Out of Luck

"I should buy a-"

I caught myself before finishing the thought. A moment before the words came out of my mouth, one of the most sad and stressful memories I had flashed through my mind. 

It was thirty years ago. I was a typical suburban pre-teen living across the street from my best buddy Jeff Gilman. My mom was always working, and I was spending more time at Jeff’s house than my own. 

His parents didn't mind. They were always giving me rides home from school and would let me hang out with Jeff until my mom arrived. Whenever my mom was especially late, Jeff's family would let me stay over for dinner. I was essentially a third Gilman brother at the table between Jeff and the younger Billy. 

One night while I was eating leftover casserole with Jeff and his family, some news was heard on the television that derailed the entire evening. A series of numbers were read out, the winning numbers for a 35 million dollar jackpot.

The Gilmans stopped eating and shared a look. Jeff's dad bought a ticket every Monday on the way home from work, always playing the same numbers every time. Numbers that sounded remarkably similar to the ones just read by the newscaster. 

"Did I hear what I think I did?" Mrs. Gilman asked.

"I think so." Mr. Gilman said, looking a little awestruck. "Our anniversary, Jeff's birth year and Billy's birth year. Those are our numbers."

A gasp escaped from Jeff’s mom before she clamped a hand down over her mouth, trying not to let elation get the better of her. "They have to read it again, we need to double-check before we start freaking out."

The news covered a few more stories while we finished our food. Jeff's parents barely touched their meals, each of them keeping an eye glued to the TV screen. When all of us were finished, we wandered out into the living room and sat around the television, waiting in anticipation. 

“And now, the winning numbers for tonight’s jackpot.” At the sound of the anchor’s voice, everyone held their breath. 

I watched Mr. Gilman as the numbers were read. With each digit dictated, his eyes grew wider and the smile on his face broadened. Mrs. Gilman was on the verge of passing out. At the reading of the final numbers, it felt as though every person in the room was levitating a foot off the ground on a cloud of pure happiness. 

Jeff’s dad was cheering and hugging his wife. Mrs. Gilman was laughing with tears in her eyes, almost weeping. Jeff and Billy were shrieking and running around, perhaps not fully understanding the magnitude of what was happening, but reveling in their parents’ unbridled joy. The Gilmans had won a ticket out of the rat race. 

“What do we do now?” Jeff’s mom asked after much celebration.

“I don’t know. I think we just need to take the ticket into the nearest lottery office.” Mr. Gilman said, “I’ll go get it.”

The room was still aglow with excitement. For a few minutes, the Gilmans had the weight of the world lifted off their shoulders. Then Mr. Gilman came back into the living room, eyebrows furrowed in mild anxiety. He was rifling through his wallet, carefully checking every bill and receipt. 

“I can’t find it.”

“What?”

“I can’t find the ticket.”

“Where did you leave it?”

“On the nightstand, like always.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Of course I’m sure!” 

Mr. Gilman threw his hands up in a futile plea.

“Help me look for it.”

And so we looked for it. We searched the kitchen and the living room. The bathroom, the bedrooms, every closet and every cupboard, every square inch of that house was turned upside down in search of the ticket. We looked in the front yard and the backyard. We dug through the couch and emptied every garbage can. I peeled old receipts off moldy banana peels in the hopes of finding the ticket. 

Mr. Gilman dismantled the family car while Jeff and I took to the streets in search of the ticket. We brought flashlights and looked for hours on the side of the road, in the yards of neighbors, in the grove of trees at the end of the street. All night long we searched everywhere and anywhere the wind might have carried that cursed piece of paper. I did everything I could to help put the minds of the Gilman family at ease. We found nothing.

By the time we returned to Jeff’s home, the reality of the situation was starting to become clear. The somber mood was a painful contrast to the jubilation earlier that evening. I said goodnight to the Gilmans and went home to crash in my bed, hoping there would be some better news in the morning.

At school the next day, an exhausted Jeff didn’t have much to say. While I got to go home and sleep, Jeff and Billy were helping their parents look for the ever-elusive ticket. Mrs. Gilman gave me a ride home from school like always, but it was impossible to ignore how much she had aged overnight. She looked haggard and hollow. There was nothing an eleven-year-old boy like me could do to console her, so I just kept my mouth shut and endured one of the most painful car rides of my existence. 

The next day Jeff didn’t arrive at the school until after lunch. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a year. His dad had remembered stopping by his favorite burger place after purchasing the ticket, so it was possible it might have ended up in the restaurant's trash. Luckily for the Gilmans, the diner’s trash hadn’t been collected yet. They gave Jeff and his dad permission to dig through a dumpster full of garbage and rotting food all night long. 

The ticket was never found. The deadline to claim the prize came and went. Things weren't the same after that. In the months after the incident, the mood was undeniably strained. The family no longer ate together. Jeff and Billy became quiet and withdrawn, spending most of their time away from home on their own, wandering around the neighborhood aimlessly, neither one really in the mood for conversation. I was rarely invited back to their house. The Gilman home became cold and lifeless, silent except for the occasional sound of hushed bickering behind closed doors. 

Mr. Gilman took it the worst. He looked like he had aged ten years by the time the ticket expired. I remember hearing rumors that he had lost his job and developed a drinking problem. He was certainly spending more time at home, usually on the front porch with a beer in his hand and a blank look on his face, staring off into the distance. His wife completely disappeared after a month.

It all but destroyed the Gilman family, but things would eventually- slowly, turn around.

By the time I got into high school, Mr. Gilman was able to hold down a job again, and Jeff began acting more like the friend I once knew. Things would never go back to how they were, Jeff and Billy were a bit more cynical than most teenagers, and Mr. Gilman would get that vague depressed look if he was left to his own devices for too long, but it was getting better. I started visiting the Gilmans more. 

Mr. Gilman taught us how to play poker one night using M&M’s for bets. It was the first time in a long time I had seen what was left of the Gilman family laughing and having a good time. It became a weekly ritual. Jeff, Billy, their dad, and I all around the kitchen table, throwing our piles of candy out, trying to call each other’s bluffs. I would head over every Friday night and spend hours playing hand after hand. The only time we didn't meet was when Jeff and Billy were out of town on their monthly visit to their mom. 

We played all throughout high school and into adulthood. We graduated from sodas to beers (though Mr. Gilman stuck with diet coke) and the M&M's eventually became real money, but all was won and lost in good fun. The big winner of the night usually bought pizza the next week anyway. Even when we all moved away, we agreed to meet every Friday night and keep Mr. Gilman company with our weekly poker game.

It was during one of these games when I was dealt a royal flush. I could hardly hide my smile when I realized what cards I held. I watched gleefully as the Gilman boys strategized and made their wagers, then savored their jeers and groans of disgust as I laid out my hand of diamonds and took my winnings. 

"No way!" Jeff exclaimed. "We've played this game every Friday for twenty years and that's the first time I've ever seen a royal flush."

He took the cards and shuffled them, expertly intertwining the cards and rearranging them before dealing another hand. I looked at my cards and almost gasped when I saw I had picked up yet another royal flush, this time with spades. I was known for having a lousy poker face at the best of times, and my sudden turn of fortune was hard to keep concealed.  

The Gilmans were immediately suspicious of the goofy smirk on my face, but once again we made our wagers and laid out our cards. The reveal of my hand garnered immediate scorn from my friends. I was accused of cheating and worse, subjected to a tirade of good-natured harassment as I was handed my winnings, a whopping 15 dollars. 

"I don’t believe it!" Billy lamented with a laugh. "Since when did you have any luck with the cards?"

Mr. Gilman sipped his soda and chuckled. “What are the odds?”

It was Billy's turn to shuffle. He scooped up the cards and jumbled them together, throwing a couple of friendly jabs my way as he shuffled and dealt our hands.

I picked up my cards one by one; a ten of hearts, a jack of hearts, a queen of hearts.

I couldn't believe my luck. Was I honestly about to get three flushes in a row?

A king of hearts.

I couldn't help but laugh at my good fortune.

An ace of hearts.

Unbelievable! I didn’t even need to put them in order. What were the odds, indeed?

"What are you so happy about?" Jeff said, spotting my mischievous smile. I spread my hand on the table, skipping the betting and letting the results speak for itself. The palpable disbelief that filled the room at the reveal of my hand was a prize in itself.

“You've got to be kidding me!” Jeff cried. “Some people have all the luck.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I should buy a-”

I realized how the expression ended a second after I started it.

“Buy a what?” Billy asked.

I said nothing, rendered speechless by my own blunder. It didn’t matter, the Gilmans figured it out in no time. 

Mr. Gilman had the realization first, finishing the phrase in his mind. His face darkened at the recollection of the missing lottery ticket. His expressions dived through a spectrum of negative emotions as the joy, the frustration, the search and the separation all hit him within a moment. Jeff and Billy put it together a moment later, feeling those same emotions and falling silent as the wounds of those old memories were ripped open once more.

Poker night had been ruined by my unintentional reminder of the time the Gilmans almost got lucky.