Lottery by Patricia Wood

cool all right,” he agrees.
    I get a copy of the picture right there from an instant camera. I am smiling, but my hair hangs over my eyes. I need a haircut. My ears stick out and my eyes look dark, like Gram’s. I think I look pretty good, but Keith pushes my hair off my forehead and says I look goofy. I laugh. Keith is my friend.
    He pulls my arm, bends down, whispers in my ear, and gets my neck wet. “You got to get some good financial advice, and not from those brothers of yours!”
    “They like me to call them cousins.” I feel important. Everybody is looking at me.
    “Trust me, they won’t after this. They’ll be your fucking blood brothers.” Keith’s eyes are narrow and he has white spit in the corner of his mouth. He looks like that cool jungle guy hunting on Animal Planet. That was when Gram and I could still afford cable and had a TV that worked. This gives me an idea.
    “Hey,” I say. “I can get Animal Planet now.” This makes me excited.
    “Hey!” I think of something else. I have a lot of good ideas today. “I can get a TV!”
    Margery from the lottery office wants to talk with me.
    “Do you have family? I mean someone who helps you,” she asks.
    I know what she really means. She thinks I am retarded. She thinks I cannot take care of myself. I hate that, and it upsets me.
    “Hey, he’s not retarded if that’s what you’re getting at!” Keith yells.
    I am glad Keith yelled because my words get jumbled and thick in my throat. I stop being angry and get embarrassed. I feel better when Margery apologizes. She leads us into another office when a bunch of people with cameras and microphones crowd into the main room.
    Keith stands behind me full of advice. “Don’t take the lump sum!” He hisses like a snake.
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.
    “Take the payments!” he says.
    Winning the lottery is very complicated.
    First, they ask to see my ticket and a man checks all the numbers. Next, I have to sign the back of the ticket with my address and phone number. Then I show my Washington State Picture ID, Social Security card, and fill out another paper.
    I have to fill out lots of paperwork so that Uncle Sam gets his share. I do not have an Uncle Sam. People just say that when they mean taxes. Taxes are something you have to pay even though you do not want to. I ask the lottery people if they want to see anything else. They say no, that’s fine. Finally, they ask me what I want to do. They tell me I can get my money once a year for twenty-five years, or all at once. If I take my money all at once, I only get half.
    “It’s a rip-off, Per. If you take it all you’d only get six mill, plus all the taxes! You’d only end up with three mill at the end.”
    Three million dollars sounds good to me, but Keith says payments are the way to go.
    “You can take sixty days to decide,” Margery says. I tell her I do not need sixty days, I can decide right now. Keith is pulling my elbow and patting my back.
    “When does he get the money?” He sounds more excited than me. “Take the payments!” He yells this directly into my ear. I have to wipe his wet off my cheek again.
    “I want the payments like Keith says so I can buy a TV,” I tell her.
    Margery looks like she does not think a TV is a good idea. She squeezes her lips tight like Gram used to as she gives me papers to sign. She tells me the amount I will get each year, but I am so excited I forget. Margery tells me to wait while they put a smaller check into an envelope.
    Keith remembers for me. “Nearly four hundred fucking thousand dollars a year for twenty-five years!” Keith lectures me about taxes and says, “The fucking government will get a bunch of your money.” He tells me I should invest. He says there will be a lot of people who will help me.
    I am glad.
    “You need to think about what you’ll do when you quit working at Holsted’s,” Keith says. “You can travel. Go to school. Do whatever you