I won the lottery, now what?

As always, the Mavericks built me up just to tear me down. After a ten two run in the fourth, they gave up twenty unanswered and lost by nine. Now, the only way I’m going to sleep tonight is if I render myself unconscious. Luckily, I’ve got Alan’s Gas and Run that fulfills all my needs, no matter what time of day. It’s one of those wonderful stores that always feel like something’s going to happen before the night is through except I have yet to be fortunate enough to be a customer at the time. This evening, I grab a nice bottle of Strawberry Boones and a bag of Lay’s and visit the counter.
“Did you find everything alright?” the little Asian cashier stares at me and waits for my response.
“I did,” I think but I never know.
“Would you like some lottery tickets?” she looks at me and begins to print out tickets before I respond.
“Sure,” see, I knew I forgot something.
I arrive home just in time to miss the opening to The Way of the Gun so I pop in a brown box covered tape of Girls Gone Wild instead and begin to drink away. My companion and faithful cat Whiskers climbs on top of me and we both pass out.
I come back conscious to sunlight and the smell of Whiskers morning trip to his overflowing cat box. I fight the urge to get some air circulating through my nose instead opting for a deep inhale through my mouth. A search of the fridge uncovers old pizza and condiments so make a mix of the two, rip off the crust, and warm it up on a plate. While I wait, I clean off a spot on the counter so I can watch the TV without having to be in the same room with the litter box. At the bottom of the pile, I find my lottery tickets from last night. I use the pizza crust to scratch off and see how bad my luck will run today. I close my eyes for the proceedings and image that a person that has to scratch off a ticket with stale food doesn’t deserve of even a few dollars he didn’t earn. I finish scratching and peel my eyelids back. My pupils dilate as they try to decide if there are that many horseshoes on this piece of cardboard.
“I won! I won!” I shout at the girl behind the lottery office counter. Apparently, she is old hat at this and scarcely looks up as she takes my paper of lucky numbers. The girl pounds at her computer for a few moments.
“Sir, come with me.” I follow the counter girl to the back of the offices, “Last door on the left,” she says and leaves me to walk down the hall like I’m on a doctor’s visit. Luckily I find no stools in the room, no tongue depressors, and no sterile smell. Just a couple of chairs and a nice leather couch that I promptly kick my shoes off and plop down onto. I close my eyes and wait to be showered by my pot at the end of my rainbow.
Sadly, for all my excitement, the lottery ceremony ends up being little to talk about. After a few pictures, a man in a suit came in, introduced himself, and handed me a big stack of papers.
“Once everything is finalized,” I drift off into a daydream about my ’78 Camaro, “each month on the fifteenth for a full year,” my plaza TV, “probably ten to fourteen business days,” and my hot tub.
I give him a quick shake and consider asking the man to repeat what he just said but I’m rich now and don’t really have to listen anymore.
I sped over to my drug dealer Claude’s house before he becomes “out of pocket” for the day then cruise over to the park for some people watching. While there are a few parks around town, there are none even close to The Sunset. Most weekends, I can’t point my eyes in any direction without seeing the most beautiful, half dressed ladies in all ages (but almost always the same size). Even today before I even stumble out of my car, I watch two forty year olds in tight sweatpants with the words “Hottie” and “Edible” etched on their asses. I wander through the circle of joggers and into the middle of the grounds where a bench under a tree calls my name. This bench isn’t the most ideal for people watching but I still have a perfect view of the water fountain and the parking lot so I have no complaints. I open my magazine and pretend to read an article in Time about doctor’s developing alternative body parts but the drugs latch hold of me faster than normal so I stretch out on my bench and close my eyes to try to let the wave pass.
Apparently, something did not sit right with me today and I wake up from my slumber only by the faint sound of kids playing one of the most horrifying games I know.
“Red Rover, Red Rover, let Anthony come over.”
I roll over and sit on my ass, my back still hunched from the time spent on this wooden bench. I reposition my body in the direction of the line of kids and watch Anthony prepare to run. From my view, the kid takes two steps out of the line and stops. It seems obvious that he wants no part of this game but once the kids start to taunt him, he gives in and runs with all his might. His energy is cut short as soon as he makes it to the other side and is engulfed in two kids arms. Team Red (I would guess due to their matching shirt color) grabs themselves a new member. I glance over Team Red to see how their team stacks up coming back. While I scan the crowd of kids, I see sandwiched in the middle, a blond that I have not seen around this park before. Once I get my legs awake, I take a walk over for closer inspection. Much to my surprise, that blond is Alana.
“Red Rover Red Rover, let Jimmy come over,” the kids taunt the other side.
“Alana,” I yell which draws the attention of Team Red to me. Alana looks up and squints her eyes to see who is calling. “It’s Dallas.”
“Dallas!” Alana releases her left hand but the child on the left wont let go, “what are you doing here?” Alana walks over to me, kid in tow.
“What are you doing in my park?” I smile to let her know I’m just kidding.
“I had to bring the kids over. There was a port-a-potty incident over at Macarthur Park.”
“We want to play,” a few kids demand.
Alana turns, “sorry, sorry. Dallas, join in.”
I work my way through the knee-highs and take a place on the right of Alana. I know the rules of the game enough to know how unfair it would be for me to lock hands with Alana and expect kids who aren’t as tall as my waist to get through so I take a spot a few spots down, between a nose picker and an asthmatic.
“Who did they call,” Alana asks the team.
“Jimmy,” everyone shouts in unison. Poor Jimmy looks quite distraught that everyone remembered, his feet take half steps out from the line.
“You can do it, just run as hard as you can and break through,” Alana throws her arms up and lifts the kids beside her into the air. Jimmy listens and runs as fast as his Converse will take him, right into the arms of the other team.
“So, what are you doing out here? You don’t look dressed for jogging.”
“Me,” I say to delay my answer, “I uh, just need the sun sometimes.”
“Just playing Red Rover with the kids. So, I read in the paper that you really are a lottery winner huh?” Alana turns her attention back to the game.
“Red Rover Red Rover, let Nancy come over.” My team turns their attention to the end of the Blue Team’s line where a little girl, no taller than the grass we stand in, positions herself for the mission. To my amazement, she dashes across the field, grass flies as her little Weebok’s makes mulch out of the ground. By the time she leaves her feet, my team has already lost. She pulls one of the kids up from the ground and leads him back to their side in disgrace. After this, the game continues on until there is only five of us left. Defeated and deflated, we give in. I take this chance to put my money to good use and become a hero.
“Who wants ice cream?”
I realize almost immediately that there is a reason no one offers this to a field of fifty kids. The drugs still control my motor functions and don’t give me enough to even dodge the first wave of kids so I go down like a zebra under a pack of lions. The first couple of Ked’s shoes on my face are nothing more than a mere nuisance but after the bigger kids in the park get wind of the ice cream situation, I am no match for their Nike’s and cowboy boots and go limp under the herd.
I open my eyes, the light that stares back is as intense to stare at as the fluorescent lights in a doctor’s office, “Dallas, you’re alive.” I tilt my head down to see that is exactly where I am.
“I thought this was going to be the first death by kid trampling,” the corners of Alana’s mouth creep up betraying the seriousness she tries to hold in her eyes.
“How long,” I rub the back of my head to try and feel any gaps in my skull.
“Were you out? Two, three hours there about,” Alana stands from her chair and cozies up next to my face, “you look kind of sexy laying there all unconscious and everything.”
“Well that’s sweet of you I think but I now that I’m awake, can you take me home?” My head pounds like it is wanting to get out of its casing. I slide my dead legs off the side of the bed.
“You might want to put some pants on first,” I follow Alana’s gaze down to the tent I pitch in my hospital gown. I press my erection against my stomach and shimmy into the bathroom.
After I have my pants on, I get my ride home. We both stay mostly quiet in the car, me still being embarrassed from my penis problem from earlier and Alana seems to use all her focus on the road. We finally make it to my place and not a moment too soon.
“Well thank you so much,” I say trying to grab my stuff as fast as I can.
“We should hang out sometime,” Alana suggests. I stop my collecting and fumble for words.
“Sure, well, I’m having a party tonight to celebrate. I won the lottery you know.”
“I did not know. Well, how can I pass that offer up mister rich man.” Alana smiles at me. I make a break for it before I cause myself any more embarrassment.
I open my front door and am welcomed by the enchanting aroma of feces and the stench of a garbage can two days overdue to be removed. I make a feeble attempt to call for Whiskers but I know after the ten-hour mark, he feels he needs to be romanced a little and makes me look for him. Usually, I go straight to the cabinet and coax Whiskers out with some cat nip but since I have not been to the store since my increase of medication, I have to do it the hard way instead. I stick my hand under my bed and am immediately latched onto by twenty angry claws.
“Come on buddy, I’m sorry,” I pull my arm slowly back, letting Whiskers dig his claws in enough that he will have no choice but to come out with my arm. Once we are both out from under the bed, Whiskers still grasps my arm with all his might.

“Whiskers, it’s time to party.”
I bang on the floor for Neighbor, my downstairs neighbor, to come and visit. Neighbor and I have done this at least once a week since we’ve known each other. Our introduction came one night when Neighbor, having a little too much fun alone, wandered up to my apartment to make sure he wasn’t bothering me. I opened the door to a man that couldn’t stand without propping himself against my doorway and eyes that had past a fiery hot color hours earlier.
“Stevie Ray Vaughn, whoooo,” he screamed at me, hands flailing about. As they came to rest back against the doorframe, I began to check out the contents. In his left, a pack of Marlboro Reds in a box and in his right was a pipe, bowl shaped like a cows skull and a shaft for the horns. “You want this one,” he asked extending his cigarettes to me, “or this one?” We’ve gotten together at least once a week for the last year and a half.
“You got anymore pot?” Neighbor asks as he struggles to sit up from his reclined position into the recliner.
“Yea, sure,” I reach under the coffee table and roll up a joint. We have now been through a couple of episodes of World’s Wildest Police chases and it is beginning to look as if I’ll have to start drinking only Miller Light from a keg for the next month. Finally, someone knocks on the door. I open the door and find two ladies standing at the door.
“I brought a friend, I hope that’s okay?”
“Where’s the party?”
“Where’s the DV?” one girl asks, frantic enough that I contemplate shutting the door, “it said there would be DV on the flyer.” She pulls out the flyer to show me as if I didn’t write it myself.
“It’s in the bedroom,” I look her over and try and decide what kind of chaperone she might need but before I do, she has already ran into the bedroom and shut the door, “You can join your friend if you want.” I tell the girls friend but she has already sat down next to Neighbor.
“I’ll just hang in here and enjoy some of this,” she says in an eerily familiar voice that the drugs wont let me place. I shut the front door and try to get my brain going but the moment Neighbor hands me the joint, my attempts to place it fades away.
After the first joint and episode of Family Guy, the living room girl starts in, “how do you think she is doing back there?”
I glance down at a watch I don’t wear. I find the time on the cable box, “it’s been about forty minutes now so most of the hard part is over. Five minutes in scratching, ten sweating, twenty unconscious.”
“Unconscious?” the girl on the couch furrows her eyebrows.
“It’s fine. Lasts two minutes top. Then, all the problems wash away and you go into heaven. Of course, after the up, there is a little bit of a down turn depending on how well she is adjusted to it.”
Neighbor packs a bowl, “that parts the toughest, the last, if you aren’t ready,” he says and takes a hit from my bowling pin pipe and passes it to me.
“I remember my first time. I tried to fly. I ended up on a bridge downtown though I had no idea how I got there since my car was nowhere to be found. It was okay though, no harm no foul.”
The couch girl leans in to grab the pipe from my hand that apparently I have been holding for too long. As her hair tickles my cheek, I get a smell of coconut and apples, a smell that brings back memories of one of the most wonderful girls I’ve ever known. I study the girl as she takes a hit. Maybe this could be the same girl, I think, but then again, I’ve been doing drugs for a few days straight and it seems I’m starting to put my daydreams into reality.
For the next little while, the three of us sit on the couch and watch people and pictures flash up on the TV. We all laugh together occasionally but none of us can really grasp the depths of Hogan’s Heroes at this point so we just pretend to know what Colonel Hogan is doing. None of us have a care in the world until the friend bolts from the bedroom.
“We gotta go!” she screams.
“What, why?” the girl on the couch seems less than enthused about moving.
“I gotta live!” she says and runs out the front door.
“Well fuck, I guess I got to go and take care of her,” the couch girl rises slowly from her spot.
“DV IS the best. So, come back anytime, uh, what was your name again?”
“Jesus, you have been doing these drugs for a while huh? Alana Dallas, it’s Alana.” she begins to collect her belongings to go.
“Shit, I’m so sorry. I thought it was you but I didn’t want to look stupid cause I was pretty fucked up even when you got here,” I ramble on.
“Good to see you Dallas,” and she walks out the door. I’m motionless for a moment, not sure if that was as embarrassing as I think it was. Before I put much thought into it, I jump up and throw open the front door.
“I won the lottery!” I yell as Alana runs to grab her friend who has mounted a car and seems to be auditioning for a music video.
“If you won the lottery, you better call me,” Alana shoots a smile up to me as she drags her friend into the car. Guess I’m going to have to find that number.
Alana was right that when she brought a party, she brought a party. Over the next few months, a steady stream of people came in and out of the apartment. Alana was like a one-man frat party announcement. And once she started experimenting with the drugs, nothing was off limits. She would do lines of coke while tripping on mushrooms washing it down with vodka and whiskey. It was as if her body had been lying in wait for the day to arrive when she had no rules and no responsibilities. After she announced her permanent residents with a subscription to O magazine, I took it as my job to support her financially as well. Each month the lottery money came in and within three days, we were stocked up for the rest of the month and broke. Since I could only afford one drug habit, I tapered my intake down to pot and Tramadol. My food options began to dwindle as well. I relied mostly on cans of Wolf chili and cereal. I finally began trying to kill two birds with one stone.
“Hey, we are out of drugs and milk so uh,” Alana announces one morning, “get on that.”
“How long has it been since you talked your Richard?” I inquire in hopes that maybe we can visit and get me food not out of a can.
“What the fuck is it to you?” Alana snaps back, seemingly annoyed that I would ask such a reasonable question.
“I was just thinking maybe we could calm down a bit over here. We could go over there, I know I could go for a home cooked meal.”
Alana climbs on my lap and begins to grind her legs around mine, “do you see what my body looks like when I’m not eating my mom’s deep fried food?” she takes off her shirt and swings it around her head. The belly I saw for the first month Alana was here has been transformed into a tight, almost flat layer of skin that would put most girls that workout to shame. “You want to ruin all of this?”
“It’s not that of course,” I struggle to get any words out, “I just thought that maybe you could go home for a few days and let them know you are okay.”
Alana rises from the couch, grabs the remote, and smashes it against the wall, “Are you trying to kick me out of my house?”
The question catches me off guard but I have learned in four months when is a good time to cut and run, “I’ll be back in a little while.”
We continue on this path except now I’m a visitor in my own apartment and Alana has now taken the place of my mom.
“Why is this house always so fucking dirty,” lovely words at six thirty in the morning to wake up to.
“Cause you,” I pause, “I mean, cause I don’t clean it.”
“Damn right so how about you give me some money so I can get me some things and have this shit hole clean when I get home.”
I climb out of bed and reach into my pants pocket for my wallet. Alana stands beside me, hand extended. I look at Alana, face sunken into itself where only the cheekbones now exist, dangly arms that can function for no purpose other than to enjoy injections, and I try to remember what the girl I knew was. I hand her my card and watch her walk out the door.

Today is the happiest sad day of my life. My last check from the lottery office comes in and I have to tell my stick figure that this check should go for additional rent for the next year. Since Alana has completely shifted her sleeping schedule to all hours that consist of daylight, I have some time to work out my approach to the matter at hand. I drive by Sunset Park but I have no desire to check out anyone that might end up like what I have at home. I try a few coffee shops and a pizza parlor, but they both have too many people inside to be peaceful. My car finally guides me to Claude’s place. I feel a calm about me, my body knows all it has to do is climb out of my car and walk inside to trays full of things that will help me put off my problems until tomorrow. The closet I get to Claude’s front door is my front passenger side tire that I thought might be losing air.
I take a few minutes downstairs before I wander into my apartment. I find out when I walk in that Alana has not made it out of bed yet (it is only just three thirty in the afternoon) so I sit on the couch and wait for Whiskers to rub against me and let me know everything will be okay.
“Whiskers,” I call out as I search around for her underneath the couch and behind the recliner. “Whiskers!”
I enter the bedroom and look around. I don’t call Whiskers name at first, I want to avoid Sleeping Beauty if at all possible. I take a lap around the apartment again but have no luck.
“Alana, hey sweetie, Alana,” I rub her left arm bone to try and soothe her awake.
“What the fuck do you want?” she opens her eyes enough to let a glint of sunlight bounce off her pupils.
“Do you know where Whiskers,” I pause, my hand drowning in a puddle on the bed. I press down gently on the covers only to cause the wet spot to grow. I lift my hand to my nose, “Are you okay?”
Alana finally begins to sit up in the bed and open her eyes, “why the hell wouldn’t I,” she moves her butt around in the bed, “what the fuck is wet?” Our eyes meet and at the same moment, we both realize that the wetness is from an overactive bladder.
Alana’s face rotates through the shades of embarrassment as she leaps from the bed and runs into the bathroom. I bow my head as I realize how much harder this just made the day. I get up from the bed and tap softly on the bathroom door, “Are you okay?”
Alana gives me an emotionless response, “Go the fuck away.”
“If you don’t want to talk about it I understand but I would like to know if you know where Whiskers is.” I stand at the door and wait for a response. Alana obliges, throwing open the bathroom door.
“That stupid cat of yours. That’s all you care about. Well, I got tired of that sad sack around. Someone asked about him last night so I let them have him. Do you know I don’t own anything that doesn’t have cat hair in it now?” She stares me down seemingly insistent on reminding me who is boss in this place. When I don’t budge, she slams the door in my face. I take a deep breath, probably half a dozen, and walk back to the bedroom, fish out my phone, and dial Richard’s number.
Forty-five minutes later when Richard knocks on the door, I still hold out hope that this can all be resolved amicably.
“Someone is at the door,” I call out to through the bathroom door.
“Then answer it stupid,” the door answers back. So I do. As expected, Richard waits on the other side of the door. Surprisingly, he meets me with a right cross to the chin that sends me to the ground.
“Where is she?” Richard steps over me and comes inside.
“Bathroom,” I respond through my hand that covers my nose and tries to keep the blood inside.
“Just like her mother,” Richard mutters as he walks to the door, “hey pumpkin, it’s daddy.”
After I have a few moments of sheer terror that Alana may have recently killed herself in the bathroom, she finally emerges and lunges into Richard’s arms. Her face still red, this time from the tears.
“It was all his idea daddy, I just wanted someone to love,” sobs engulf the sentimental lies.
“I know it was,” Richard shoots a glance my way, “I know.” Richard sets Alana back down, “go grab your stuff and I’ll take you for ice cream.”
Alana smiles and peeks Mister Serra on the cheek before she disappears into the bedroom. Richard then turns his attention to me.
“I’m truly sorry sir for the way things turned out,” I try to put on my sad voice, “Whatever responsibility to be had can be laid truly on me. I would just prefer we take a timeout on any violence today.”
Richard walks to me and places his face inches from mine, “it will be better this way.”
“Okay, I’m ready.” Alana bounces from the bedroom, clam happy. Richard grabs Alana’s bag from her and opens the front door. The two walk down the stairs and past a police officer. Richard and the officer nod to each other. Once to the car, Alana climbs into the back seat and Mister Serra starts the car. The police officer makes it to the top step and obscures my view of their departure.
“Are you Dallas Anderson?”
I don’t answer; I just turn around with my hands behind my back. The office leads me back down the stairs to his police car. After he loads me in the back, I glance out the back window to spot Neighbor on his porch, Whiskers in hand. I only wonder now if Alana looked out the back of the Taurus and looked for me.