#216
What no one really knows about her is that her internal life is rich. It is one of memories, emotions. She’s ripe for a good cry if she hears certain songs, sees certain paintings, went to certain cities. Her day-to-day life was beautiful. Not just the things she chose for her house, but the food she made herself, the bed linens she bought, the glasses she wore, and the shoes she saved for. Her life was beautiful because beauty was all that mattered. Beauty and safety. But mostly beauty.
Mindy realized a few years ago, on one of those days where you happen across a corner of your mind you don’t often venture into, that she had to go west. That the coastal state was where she belonged, needed to be. An adventure, one she didn’t know the ending to, but one that she knew she needed to make.
Mindy had a ticket for the upcoming lottery draw and realized that being born on a cusp, as a Libra and a Virgo, didn’t seem to matter. It wasn’t held against her, even with the new rules.
Mindy: This might sound hasty or off balance, but I feel like what normal, decent Germans who had no interest in Hitler or the Nazi’s quest must have felt like. Being surrounded by people doing horrendous things, but trying your best to carry on with your daily life because you are not in the group being hunted nor the group doing the hunting. But you have no power to help the hunted, nor the power to stop the hunters.
Patrick didn’t know what to say to that.
Mindy: It’s ok, you don’t have to answer.
They were in town at the cafe having coffee, even if the price had shot up to Champagne prices.
Patrick: I’ll get this one.
They were waiting for the lottery draw, and needed to spend some time in a place that had a TV because they both had tickets, but no TVs at home. The Seagull, the cafe, was crowded.
Mindy: My mom told me about this time when there was a lottery, but no one wanted their number to be called.
Patrick: Mine too.
Mindy: But Grandpa used to talk about rafts down the Mississippi and how, when they got over the Louisiana border, they would get shot at.
Patrick: Sounds right.
The TV shifted to the lottery draw, and Mindy pulled out her phone with her number on it.
Mindy knew it would be hard. She had been in Isola her entire life. It felt daunting to her, difficult, impossible, but a week, a month, a year later, she’ll wonder why she didn’t go sooner.
Patrick was indifferent, often, but sitting there with her, he knew he’d have a place to fill; his life wouldn’t be the same. His family had money, but that didn’t matter in these days, because it didn’t get you anywhere outside of the state. Money was only good for buying things; you couldn’t buy people any longer.
Their friendship had wavered over the years. Between once almost sort of lovers, and then not, and then best friends. That seems to be where it stopped, or matured, as Mindy says. It’s fine to be close but not living together; it felt modern.
The TV shifted to the lottery draw, and everyone looked at their number. Each time they drew, it was for anywhere between five to twenty numbers, depending. Depending on what, no one really understood.
The first four were drawn, and the air in The Seagull was sucked out. The final number was drawn, and while Mindy noticed it was hers, she was not eager to share her fortune, not there, not at that moment.
Later, Patrick asked her if she was disappointed. They were in her apartment, drinking out of a bottle of wine that she had stashed. It was good, too good.
Mindy: Why would I be disappointed?
Patrick: Because you didn’t win.
Mindy: Who told you that?
Sitting there on the floor, the dog was asleep on the dark green sofa, and her plants were looking very healthy in the window. In an instant, he knew she had won, and they both started crying.
