Fifty Thousand Options

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.

Fifty Thousand Options

By Plot Roach

Joe pulled the battered dollar bill out of his pocket and slid it across the counter to the woman behind the register. “One quick pick, please.” he said. She eyed his clothing and general appearance, frowning as she slid the ticket back to him. He was dirty, had definitely seen better days. Most of the time he was able to keep himself at least tidy, if not clean. But it was getting harder and harder to keep his life going, to make some effort at staying human, at least in the eyes of those who shared the world with him.

He nodded his head and left the liquor store, shoving the ticket deep into his pocket. Feeling the fool for spending his last dollar on a snowball’s chance in winning, he cursed his decision as the first rumble of hunger spread through his stomach and settled into his bones. Why do I have to be such a fool and chase dreams? He thought. Why didn’t I just spend it on another can of food to get me through the night?

What his mind would not forgive, his stomach chastised for the rest of the night. But in his dreams he had plans. A home of his own, a pantry overflowing with food, a closet full of clean clothes that fit and more than enough room for all of his friends so that no one he knew would have to spend another night in the cold on the streets.

The following morning, he checked with the liquor store. The winning numbers had been posted and he checked his slip with shaking hands. He did not get all the numbers, but did have quite a few. How much did I win? He asked himself. Checking the information on the bottom of the poster, he found he had won fifty thousand dollars. Not millions, he said to himself. But not bad either. Fifty thousand could go a long way if it was spent right. His mind entertained the thought of fifty thousand dollar burritos at his local taco stand. He laughed at the thought, not that he would actually do it.

And what would I do with fifty thousand dollars? A small, greedy voice asked him. The minute you go to deposit it in the bank, the government will eat up the greatest share in taxes. And then there goes all the government assistance you fought so hard to receive. And what little is left, those around you will fight you or guilt trip you for.

Joe shook his head. This was his windfall, his little bit of hope to get him through the hard times and maybe get him back on his feet. But the little voice returned, with an appetite like a shark and little rat teeth that gnawed instead of eviscerated. You’ll still have to wait five weeks, it said. You can’t have the money right away. So you’ll still be stuck on the street until then. Can you really keep it a secret all that time? Do you really think those around you will leave you alone when they know that you’ll be coming into that much money? Everything you know and love will leave you and nothing will ever be the same again. Better to blow it all on booze and drugs and make the end come swiftly, than to try and eek out a meager existence and make death come for you inch by inch.

In his mind he saw himself suffering on the street until the money would be released to him. A few months in a motel, a few good meals, but what would it really add up to? As soon as the money was gone he would be right back where he began. But this would be worse, because now he would know what he was missing. The soft bed, the full belly, and feeling like a human again.

No, he thought, better to not have it at all than to be teased with Heaven and delivered back to Hell. He wandered through the parking lot, twirling the ticket in one hand while he weighted what to do. Along the way he saw a woman holding a baby. The child could not have been more than a week old. Its mother crying into the phone.

“If I had the money, don’t you think I would pay the rent with it?” she said. “At this rate, I’ll have to spend the night in a shelter. And I don’t know what they’ll do about the baby. Can they take him from me if I don’t have a home?”

Joe shuffled forward, waited for the woman to get off of the phone. When she did, he leaned forward and made himself look as small and unassuming as possible so as to not frighten her. “Do you have a dollar, ma’am?” he asked.

She looked at him, rolled her eyes and fished a single bill out of her purse. “Here.” she said. “One dollar isn’t going to make the difference in paying my rent.”

He handed her the lotto ticket. “No, but this will.”

“What?” she asked, looking at the crumpled piece of paper.

“It’s worth fifty thousand dollars and won’t do me a damned bit of good. But you might be able to use it, provided the landlord is willing to wait five weeks for the check to hit your bank account. If not, it’s his loss, because you’ll be able to go anywhere you want once you get the money.”

With that, Joe turned and walked away. A dollar bill in his pocket taking the spot of the winning lotto ticket. He smiled, knowing that he was no better or worse off than he had been the day before, and counting his blessings that he could make a difference in the life of someone else in the meantime.