Free Lottery by Patricia Wood

And then nothing. I jump and almost wet my pants. Gary calls Fritz Dias on the phone and has him come by. Fritz repairs all our machines.
    “What you do, Perry? You broke it? How you do that?” Fritz says, and laughs. He is from Spain or Africa or maybe Germany and very smart about machines. He smiles all the time and has a gold tooth right in front. That is so cool, I think.
    “Just the diaphragm. Here, see?” He spreads the parts to the compressor all over the floor.
    “You press the button and here, see this? That moves and then over here, see this valve and this hose? The air comes out here.”
    He talks to me like a real person while he takes it apart. He never treats me like I am retarded. I help by handing him his tools.
    “You’re a great helper, Perry,” he says, only he pronounces my name Parreeee.
    It takes him all morning to tell Gary that he has to order a new part.
    Gary is annoyed and asks, “Don’t you have the right diaphragms with you?”
    “Why would I have one with me? You’re the distributor. Cheaper for you to order, yeah?” Fritz never loses his temper and always smiles showing his gold tooth.
    He stays and eats lunch with us. We all buy tuna sandwiches from Marina Handy Mart.

WINNING TICKET COMES FROM EVERETT MARINA HANDY MART
    Wednesday’s headline is right in the top middle. I have the day off and go downstairs to pick up Keith’s dirty laundry and read the paper. Keith is working in the back office and Manuel is working the register. The newspaper is lying on the counter. Nobody is looking at it, so I borrow the front page and tromp back upstairs. I know Gary will not mind and I can give it back later. I read the story while I cook my oatmeal. It is all about the Marina Handy Mart and there is an interview with the manager, Peter Koslowski. I wonder if Peter and Cherry know the person who won. I fold the Wednesday paper and put it by the door so I do not forget to take it back downstairs to Gary. I can walk over to Handy Mart later and maybe buy a sandwich and talk to Cherry. She will be famous because she works there and they sold the ticket. That is so cool.
    I have all my Wednesday chores to do. My oatmeal is too hot to eat, so I start the washer before breakfast. I hear the CHUG CHUG CHUG of the machine as I pour milk and sprinkle sugar. It is like having company. Keith’s jeans are in the first load along with two of my shirts. They are very dirty from all the sanding and painting we have done this week.
    The Sunday paper is on my company TV tray and my cereal bowl is on my regular one. Sections of the paper are stacked in a neat pile. I set the comics on the floor and pick up the front page. There is a picture of a turkey farm. It is an interesting story, but sad because it will be Thanksgiving next month and the turkeys will all be dead. I decide that I will not eat turkey this year. I think about Gram. She made good turkey.
    The Lotto numbers are in a line at the bottom of the front page.
    I do not have to check mine because someone else has already won. I wonder why they have not picked up their money yet. If I won, I would get my money right away. I miss Gram. She would read the numbers and I would check them. I take a bite of oatmeal, then get up and look for my sack. It has flown off my counter and rolled next to the refrigerator. I pull out my Lotto ticket. One edge is still sticky from Manuel’s spilled Coke. I go back to the sofa and sit at my TV tray. I make believe Gram is next to me.
    “Gram, you want to read the numbers?” I ask.
    “Okay,” I say.
    I pretend I am her.
    “Here they are.” I set them in front of me on the tray.
    There are ten rows of numbers down and six across. Two of them start with 12, two start with 11, and the others are 05, 06, 02, 04, 15, and 09. It is hard to check. The numbers have to be the same and all on the right line. I check each row for the first number listed in the newspaper. It starts with 09.
    “Hey, Gram! We have the