly wedged between Peter's and Sandy's. I can't see it go backwards either. There's a ravine. In the summertime, we build tree huts and pick up all the beer bottles the neighbors throw over during their yard parties. Then we go get refund at the store. It's a very profitable ravine. I love it.

"We'll have to share with the family," Mom says.

"Yes," Dad pats her hand that she put on his shoulder. "With whom?"

"Joe and Anamaria," she says, laughing.

"Joe will drink it all, that alcoholic."

"Anamaria won't let him," Mother says, frowning.

"When has your sister been able to get her lousy no-good husband to listen to her?" Dad asks in his broken-curfew voice.

"She's sensible," Mother insists. She takes her hand off Dad's shoulder.

"Sensible? She married the godless loser, didn't she?"

"Augusto, she's a good woman. She'll not let him touch the money," Mom says and takes a step away. One more shuffle and she'll bump into Jimmy.

"We'll see," Dad waves his hand but doesn't look at her.

"Rina and Pierro could use a little cash to put down on a house. That basement flat they live in, is not good for the baby," Mom says.

"They should have got married first, then had a baby," Dad shakes his head. "Pierro's a bum. He should get a job."

"He's got one more year to go in school, Augusto. The boy's trying," Mom stands in no-man's land, a foot away from Jimmy and a foot away from Dad.

"The boy's like his father. That's the only reason why your sister married Joe, because he got her pregnant."

"They were engaged. I know that for a fact." Mom is trapped. I know just how she must feel. If I could get out of here now, maybe I'd be able to score two goals, maybe even three.

"I need a new car," Jimmy says.

"Yes," Dad turns and stares at him. "Why? What's the matter with the one you have?"

"Oh, Dad, for fuck's sake?" Jimmy groans and Mom mock-swipes his head.

"Well, I need a convertible and I want to go to private school. Public school sucks," Laura announces.

"You bring in an 'A' and show me a note from the teacher that says you didn't write it yourself on your report card, and we talk about private school," Dad tells her. Laura makes a sound like my hockey stick when it scrapes on the ground, lining up a puck.

Maybe if I say something really harsh, Dad will send me away and then I can sneak out.

"I want a new goalie face mask, like Brodeaur. I hear it's a thousand bucks," I say.

Dad turns to me and I know I've just laid a big one. He smiles.

"Why sure, son. We'll get the best hockey stuff for you there is."

I smile and my stomach hurts. Laura coughs-up a wad of phlegm and aims at me, but swallows it because Dad's smile is not fading.

"I want a Mustang, Dad," Jimmy says.

"The first thing we need here, is a proper family house - where everyone will have their own bedroom and bathroom. A nice neighborhood, where the houses are white. We need a big yard that's not falling down some goddamned ravine. We need a place where people who'll come to cut our grass and clean the house, will envy us," Dad says. "Then we'll take a vacation like a real family, first class."

"A new washing machine would be nice to have," Mom says and moves two inches closer to Dad.

"A new laundry room, Helen, and we'll get a woman to come in to do the laundry."

"A new laundry room would be nice, but I just need a new machine, and a clothesline in the yard. I like doing the laundry," Mom smiles.

Dad raises his hand and she puts hers into it. He squeezes it and says, "My wife's not going to do laundry anymore. My wife will live like a queen from now on. We're millionaires. We can buy anything we want."

"I want to buy an apartment and move out," Laura says. Mom smiles at her the same way she does when Laura forgets to take the lasagna out of the oven and all the cheese on the top turns black.

I'm desperate here. I'm still hoping for that one goal that'll keep me ahead of Tim.

"Maybe we can give some money to church," I say to speed up this family meeting.

Mom and Dad look at each other.

"Father Italo wouldn't come to bless our house last year because we didn't pledge a donation," Mom says. Dad nods his head like the guy in the convenience store who pretends to be dozing off, when he's really watching to see whether the kids are ripping him off.

"I want my share to be put into a trust fund," Laura says.

"You'll get a trust fund when you show me that I can trust you," Dad tells her.

He gives me an idea. I'm dying here.

"How about giving some money to Uncle Bernardino? You said you trust him when he came to borrow the chainsaw," I say.

"Bah!" Dad spits out like he does when Mom forgets to de-bone the fish. "He hasn't returned it yet either and he's not my Uncle. He just comes from the same town your mother does. That reminds me, did you phone him, Helen, and ask when he's going to return my saw?"

"You said you'd go over and help him cut up the wood. That's why he ordered five cords. You told him you'd help," Mother says and puts her hand on her chest, pressing. I move my head to see if the inhaler is on the little shelf on the wall.

"He's got his family, neighbors to help him. I'm going to take it easy now. I've enough money to hire people to cut up my wood," Dad says.

"I'll cut up your wood if you buy me an apartment and a car," Laura says.

"You learn some respect first," Dad rises, leaning over threateningly. Laura tilts her head back and crosses her hands on her chest.

"Go on, hit me. I'll call the social services on you," she challenges him.

Dad raises his hand. Mother grabs it. Jimmy squeezes by her and opens the fridge. He takes out a beer.

I push my chair back as quietly as I can, lining up with the door that's a mile away, down the hallway.

"My family won't be torn apart by money," Mother says and starts to cry. Jimmy burps and rubs his stomach. Dad drops his hand and turns around. I'm caught again.

"Go to bed!" He yells at me. "What are you still doing up? Did you do your homework? Why can't I have smart kids, like Louie next door? Is that too much to ask for?"

I keep my back against the wall, sliding along. Jimmy burps. It's a bad move.

"And you! Why can't you get a decent paying job? Why do you have to be a bum, like your Uncle Joe? Only rats and bums like the two of you work in a warehouse. Learn a trade, like I did, if your head's empty. At least what I put up, stays up. You just move boxes all over the place, drop a lot of them too. Stop guzzling my beer...!" He grabs the bottle out of Jimmy's hand and smashes it against the counter.

Suddenly, there is silence.

Mother's hands are large enough to cover her face but not thick enough to muffle her sobs. Laura chews her nails and spits them out. I hear scratching on the back door. It's Brisk.

I go to let him in and he runs by me and goes to Dad. He doesn't get his ears scratched this time.

"I'm tired of this shit," Jimmy says. "I'm going to bed." He leaves and I hear his safety boots clatter on the basement stairs as he goes down, where he has his private space.

Laura pushes the chair back hard. It's sure to leave scuff-marks on Mother's polished floor. She swings her hips as she walks out of the kitchen. She goes upstairs to the attic. She has a small TV in her room and watches it, sometimes all night long. That's why she has to lie about her marks and white them out on her report card.

"Come on, boy," I whisper to Brisk and he follows me up the stairs, to the second floor where I have a bedroom. It's only large enough to hold my bed and a dresser, but the window looks out over the ravine and I love watching the darkness that slides over the trees and bushes. It's my mystery pool. I wonder what goes on underneath, each and every night.

I climb into bed and Brisk jumps up and lies down beside me. It's not late yet, but the game of street hockey would be over.

Laura opens the door. She never knocks.

"Here," she tosses me the phone handset. I catch it before it hits Brisk. I don't ask who it is. Laura will stand in the doorway until I finish my call. She always does because she wants her phone back.

I pull the comforter over my head and leave a little opening so I can breathe. "Hello," I say as quietly as possible.

"Why didn't you come out?" I hear Benny's voice on the line. "It was a great game, man. We took turns to be a goalie so everyone got to shoot and catch. I got five shots past Jimmy."

"My Dad wouldn't let me go out. He won the lottery. Now he wants to move to some place where the houses are white."

"Shit, man, that's a bummer," Benny says.

I couldn't agree more.

BLIND LUCK

by

E.A. Petrick