Lottery (13 page)

“Here’s the number for Mr. Jordan at the bank. He’ll tell you Perry ’s check is good.” Keith is smiling like he is enjoying causing a scene. I am worried that I will not get to buy my movies. The cashier is on the phone to my bank when her manager comes out from the back room. He stops when he sees me and holds out his hand.

“Hey, aren’t you the guy who just won the lottery? You are, aren’t you? Perry? Perry Crandall from Holsted’s?” He turns to the lady at the register. “His picture is in today’s paper. He just won twelve million dollars in the lottery! Jesus! How lucky can you get!”

Other people in the store crowd around. I start to feel uncomfortable. One man taps my shoulder, for luck, he says. The cashier introduces herself as Shirley.

“Shirley Nelson, uh, you can call me. Here’s my number if you, uh, need anything.”

Keith grabs the paper. “I’ll take that,” he says.

The manager lets me buy whatever I want. He gives me two free movies he thinks I might like. I give Shirley a CD of Smashing Pumpkins to say thank you.

She smiles and says, “Come back again anytime.”

She likes me now, even though she does not know me.

Everybody at the mall was nice and none of them even knew me.

18

My teacher is Miss Elk. I like school. My words are
clone, clop, close, close, close, closed,
and
closed circuit,
which is like being on TV. It would be cool to be on TV.”

This is what I said when I gave my report in Miss Elk’s class. She was nice. I remember how smart she made me feel. I remember her class. It was small and special. That is what the other teachers called us. Special.

“
Close
is an interesting word. There are lots of them. They are spelled the same, but sound different. It can be confusing. For example, you can close the door or someone can be close to you. Or you can be close but no bananas. That is what my Gram says.” I did show-and-tell on my dictionary words.

“Very good, Perry. You are smart to read the dictionary. Words are the key.” Miss Elk and Gram had the same ideas about words.

Miss Elk was my best teacher. I was ten years old when I went to her special class. She was the best special teacher I ever had. Special means very good or better. Or it can mean a class that you go to at school. She liked me so much she kept me for two years. I was her helper. She taught me to read better and I loved her. I told her I would marry her when I got older. She laughed and said she was already married. It ended up being a good thing. She would have been way too old for me, Gram said.

School can be a scary place. I remember I wanted to go like all the other kids. You got to ride on a bus. It was yellow and the driver yelled and smoked cigarettes. He threw the butts out the window. You can say the word
butt
if it is a cigarette butt. If you mean rear end, it is not nice. Sometimes he would miss the window and they would fly down the aisle and make sparks. The big boys in the back would pick them up and try to smoke them. That was gross. They would punch me in the head as they got off the bus. Anytime they passed me, they shoved, pushed, and took my papers or called me retard. They did not know my class was special.

I always wondered why. It was one of my wonders when Gram and I would talk.

“Why are people mean?” I would ask. “Why do they call me names? Why?”

I still do not know.

Gram could not answer me either. “I don’t know, Perry. I just don’t know. People can be cruel.”

“Everybody belongs to the world. Everybody has a right to be here,” Miss Elk said. I like that. Everybody belongs. The end of my second year with Miss Elk I found out I liked to read. It was strange. Just like a mystery. One minute it was hard and the next it was fun. Gram was impressed and wanted me to stay with Miss Elk all the time, but the principal said no. Then Miss Elk went away.

My next teacher made me sit by myself in a regular class.

“This is Perry, everyone. He is special. He will be joining our class. Can you say hello to Perry? He will be sitting back here with Missus Kennedy. Perry? Have a seat.”

“Can’t I sit over there? Can’t I sit with the other kids?”

She told me no. She said to be quiet and sit down.

I had something called pullout. When the class got too fast for me, I was pulled out so I would not slow the other kids down. Missus Kennedy helped me two times a week. The other times I just sat.

“Can I sit with the other kids?” I asked. The teacher sent notes home.

She said I was included.

“Can I sit with the class?” I asked again. I only stuck my tongue out once. Maybe twice. I was bored.

“No! I have had enough! You are disruptive and disrespectful!”

The principal came to our class.

My teacher complained. “I simply cannot teach a student this cognitively challenged.” She meant retarded.

I was thirteen. I was too tall to stay in elementary school, so Gram took me home. She did not want me to go to junior high. The school sent us letters. Gram wrote on them in felt pen.

MOVED.

NO LONGER AT THIS ADDRESS.

NO ONE HERE BY THAT NAME.

WE DON’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE.

I missed riding the bus to school, but Gram showed me how to ride the Everett city bus down the hill to Gramp’s boatyard. I would go there to work for Gramp after my lessons with Gram. Gramp and I would come home together in time for dinner. We would have chicken or meat loaf or tuna casserole. Those were good times. Gram did not have the evil arthritis and Gramp was not dead.

One of my favorite things was doing knots with Gramp. I am a good knot person. I can do figure eight and slip and bowline. I can do all those knots. I liked to read about boats and sailing and I sat in Gramp’s office and looked at books. It was my job to answer the phone.

"Crandall’s Boatyard. Perry L. Crandall speaking,” I would say. “Can I help you?”

After Gramp died, we had a problem. It had to do with money. We did not have the boatyard and we did not have the money.

“We lost the boatyard,” Gram would say, and then she would throw a dish or plate. It was good that we had melamine. I did not see how we could have lost it because it was right where Gramp left it. But it had to be sold. Gary Holsted and Gram talked at our house and then I worked for him at Holsted’s Marine Supply right next door to our old boatyard.

“He’s the only friend we have, Perry,” Gram would say, “the only friend.” And she would not say anything more. Just like when I would ask her about my father.

“Never you mind, Perry. Never you mind,” and her lips would disappear.

19

I get a lot of mail. Six or twenty letters a day, sometimes more. I never got much mail before, but I get mail now. Some of them say the same thing. Some of them are different.

I make a big pile on my counter because I do not know what to do with them all. Gram said that if someone you do not know sends you something, it is probably a bad thing. Some of the letters look important with big black writing. Others have lots of tiny print that is hard to read and have empty checks inside. Still others tell me sad stories. There is one about a kid with cancer. Another one is from a person who says we are cousins and he lost his job. Other letters tell me about dying orphans in Africa and Kentucky. That is sad. Orphans have a tough enough time without parents. It was sad that they have to die too.

There are people standing outside my door. Some of them I know, like my teacher Miss Elk from school. She wants to shake my hand and ask me to donate to her new school. That is cool.

“How much do you want?” I ask.

“How much can you give?” she asks.

“How much do you want?” I ask.

“How much can you give?” she asks.

I write her a check for five hundred dollars. That is all the zeros that I can fit in the line without Keith’s help.

The guy Chuck, from bingo, with Mary Margaret from St. Augustine ’s, came over to say “Hi!” and that was cool too.

“The poor of our community need your help.”

“How much help do they need?” I asked.

It was for church and church is good. I gave them a check for five hundred dollars. They wanted five thousand, but Gram always said you do not give people what they want. It is bad for them.

“Hey! Perry! Long time no see!”

I do not know this man. “Who are you?” I ask him.

“Kenny! Kenny Brandt! Don’t you remember me? We were buddies growing up! You remember me now? I lived down the street from you in the yellow house. Remember?” His blond hair is thin on top and he is shorter and skinnier than me. He could be my ex-neighbor Kenny. I have not seen him for a long time and do not recognize him, but he says that is who he is.

“So you got anything to spare for old times’ sake? I lost my job. My wife left me. I could use a few bucks.” He looks like a squirrel. His lips are moving fast, like when they chew their nuts.

“I’m sorry,” I say. Having no job is hard, but I have a good idea. “Hey! I know! You can talk to Gary. Gary Holsted? He finds jobs for people. Gary could find you a job.” I go to get a pen out of my drawer. Kenny smiles when he sees me write.

“Here is Gary’s phone number. Call him, okay? And then—” I do not have time to finish.

Kenny looks down at the piece of paper and then at me and then down at the paper.

“Screw you! Screw you, asshole! I need money, not a frigging number!” He throws the paper at me and stomps out the door slamming it behind him. I do not have time to write him a check. He leaves before I can.

When Keith and Gary come upstairs, they chase everybody away. Gary says we need a security guard to keep intruders out. I laugh. That is my job. I am security. I stay above Holsted’s at night and listen for intruders. Intruders are like burglars. These people are not intruders. They knocked first and then I opened my door and let them in.

My family calls me all the time now.

Nobody shouts, except for John and sometimes Elaine. Keith says they will never leave me alone now, but I do not want to be left alone.

“This is disgusting!” Keith says. Disgusting means that people disappoint you and do things you do not like.

“Bloodsuckers! Vultures! Hyenas!” Keith’s face is all red and blotched. “Listen, Perry, this is important. Are you listening?” I have to listen because Keith’s mouth is in front of my face. His breath smells like dog poop and beer. I do not tell him this. It definitely would not be nice.

“Yeah.” I am an auditor. I listen.

“Your family is up to no good! Your brothers are up to no good,” Gary says.

“Ha! That’s what Gram always told me.”

Gary and Keith stare at me, and then look at each other. Keith grabs his hair with his hands. Gary sighs again very loud.

“Perry, I’m serious here. You have to promise me not to fill out or sign anything anybody sends you.
Anything!
Do you understand? ” Gary’s voice is low and he sounds worried.

“Yeah.” I have to think about that for a minute. Do not sign anything means sign nothing.

“What about checks? I have to sign my checks. What about my checks?” I ask.

“Don’t sign any
papers.
Do not write your name for them. I think your brothers are planning to take advantage of you. They want your money,” Keith says.

“They can have some.” That is a good idea. “I can give them some money.” A very good idea. “Hey, Keith, I could give them some. That would be okay. Wouldn’t that be okay?”

“
No!
No. No, Perry. Listen. They want all of it. They will not be satisfied. Oh damn!” Keith looks like he has indigestion.

“Do you want a Tums, Keith? I got Tums. Fruit-flavored. Hey, let’s go visit Cherry!” I have not been to Marina Handy Mart for days. “Hey, let’s all get Slurpees!”

Gary says I need a plan.

“Perry, calm down. This is important. You have a tremendous opportunity to help people and have a great future for yourself, but you have to be careful. Please let Keith or me know if someone wants something from you again. Okay?”

Gary is nice and has known me for a long time.

“What’s all this?” Gary starts looking through papers on my counter. “Holy crap! Keith, look at this!” They put their heads close together so they look like those Siamese twin sisters from
Ripley’s Believe It or Not!

It is okay when your friends read your mail.

“Have you been sending these people money?” Gary asks. He holds up a letter from a Girl Scout leader.

“They want to go on a trip to Canada,” I explain. “It’s educational. ”

“How do they know where to send these letters? How do people find him?” Keith takes a pile of envelopes from Gary. His mouth is open. He looks like a guppy. I used to have guppies, until they all died and Gram flushed them down the toilet.

“I send money to people with cancer. That’s sad,” I say.

“That list is public information, Keith. Anybody can find out who won the lottery,” Gary says.

“Per, these people are ripping you off! You’ve got to stop this! They’ll only send you more of these!” Keith waves a letter in the air.

Gary agrees. “Keith is right. Look here. See this? If you deposited the check from this company, you would give up an interest in the rest of your lottery winnings forever. You could lose it all. You have to be careful.”