You Can't Win If You Don't Play

What would I do if I won the lottery? The big one?

How would I spend all of that money, after living my entire life with the bare minimum, stretching each paycheck into the next paycheck?

Shay is sitting next to me, watching my face as I scrunch it into undoubtedly unflattering shapes, waiting for me to respond. I can feel her eyes on me. Her arm is extended along the back of my chair, her body turned towards me despite the fact that I am sitting straight up, looking away from her, wondering genuinely what I would do with any money, nonetheless a whole pile of it.

My back hurts. I can feel the knots tangle around my shoulder blades as I tense my shoulders up to my ears, deeply uncomfortable talking with her about money and success like this. Why would she ask me something so ridiculous, as though I don't pine after monetary comfort every day of my life?

When I turned to meet Shay's gaze, I could see it in her eyes. The regret, the shame, the guilt. She was just trying to play a game with me and my somber apprehension has now set her on edge. Why do I always do that to her, when she deserves someone that's effervescent, like she is?

"I'd have more time to journal."

Her eyes rapidly blinked before she laughed. Her laugh sounds like a twinkle, like Tinkerbell shaking off her pixie dust. It always makes my heart stutter.

We share a moment of silent eye contact before she happily says, "Would your first purchase be a new journal, then?" and runs her hand through the length of my hair. It sends a chill through my spine, as the sensation travels from her fingers through my scalp and down into my bones.

I sigh and lean my head back, looking up at the clouds as they slowly pass over us, unaware of my aches, unaffected by Shay's touch. My hands trace the spine of my favorite black notebook as it sits in my lap, unaware that it's currently being hypothetically replaced. It's small, but within its pages live all of the thoughts I can never quite put into vocal words. Below its surface lies my love for Shay, my fears of failure, all of my pain, memories I hope to never forget, and the stories my heart longs to tell.

"I don't think I would buy a new one. Mine isn't full just yet. I mean, I would just be able to afford the time to journal more," I mutter as I run through my to-do list in the back of my mind. I can spend about five more minutes here on this bench, before my lunch break is over.

Her lips press against my cheek. I can feel the tip of her nose as her face rests on mine, her warmth seeping into my body through the places where she's making contact.

"If I won the lottery, I'd give it all to you, so you never have to worry again," Shay whispers into my ear. Again, my body tingles in response to her energy.

This is what I mean.

She deserves so much more. I told her that I would use freedom from money to spend more time within the pages of my private journal, and she told me that she'd give me a huge lump sum in order to ease my stress.

What she deserves is someone that could honestly tell her that they would do the same.

Her breath on my neck feels hot, too hot, and I wiggle away from her touch so I can face her. Then, I stand up, and apologize for cutting our time short, but it's time to go back to work for the rest of the day. Shay nods her understanding, then stands and puts her hand on my cheek, in the same spot where she had just kissed me, and pulls my face to meet hers.

Kissing her always feels timeless, and I could do it forever, but the risk of being late to work weighs more than my desire for her lips. So, I pull away quickly, knowing that if I don't, I might get lost within her waters and never surface.

As I'm walking away, I hear her voice pierce the air as she hollers, "Love you, be safe, have a good day, Bex!" I throw the standard peace sign up in the air without turning back, then switch my hand into the sign for "I love you," and keep walking.

On my right, I spot the gas station, and a thought crosses through my mind. You can't win if you don't play.

I check my watch.

I've got enough time.

I step into the dingy building, with its flickering blueish lights and stained tiles, and walk right up to the counter. A man with olive skin and brown eyes bigger than saucers looks up at me, clearly annoyed that I've interrupted whatever show is blaring from the phone he has propped up behind the register. I muster up a smile and ask for ten dollars worth of scratchers.

"Which ones?" he asks, bored with me.

"Lucky ones."

He stares at me for a beat, still bored, then turns his back to me to select five different scratcher cards. I hand him a wrinkled bill and thank him, then head back out into the sun and stride quickly into the mall to finish my shift at the department store, smiling the whole way.

My shift drags by. I make a few sales, inching closer to my monthly goal, but not nearly close enough. I don't care. I have a good feeling about the papers in my pocket.

I've never been described as hopeful, or optimistic. I'm rarely excitable. Generally, I prefer silence over cheering and pessimism over hope. If the bar is on the floor, you can only go up from there, I figure.

This feels different, though.

I can feel Shay's "Have a good day, Bex!" surrounding me like a warm hug. Like a blessing bestowed upon me. Like she was sprinkling that pixie dust on me, gifting me her magic.

I put my hand in my pockets and fiddle with the corners of the scratchers. If these are winners, which I think they are, would I really just work less and journal more? Would I really not give anything to Shay?

Now that I feel the luck she gives me bubbling in my veins, I'm not so sure. She deserves it. She's the best person I've ever known.

When I finally get a second to run to the restroom, I quietly close the stall door behind me and pull the scratchers out, then stare at them. I reach into my other pocket and pull out a penny, turning the warm copper over in my fingers, smelling its metallic scent and appreciating its weight. A penny could change everything.

I place the first scratcher on top of the toilet paper dispenser and start peeling away the silver material covering the numbers underneath.

Five dollars.

Alright. Not a bad start.

The next two cards were duds. So much for the cashier at the gas station giving me his luckiest cards.

I only have two left. Should I hold onto them and wait until I get home? What if I used the five dollars I just won to buy a couple more?

Screw it.

I press the penny into the fourth scratcher, only barely understanding the graphic designs on this one. There's a gold miner with bulging eyes and a pick ax at the top of it, and an overflowing pot of coins at the bottom. When I finally piece together my results, I drop my hands to my knees and feel my heart jump to my throat.

Inhale through my nose. Exhale through my mouth.

Another dud.

The last one is sitting there, staring up at me, malevolent. It's daring me to get my hopes up. It's laughing at me, yelling "You thought your fate could be altered by ten dollars worth of scratcher cards bought in a dirty gas station?"

I shake my head and consciously relax my knotted shoulders, deciding once and for all that I'm just gonna get this over with.

If there's nothing there, then my life is no different than it was before. I've only lost five dollars in this gamble.

My fingers turn white as I dig the penny into the final card, making a "scritch scritch scritch" sound as I wag it back and forth. Why am I so nervous?

I can feel my cheeks flush, my heart falls from my throat to my stomach, my palms immediately start sweating.

I swing the door open, pocketing the first and the last cards, tossing the other three in the waste bin, and bolt out of the bathroom. My manager is standing outside, obviously timing me.

"I've got to go," I say, a little too loudly.

Her response was lost in the sounds of my heartbeat in my ears and my feet slapping the tile. My hands find my phone and I mindlessly type in the address for the lottery district office as I try to figure out the taxes and piece together my next move.

My car's radio is playing something happy, but I can't quite hear it. All I can see is Shay's face, superimposed over the road in front of me. I can't wait to kiss her again.

After waiting in a painstakingly long line and handing over my winning cards, then bouncing from foot to foot as the short lady behind the counter handled the paperwork, I burst out of the door into the sunshine. It feels like an analogy for busting out of my old self and stepping into a new version. I've got sunshine dripping down my spinal column, a fire smoldering in my ribcage, butterflies dancing in my fingers.

I push open the door to our apartment and see her standing at the stove, with her back to me. She turns around quickly, startled, then grins so big that her eyes crinkle.

"You're home early."

I look around our tiny space and see both of us in everything. Shay singlehandedly decorated our home, insistent that we needed things on the walls and flowers in vases. I'm glad she's done that. It feels good to belong.

My eyes bounce from photo frames, to personalized coasters, to Valentine's Day cards on the fridge, then back to Shay.

I reach into my pocket and brandish the cashier's check, cross the creaky floorboards to her, and place it in her outreached hands. She watches me the whole time. Only when the paper is out of my grasp does she look away from me, briefly. Her eyes flash across the paper, then go back to mine, this time widened and confused, excited and disbelieving.

"Twenty thousand dollars? What did you do?"

I shrug. I smile.

"Bex, seriously. What? What is this?"

"It's ours. I want you to have half. I took your question to heart earlier and decided to play scratchers."

Her eyes well up and she looks up, away from me for only the second time since I've walked through the door. "You'll have more time to journal, then?"

"Yeah. This will pay off the last of my debt, so I can quit one of my jobs, which means I'll have extra time. I'm more excited to have more time with you, though."

Shay pulls my face in towards hers and kisses me, dunking me into her depth, sinking me into the forever stretching expanse of her.

I let myself fall into her waters.

I don't need to worry about when I'll surface again.