"Lottery Ticket"

 

I had thought about buying one for some time, but I established a rule: only if I had change to spare, and even then, only if all the coins were silver. Pennies were out. I didn't want to cause the cashier grief, and I didn't want to earn his pity. I just wanted a lottery ticket, which I needed his register to print. 

One day, a break occurred in the winter chill like a crack in ice, and I walked to the closest convenience store. All the while as I kicked my way there, a conversation played in my head.

"That's a bag of carrots you've got, maybe two at Aldi," one voice said as I studied the coins in my hand. "A book from the bargain bin at the used book store. A tip for that guitarist at the train station. Imagine what you could do if you scrimped and added to it."

"You already know how to live on a budget and save," another voice countered. "This isn't about reality or practicality. It's about allowing yourself to believe in the tiniest possibility of something almost impossible happening. Symbolism at its finest, baby."

"Mister, what are you waiting for?" a third voice asked. "The light's green."

I glanced down. A girl of maybe six or seven was staring at me, one eyebrow arched to high heaven with her impatience. Her look softened when she saw the change I was holding. Quickly she reached into her pocket and dropped something on top of the coins, just as a woman who had battled upstream against pedestrian traffic grabbed the girl's other hand and pulled her into the flow of the crosswalk. I looked at the gift. It was a fortune cookie, unopened.

The pedestrian light had counted down to one second remaining. Why does so much always seem to depend on something so small? I wondered. I stepped into the crosswalk just as the traffic signal switched to red.