1-3-5-17-23-8

1-3-5-17-23-8

                    "For it is said that humans are never satisfied, that you give them one thing and they want something more. And this is said in disparagement, whereas it is one of the greatest talents the species has and one that has made it superior to animals that are satisfied with what they have.”

-John Steinbeck, The Pearl

Wally was a simple man, not stupid but not too bright, not ugly but not handsome, not sickly but far from a Yoga instructor, not rich but not poor. He was like most of us.

Eight to five. The hours had a way of happening without really being noticed. The same thing at the same place, day in and day out. Tedium, boredom, void of recognizable purpose. If he dropped dead tomorrow, someone else would probably load those trucks. His absence would go unnoticed.

“Hey, Wally! How was it at the old salt mines today?”

“Good, Herb, same old same old. You know how it goes. How was it for you?”

“I almost lost it today. I was an eighth of a second from kicking old man Larson in the keister. If he tells me one more time about keeping my area clean, I’ll go Postal on him.”

“Don’t do that, Herb. We need your 235 average for the KC tournament in Cleveland next month. Hold off on it for awhile.”

Neighbors for 22 years, one gets to know the other. Good hard working men. Sometimes life was hard- the AC on Herb’s car went out last week, and the roof on Wally’s house just sprung another leak, and sometimes life was good- Wally’s boy just got accepted to college, and Herb’s dog just had puppies…basic stuff to feel good about.

“Your night to barbeque, Wally. I hope you don’t burn the burgers again. I don’t want to chip a tooth.”

“Give me a break, Herb. We call that slightly charred for flavor.”

“Is Betty still on you about the car?”

“Yeah, I guess the rust spots bother her. And the brakes are making some weird noises. But it gets you to where you wanna go.”

“Good luck with that, buddy.”

“I figured it all out. If I just made another 3 grand a year, all would be good and I’d have peace at home.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet.”

----------

It was a routine. Wednesday night dinner at each other’s house had been going on for almost 20 years, outdoors weather permitting. Wally and Betty would host one week, usually burgers or brats, and beer, and Herb and Elaine would entertain the next week, usually chicken or fish, and beer. Every meal was followed by casual banter about work, kids, the weather, and Pinochle… and beer.

“Did you get your Powerball ticket, Wally?”

“Of course, Elaine, I donated another 2 dollars. But it’s worth it for the few hours of hope and 3 minutes of excitement.”

“Let me guess. You did 1-3-5-17-23 and 8.

“That’s right, Herb. I figure that if they do the Powerball thing enough times, that number would eventually have to come up. I remember something like that from some statistics stuff in high school.”

“I didn’t think you went to high school.”

“Very funny, Herb. That’s where I met my lovely bride. Our birthdays will come through for me someday.”

“I’d rather have the 2 dollars, Wally. Maybe you could put it toward a new car for me.”

Ouch.

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Ten o’clock curfew. They all had to be up early for work so the festivities always shut down at ten. Wally would down one more beer and catch the news, weather and sports, and of course the Powerball drawing.

The ticket was upstairs on his dresser, but he didn’t need it as after 15 years he could recite the numbers in his sleep.

That last beer made him a little sleepy. Or maybe it was the God awful loud music blaring out of Matt’s room, but Wally didn’t quite catch the numbers. He knew they couldn’t have been what he thought he heard. He moved closer to the TV, and stared at the numbers at the bottom of the screen: 1-3-5-17-23 and 8.

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“For God’s sakes, Wally, comb your hair.”

I did comb my hair.

“And tuck your shirt in. We’re going to be TV.”

I don’t want to be on TV.

“We’re rich now. You can’t go out there looking like Jed Clampett.”

And you can’t go out there trying to look like one of the Kardashians.

----------

“ Betty wants to look at the place afternoon.”

“Well, we’re happy for you, but we’re sure going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you guys too. It’s almost a little embarrassing, but I guess…I guess that’s what you do if you have lots of money.”

“Wally, don’t be silly. I’d do the same thing.”

“Would you, Herb?”

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Wally was in his new front yard when his new neighbor pulled into his driveway in his new Porsche. Wally stepped onto his new neighbor’s lawn to introduce himself.

“Good afternoon! I’m Wally…”

“Where’s your truck?”

“My truck? What truck?”

“Aren’t you with the lawn care company?”

Wally glance down at his cutoff shorts, his worn tennies, and then flipped his eyes skyward to catch the frayed brim of his Dodger’s baseball cap.

“Uh, no. I just moved in next door. I’m your new neighbor.”

Is there a word that rolls “stunned”, “dismayed”, “incredulous” and “revolted” into one tidy word?

“Really?”

Wally detected a lack of enthusiasm.

“Well…that’s…interesting. I’m Foster…Foster Barnes….nice to meet you”

Wally went for the hearty handshake. Foster extended his had as though he was feeding an alligator. He disappeared as quickly as the girl in a David Copperfield magic show.

Gees, I forgot to ask him if he and his wife played Pinochle.

----------

“You met our new neighbor like that?!”

Pretty much.

“He’s a bank president, and his wife is on the Board of the Symphony Orchestra. Oh my God, what are they going to think of us?”

Maybe that I’m his new neighbor. I dunno.

“What’s wrong with you, Wally? We’re in a different world now.”

I can see that.

----------

“Where’s mom?”

“She’s at the Club.”

“What Club?”

“The Country Club.”

“Your mom doesn’t play golf.”

“Tennis. She’s up there playing tennis.”

“Matt, she doesn’t play tennis either.”

“She does now. I guess she’s getting another lesson from Enrique.”

“What? Who’s Enrique?”

“He’s the Club tennis pro.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

----------

“I’m really sorry, Herb. I guess Betty is on this committee for the Club’s annual formal dance that weekend.”

“The Club?”

“Yeah, the…Country Club.”

“Wow…the Country Club. Cool. Good for you, Wally. That sounds…great.”

“Yeah, I’m really sorry. I’m sure you will someone to fill in for me.”

“Sure…”

“Good luck to you guys in Cleveland.”

Yeah…sure, Wally.”

----------

 “Matt?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Who is that lady in the den?”

“That’s Sofie. Our new maid.”

“We have a maid?”

“Dad, this place is huge. Of course we need a maid.”

“And would you happen to know who the guy in the kitchen is?”

“Oh, that’s Boris, the chef. Nice guy. Really cool accent.”

“Accent, of course. If you’re going to have a chef, I’ve always said it’s good to get one with an accent.”

----------

“Father Hayes is stopping by tonight.”

“Father Hayes? Why is he coming over?”

“To talk about our donation for the new church. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh yeah. I’m just a little confused with the Humane Society, the Cancer guys, and all the youth sports programs. Not to mention your relatives.”

“Oh, so now you have a problem with my relatives?”

“No, I guess not.”

“I told Father Hayes it would be nice to see a plaque in the 24 Hour Chapel with our names on it. And maybe a little something in the Great Hall Greeting Room.”

Our names on a church? Like on a baseball stadium? A church?!

----------

“This is nuts. I feel like a freaking penguin in this thing.”

“What did you want to wear? Your torn up blue jeans and your Napoleon Dynamite T-Shirt?”

“I’d feel a lot better in that. Who cares anyway?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. And try not to embarrass me.”

I don’t think I’m liking this at all.

“And can I get you something to drink?”

“Yes, a nice red wine, please.”

Wine?!

“And you, sir?”

“Just get me tap beer.”

“What an exciting choice.”

This jackass is making fun of me. God, I wish I were someplace else.

“Oh Enrique, how nice to see you this evening! This…this is my…husband, Walter.”

Walter? Who the hell is Walter? She hasn’t called me Walter since Sophomore year in high school.”

“And if your husband doesn’t mind, could I have the pleasure of the next dance, Betsy?”

Betsy?!

“I’m sure Mr. Fuddy-Duddy won’t mind.

Yeah, for sure I'm not liking this.

----------

“What are you doing?!”

“Uh, I’m mowing the lawn.”

“No, no, no. I mow the lawn. My company pays me to mow the lawn. You don’t want me to lose my job, do you?”

“Sorry, I guess not.”

----------

“Dad, there’s no point in me going to college. I’m already rich…or, I will be someday. I mean we’re all rich, so who needs school? I met I couple guys at the Club. We’re taking off for Europe. We’re going to travel all over the place.”

“Does your mother know about this great plan of yours?”

“It was her idea.”

----------

“Say, Boris, it’s Wednesday night. I feel like having a brat tonight.”

“What’s a brat?”

----------

“I don’t know, Dad. It’s getting a little weird. I was up at the Club today planning our trip with my buddies, and I saw Mom playing tennis with Enrique. She’s not getting any better, and she’s been getting a ton of lessons.”

“Yeah, I noticed that myself.”

“Are you ok, Dad?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Maybe not so fine.

Wally gabbed a beer out of the fridge and sat on the leather couch staring at the cathedral ceiling.

----------

“Wally?”

“Hey, Herb.”

“What are doing here?”

“Just a little weeding. And maybe I’ll mow the lawn later.”

“What’s wrong, Wally?”

“I was a fish out of water. I think I might just stay here for a few days, you know, and try to sort everything out.”

Herb was in that pleasant place where a tear meets one’s smile.

“Whatever is going on, Wally, it will be nice to have you around.”

“Herb, it’s not Wednesday, but do you think you and Elaine might want to come over for burgers tonight, and maybe a couple of beers?”

“I’d love to Wally. Same for Elaine.”

“Herb…”

“Yeah, Wally?”

“I’m sorry.”