A Collection of Strange Circumstances

Dolores and the Lottery

Dolores Luciano was a poor woman, poorer than most, living in a squat house with dented rusty wire fencing sinking into the dirt that looked the way she felt, and while hope exists for all, Dolores did not believe in hope, or probably anything else, but she did believe in lottery tickets. She respected them with such confidence that if only she didn't have a nasty habit of purchasing them upon every encounter, she might have been more financially well off. A very obvious irony, but not quite the biggest one. Dolores was at her wits end most days making ends meet, her son got beat up too often at school, (not that either was her fault) and she wanted nothing more but for a big lottery break, which is one reason she always played the same numbers: all sevens, so that one day her luck might fall into place and her problems would be instantly solved. Luck would have it (or maybe fate, etcetera) that the lottery would give someone the winning numbers upon the next evening, and of the multitudes of people trying their luck at that two million dollar prize on one particular November night in the city sometime in the eighties of extremes, (not during the Twinkie panic, to be clear) only one would emerge victorious.

Mrs. Luciano was strolling through the darkness of the only true park on the outskirts of the city that night, as she did most nights, because she worked late and it was the only place she could ever find a minute of peace. There was a deep pond on one end and trees encompassing it to provide scenery besides the skyline of skyscrapers that glittered in the distance, a dark reminder of the place Dolores most wanted to get away from (if she only had more money).

Earlier that day, Dolores had succeeded in losing her second job, the good one. It wasn't a matter of bad work ethic or any hot exchange with her boss, either. It was due to layoffs, because the company simply could no longer support such and such many workers in such and such departments.

As she thought in the darkness about her troubles and the elusive jackpot, the truth that she had never won more than five dollars mocked and convinced her that playing all sevens was the stupidest idea she'd ever had, and that it would only save her more agony if she quit buying that alluring shiny papered bait for moneyless widows.

That's when she noticed another woman on the path, crying.

Dolores' curiosity and motherly instincts kicked in, and she hurried along the path to check on the woman's well-being.

"My goodness, are you alright?"

The other turned to Dolores, nodding feebly, her face streaked and shining wet in the moonlight before her lame denial caused her to burst into crying again.

Dolores tried her best to gather the source of the problem from the incoherent ramblings of the distraught woman. What she made out was:

Her son was undergoing surgery

She and her husband had fought

These things were upsetting to her

Her name was Camile

"Okay, Camile, do you want to sit on a bench and talk it out?"

The weepy woman nodded, and Dolores led her to a bench.

"It's such a mess," she coughed out when they were seated.

"What is?"

Camile the crying woman had a nice perm, big earrings, and a floral silk blouse, with the stains of wet mascara in dark blobs beneath her eyes. Dolores was still in work uniform, polo and all, and she had not the time nor the resources to do makeup or have her hair done with anything so much as hairspray.

Camile's story was choked with sobbing hiccups. "My son was in a car accident last Tuesday, and his surgery is today. I'm so worried--and, I visited him alone, because my husband had too much work--and I told him and I told him that our son being in the hospital was much more important, and that he needed to come see him--and that got him angry--and we never fight--" Now her gesticulations were frantic. "--But we got into an argument over how I thought he thought work was more important than his family, and he said he was handling it his own way--and--"