Free Lottery by Patricia Wood Page B

when I first met Keith.
    Today I won the lottery. That is echt.
    I count twenty-three ones in my wallet. More dollar bills make me feel rich. Hey, I am rich, I think. I sing in my head and then out loud.
    “I am rich. I am rich. I am rich,” and bounce on the couch.

13
    Gram and I have not had a car since before Gramp died. I hope gas is not more than twenty-three dollars. I hear a honk below my window. BLAAAAH! BLAAAAH! I run down to Keith’s truck, but have to run right back up again to get my jacket. Yo’s heater does not work and fall is cold in Everett.
    “I told Holsted it was an emergency.” Keith calls Gary by his last name when he is in a good mood. He turns on the radio to the oldies station.
    Keith used to be a hippie, then an army guy, then a ferry captain. Now he is a drunk. That is what he says. Gram used to call him a philosopher.
    “That’s a five-dollar word!” Keith told her. “A five-dollar word to describe someone who doesn’t have a red cent.”
    Gram just laughed at him. She liked Keith.
    We head south down the freeway. I am glad Keith knows which direction to go. Yo is heading south because Keith told me and that is what all the signs say as we whiz underneath. Keith drives extremely fast. Extremely is more than very and not as much as exceedingly. I feel for my lottery ticket through my shirt pocket. It is still there.
    “Why do you need to go to Olympia?” he asks.
    When I tell him he swerves into the other lane.
    “Holy fucking shit! You’re fucking kidding me! Right? Holy fuck!” He shakes his head and licks his lips like our collie, Reuben, used to do before we fed him and before he died.
    That reminds me. “Hey, I can get a dog!” I tell him.
    That is a good idea. I can get a dog again.
    Keith’s hands are shaking on the wheel.
    “Are you sure? Fuck! You need some help on this. Shit!” He gets very quiet. I have my wallet out and lay ten one-dollar bills on the seat.
    “Here is for gas. I hope it is enough,” I say.
    That is all it takes to make him go off again. “Jesus! Shit!”
    I hear Gram’s voice in my head. Careful.
    Keith’s gray hair is long, greasy, and tied in a ponytail. I think he looks like Willie Nelson from the back. From the front, he looks like an old fat white guy, but I do not tell him this. It would not be nice.
    “Where do we have to go?” His hands squeeze the wheel like a sponge.
    “PO Box two one six seven Olympia.” I read this slowly off the ticket.
    “That’s only a box number, we need the address. We’ll have to ask someone when we get to Olympia.” Keith is as smart as John, maybe smarter, even though he is not on my list.
    It takes three hours in traffic, plus we do not know exactly where we need to go. We stop at the Pancake House when we finally get to Olympia.
    “Everybody knows where the lottery office is! It’s just a few blocks over!” That is what Pamela, the cashier, says. We order something to drink and I bounce at the counter. She flutters her eyes at Keith and gives us free refills on our coffee. We are both grinning.
    “Did you win or something?” she asks. Her teeth are yellow.
    Keith gets quiet and looks at me. I stop bouncing. We push our lips straight.
    “No, we just need to find out where it is, just in case,” Keith says.
    “Yeah, in case,” I add.
    “That’ll be four ninety-eight.” She frowns and rings us up. I do not finish my third cup of coffee because it can make you pee and I do not know if the lottery office has a bathroom.
    The building we want is eight blocks away. I count. The outside is made of concrete painted light green. There is only a small sign above the door. I am surprised that it is not big and fancy, as they have all that money. The people at the lottery office are friendly and smile. They make me a giant cardboard check and take my picture while I hold it. They tell me I can take it home if I want.
    “Won’t this be cool to hang up on my wall?” I ask Keith.
    “Yeah, it’ll be