Three Dollar Bills

Three dollar bills. A dot, a C, and a jackpot. Sixteen people - some strangers, some born to celebrate together for the rest of their lives - gather around a table built for eight. Chairs are mixed and matched. Benches. Folding. Dinner chairs. 10.

The dogs are excited. They’re released from their hiding spot to relieve themselves. They can’t squeeze around the table. There’s too many people. Round two begins. Wine permeates the air between those talking about new house deals, upcoming engagements, fond memories of the past 12 months.

9.

Famous chicken chili soup. Another’s world-famous sweet corn bread muffins, sticky to the touch and gone by 8. Food turns to wine. Wine, eventually, will turn to champagne.

7. Everybody gathers around for catchphrase. Seating chart, boy-girl. “Oh, there’s too many. But how? We’re all couples.” Not all are coupled. Men versus women. Some of the women, though, need their glasses. Others don’t understand the game. It doesn’t matter. Boisterous laughter. “Boxers - what men wear under their clothes!” Contagious. 6. Choking laughter. 5. 

It’s time to pair off. Everyone’s ready for their New Year’s Eve kiss, except for the seventeenth. She’s by herself, not on purpose. She’s also forgotten. And she’s by herself before, but this is the first year in three years. 4.

They give her pitying looks. 

3.

She throws her head back, raises her glass, and laughs. It’s a defense mechanism. It doesn’t deter the uncomfortable glances.

2.

At least she won three dollar bills.

1.

A glass of Kendall-Jackson. Chatter from a New Years Eve special on TV. The dog’s another year older, asleep on her personalized bed. A familiar ringtone. The hour’s late. Expected. 10.

Static in the background. Silence. “Sold thirteen cars today.” Comfortable without words, yet worn with time. A bag of chips, open by her curled legs. She didn’t know about dinner.

9.

The garage door opens. The dog jolts awake. Races to the door and greets her lover. 8. He perks up after the long, daily drive. Sets his briefcase on his side of the black granite counter-top. A hollow clink radiates from the empty wine glass she sets on the counter. 7.

“Where do you want to eat?”

Choices are limited. New Years hours are in place. Wings. The dog goes up, shivering. She doesn’t want to be alone when the clock strikes midnight. They start the car, breathing. Quietly. Silently. 6. It’s a short drive the woman knows by heart. No cars to worry about on the roads at this hour. Plenty to worry about later. Nothing good happens after midnight.

5.

The place is empty, except for a young family. The child squeals. Another uses his iPad without headphones. 4. The hostess seats them and a waiter introduces himself. Young. He should be out, celebrating with others.

3.

“I’m Brad. What can I get started for you?”

2.

She doesn’t even have to pick up a menu to answer. “I’ll take a Kendall-Jackson.” He, too, gives his order and makes some light joke about what she’s wearing tonight. He and Brad bond over a shared family-friend. New Years brings togetherness, somehow. Though it’s not the chance Brad wanted this year. Working meant limited chances.

1.

Rum cake. Untouched except for the missing piece of glaze one of the partygoers snuck as they pass. Chocolate mousse. Cobbler. Peanut butter truffles. The dessert table remains deserted by the women in their sparkling stilettos and they’re fitted little black dresses. 10.

The girl with the three dollar bills saved them for a lottery ticket. She stopped by  the gas station the day after and bought her scratch-offs. Won a good amount. She bought more than scratch-offs after that. She bought friends. 9.

Friends took her shopping. They tried to change her look, her heart. Only the look had some leeway. She now has a little black dress, too. The stilettos, though, wouldn’t work. She was too tall. It’s funny how being tall made it easier to ignore. 7. The year had been good to her. Thanks to three dollar bills. It hadn’t given her the one thing she wanted, though. Memories of last year remain. 8.

She searched.

7.

And searched.

6.

Like she knew what she was looking for. It’s why she ended up by the dessert table. To stand out. No, to enjoy what had been beautifully displayed. Others feared dessert. She knew there was nothing to fear, especially going into a new year. The country club even had her favorite tonight: pecan pie. 5.

Someone drops a fork beside her. The peanut butter truffle jumps out of her precariously-held tongs. She drops the tongs and snatches the truffle with her fingers off the floor. “Five second rule.”

4.

The man laughs, embarrassed. He picks up the fork, wipes it down with his dress coat. He looks practiced, yet unsure. The girl who won last year asks his name. “Brad.” She asks Brad who he’s with. They wave from across the room, hopeful. Older. They must be his parents. He asks the same. She shrugs and holds her peanut butter truffle up. A cheer. “Myself.”

3.

He holds out an arm and she takes it. Together, they leave the dessert table. Balloons sway. The band wails. He takes her hand in his and they dance. He’s goofy. She’s buzzed. The older couple join and when the waiter comes back, he asks to refill drinks. “Kendell-Jackson,” the older woman requests. Brad welcomes them fondly.

2.

Everyone pairs like Noah’s arc without the flood. Only there’s about to be a flood. Laughter. Resolutions. Hope. The girl who won last year wonders if she can win anything this year. She, too, feels the flood. Brad steals here away to the balcony. He wonders the same. The countdown begins. Narrows. Awaits. It’s something they both wait for all year.

1.

The girl who won got her kiss. Brad got his chance. The couples behind had theirs too, once. They all dance, unaware that time doesn’t stand still after 1.

No one ever says 0. They say, “10, 9, 8, 7, 6…”

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.