Win Some, Lose Some
“Ew,” Mayra said as she wrinkled her nose. “Breaded, fried cabbage? Really?”
“What about fried rice? Or lo mein?”
“Matthew, you already asked me about those.”
“But it’s just rice or noodles with some vegetables mixed in with them.”
“And that nasty, stinky sauce,” Mayra added.
“But…there’s this Szechwan place that does eggplant in this dark, spicy sauce—”
“Eggplant is meant to be smothered in parmesan cheese and marinara,” Mayra interrupted. “It’s what it was born to do.”
“Italian food all tastes the same,” I remarked, and Mayra glared at me.
“That’s because you haven’t tasted my eggplant parmesan,” Mayra said. “Keep dissing Italian food, and I just might have to make it and force you to eat it.”
I couldn’t decide if it was a threat or a promise.
“What about wonton soup?” I traced the fish shape with the tip of my finger again.
“No!” Mayra screeched, which made me jump. “Now stop that! I do not like Chinese food!”
I tensed a little and brought my hand back into my lap. I was about to apologize, but then her words reminded me of something.
“Not in a box or with a fox?” I asked as I looked at her sideways. “Or on a train or in the rain?”
Mayra laughed.
“I do not like it here or there!” she said through her laughter. “I do not like it anywhere!”
She parked in my driveway and grinned at me as she leaned over the steering wheel.
“More project work?” she asked.
“I found an article on a website about global warming and the impact on hibernating bees,” I told her. “I was going to print out a copy, but Travis has the only printer. With my car still in the shop…well, I couldn’t go over there to print it out, but we can look at it on the computer.”
“It’s a plan!” Mayra said. She opened up her door and hauled her book bag out with her.
We spent the next couple of hours working on our project and some of the other homework we had. When we both decided we’d had enough, I pulled out two Cokes, two glasses, and eight ice cubes. I assembled the drinks and then carried them into the living room. I set mine down on the coaster and handed Mayra’s drink to her.
“I’m going to…um…pick up the garage,” I said as I stared at the glass on the table.
“I’ll help,” Mayra said.
“No,” I said as I shook my head. “I still feel bad for waking you up this morning. It won’t take me too long.”
Mayra agreed to relax inside while I grabbed a new plastic trash bag, a small Ziploc bag, and a pair of rubber gloves to clean up the mess. I was actually quite grateful for the Chinese food because it made me think of all the conversations Mayra and I had on the way to school, between classes, and at lunch. She really didn’t like Chinese food, and I still didn’t understand why. I was pretty sure if she just tried the right dish, she would like it.
It was enough of a distraction that I managed to scoop everything up into a new trash bag and toss it all back into the larger can pretty quickly and without feeling like I was either going to puke or freak out. I was going to have to mop as well, but I thought I would be able to wait until Mayra went home before I did that.
The only thing left on the floor was the small, folded paper ticket.
I swallowed a couple of times as I walked around it. It felt both innocent and ominous all at the same time. For a brief moment I understood why people bought them—it wasn’t because they thought they were going to win; it was the possibility of winning. How would they feel if they realized they had the winning ticket? What would they buy first? Would they donate a lot of it to charity? Give it to friends? Winning isn’t the attraction; the attraction is the opportunity to dream.
I picked up the ticket and held it between my yellow-gloved fingers. It had just a bit of duck sauce on the side of it, but it didn’t look like it was really messy or anything. I’d still eventually have to clean it with some Lysol wipes or something, though. I turned it around a couple of times, then slid it inside the little plastic Ziploc bag and sealed it up.
Like Schrödinger’s Cat, looking at the numbers would only collapse the waveform.