Bilal's lottery ticket

He rode his bicycle past the bar everyday, but for the first time, Bilal stopped in the Stumble Out lounge on Broadway on his way home from work on a Tuesday night. Bilal locked his bike to a utility pole, pulled open the screen door of the Stumble Out and stepped into the past, or so it looked. A neon Falstaff sign, a cracked mirror behind the bar, and wooden chairs with orange vinyl cushions circa 1955 greeted his eyes. Bilal settled onto a bar stool two seats away from the only other customer. "Stag beer, please," Bilal said to the middle-aged woman behind the bar. "Need a menu?" "No, thank you, just the beer for now." The short-haired forty-something man to Bilal's left stared unabashedly at Bilal. "I ain't never seen you in here before. My name's Eddie," he said with an extended hand. Bilal shook Eddie's hand with his own. "I am Bilal. Nice to meet you, friend." "Your name's Beetle?" "Bilal. Bee-lall." "Pleasure to meet ya, Beetle," Eddie said through the huge gap between his front teeth. Originally from Pakistan, Bilal was a dentist at Sierra Dental Clinic in Alton, a working-class midwestern river town with a decaying economic foundation. Eddie was a union teamster who worked when he could, sometimes driving an asphalt truck, sometimes a gravel truck, occasionally a panel van. Eddie told Bilal about how Eddie's wife-to-be became pregnant in 1985. Eddie was 24 years old at the time. She was 15. Her father threatened to kill them both if Eddie and the girl did not either get married or have an abortion. Bilal told Eddie about his cat, Sophie, whom he had left behind in the old country. Bilal bought a scratch-off lottery ticket for himself and a beer for his new friend before he left the bar. As Bilal unlocked his bicycle, it began to rain. "Hey, Beetle!" It was Eddie standing in the doorway of the Stumble Out. "Wanna put your bike in the back of my truck? I'll give you a ride home." "No. Thank you, Eddie. It is only a few blocks home for me. See you soon!" "If you're sure... Be safe Beetle." Later that month, Bilal rode to the Stumble Out after work. Maybe I will see Eddie, he thought. Two men wearing dirty coveralls were at the bar. Four overweight women were gobbling pizza. "What can I get you to drink?" asked the woman bartender. She could get Bilal a Stag beer, please. "Oh, Eddie said to give you this. It's your lottery ticket. You forgot it that day you were here. Eddie says it's a winner," said the barkeep as she pushed a white envelope toward Bilal. It was indeed a winner. A ten-thousand dollar winner. Bilal jumped off the barstool like it had burst into flames. "Eddie, my friend!" shouted the dentist. "I must share this with him. Where can I find him!" All voices quieted and all eyes turned toward Bilal. "You won't be seeing him for a good while, I guess," answered the bartender, polishing a highball glass. "He violated his parole. He knowed he weren't sposed to be drinkin."

The Leg

Terrell Granger drove his wife, Cleopatra, and their friend, Thomas, to the Mississppi River north of Alton, Illinois, on a pleasant June Sunday in 1999. They put the boat in the water at about 10:00 am and motored up-river for a little leisure cruise. Terrell throttled back just south of Grafton and steered toward a sand bar where he planned to barbecue a jumbo pack of chicken wings and six ears of sweet corn. The boat ran aground in the sand short of the dry line. Terrell got in the water to push/pull/guide the boat closer to shore while Thomas took the wheel... with the engine running... and Terrell in the water... far too close to the rotating prop. Johnny Johnson was operating his own 18 foot boat and heading toward the same sand bar. Johnny did not know Thomas or the Grangers, but he knew that Terrell should not have been wading so close to the rotating prop. Johnny watched as Terrell slipped and fell back into the water. He saw Terrell submerge for a moment, then surface with a thrash. That is when the screaming started, first from Terrell, then from Cleopatra. Johnny watched as Terrell lunged toward a small log that was floating nearby down-river. Strangely, the log had a foot and a shoe on the end. Oh, Jesus, that's his leg! Johnny cut his engine, dropped anchor, and jumped into the water. Thomas and Johnny pulled Terrell to shore while Cleopatra wailed, "Help us Jesus! Help us!" Terrell's right leg was severed just above the knee, and it was pumping blood at an astonishing rate. Thomas collapsed on the shore at the sight while Johnny looked for something to use as a tourniquet. Cleopatra got to shore in a blink while Johnny was distracted. She calmly pulled off her bra from under her t-shirt and wrapped it tightly around Terrell's leaking stump. Johnny brought a stick to use as a lever to control the tightness. Terrell slipped away into circulatory shock, his gums a pale beige against his dark skin. Cleopatra wept quietly while holding the makeshift tourniquet. Happening upon the scene, two Coast Guard petty officers idled to shore and radioed for help. An air medical services helicopter thundered into view, clipped a set of high tension power lines, and crashed into the river. When the spray had settled, Johnny watched as the helicopter filled with water and sank. One man swam from the sunken chopper toward shore but disappeared beneath the surface. Johnny thought, This shit is not happening. A day can not go this badly. It just can't. Terrell survived. He and his prosthetic leg live in Florissant, Missouri, and he works for Wells Fargo Advisors in downtown St. Louis. Terrell and Cleo divorced three years after the accident. She didn't have the same feelings for him anymore, she said. Terrell attends Parker Road Baptist Church. He prays for the souls of the three dead medical chopper crew members. "Dear Jesus I am so sorry my mistake cost them their lives." Thomas and Terrell are still friends. Thomas has never overcome his fear of blood since seeing the gusher of red from Terrell's leg. Johnny has never put his boat in the water since that day. The boat sits under a moldering canvas cover in Johnny's barn. Johnny occasionally dreams of swimming desperately toward a severed leg as it bobs down river. Sometimes in the dream it is not a leg but his own severed head that he chases.

Here is a thing

The Lawyer and the Seamstress

Gene saw Donna walking from her car to her clothing alterations shop every weekday morning. She was pretty, older than Gene normally goes for, but still more appealing than his own wife with her premature night sweats, thick waist and big thighs. Gene visited Donna's shop and had a suit coat altered. Donna's husband, Jason, was broken nearly in half in a dirt bike crash four years ago. Jason can not walk or talk or feed himself. He lies on his back, mostly, in a nursing facility. Donna hates herself. She loathes her affair with Gene, but nighttime loneliness is worse. In bed with Gene in her apartment overlooking the river, or on the floor of Donna's Alterations, Gene's touch thrills her even as it disgusts her. Why not me? Gene wonders. If not me, it would be some other guy banging this chick. At least I treat her right, and what my wife doesn't know won't hurt her. When Donna sees the story of Gene's death on page one of The Telegraph at work on a Tuesday, she cries. She starts the coffee pot and gets to work on a prom dress. Well Geno, you should have worn your seat belt. Donna laughs so hard that she sets the dress aside and sits in a chair until the moment passes.