The Stupid Prize

Carlton Farber sat on his porch reading a story in the Greysville Gazette about Alabama Supreme Court Justice Roy Moore erecting a 2 ton monument of the Ten Commandments in the rotunda of the Judiciary Building. As he read, he nodded his head in approval. “Too bad the sumbitch is probably gonna get sued for it. Damn atheists.”

An older, silver Pontiac Bonneville pulled into the driveway. “’Bout time she got back,” he said.

Clara Farber carefully climbed out of the car, her face wincing as she stood up straight and closed the door.

“You get my beer?” Carlton said.

“Don’t I always?” Clara put her hands on her hips and leaned back to stretch. She walked with a slight hobble to the mailbox which sat on an aged, wooden post at the edge of the street.

Carlton went back to reading the paper, shooing a fly that had buzzed his face.

She was flipping through the envelopes and saw bill, after bill, after bill, measly Social Security check, bill… She was walking up the sidewalk when she saw an envelope from the Retired Alabama City Works Association. She turned it around to open it and saw someone had scrawled Congratulations. Her heart went into overdrive as she slipped her finger under the flap and ripped through it.

Without looking up, Carlton said, “My beer’s gettin’ hot.”

She pulled the letter from the envelope, unfolded it and began to read.

When she screamed, Carlton looked up and lowered his newspaper, seeing Clara hopping in place. “What in the hell’s wrong with you? Stop jumping! You’re going to break.”

“You won! You won!” she said, her breathing rapid.

“Won what?”

She walked up to the porch, holding the letter out in front of her as if Carlton had the vision of a young man. “We won the trip to Los Angeles!” She reached him and waved the letter in front of his expressionless face.

“Lemme see that.”

As he read, Clara took little steps, moving around in a circle. “I want to see the Hollywood Walk of Fame, the Chinese Theatre, the big Hollywood sign up on that hill.”

Carlton looked at his wife again and lowered the letter. “You know I’m not going.”

Clara stopped her tiny victory laps. “Carl, you have to be kidding. You ain’t taken me anywhere before.”

“I took you to Dallas that one time.”

“You took me to Dallas to see Roger Staubach play and you wanted me to help you drive.”

“What about that time we went to Atlanta?”

“We went there strictly to conceive. I didn’t see a damn thing.” Not even in the hotel room, she wanted to say.

“Well I’m not going. It’s a stupid prize. You put me in for it. Besides, If God wanted me to see Los Angeles, I’d a been born there,” he said, going back to his paper as if to say the conversation was over.

“This ain’t about destiny. All we gotta do is pack and get on a plane.”

“Everything’s about destiny. You can’t change the hand you’ve been dealt.”

She stood with her arms crossed and brow furrowed. “So help me Carl, if you don’t go with me I’ll go by myself.”

Without looking up, he said. “I’m not stopping you.”

She glared at him but he didn’t seem to notice or care. She walked back into the house and when the screen door sprung back shut, he said, “Hey, where’s my beer?”

“Get your damn beer yourself,” she yelled, the walls muffling her.

* * *

They didn’t speak much the next few days. A couple of weeks later, he started to notice the luggage appearing, sitting next to the wall in their small bedroom. Was she trying to convince him to go with her? he wondered. No matter. It ain’t gonna work.

Two days later, the luggage was on the bed and she was packing.

He leaned against the door frame and watched her. “You still going?”

“Of course I’m going. I took the other suitcase out of the garage for you, swept out the mouse poop too.”

“Don’t know what you did that for.”

She stacked shirts neatly into her red suitcase.

Carlton said, “You didn’t get Angie to go with you?”

“I was hoping you’d change your mind. I don’t ask much of you. I’m not asking you to dig me a swimming pool out back.”

“Working thirty-five years for the city not enough for you?”

“I worked too.”

He growled, frustrated, and went to the kitchen.

When she was finished packing, she took the suitcase to the front room and left his empty suitcase in the bedroom, just in case.

* * *

Clara got up early the next morning and saw the suitcase by the wall. She moved it and felt it was empty. After getting dressed, she met him in the kitchen. He was already drinking coffee.

“Want a cup?”

“No, thanks. Gotta real early connecting flight to Washington. Should get to L.A. late in the morning.”

“Well…” He stood up and looked towards the bedroom, the suitcase was by the door. But he couldn’t make himself go. “I’ll drive you to the bus station.”

* * *

They stood under the stars, the bus idling next to them. He gave her a hug and a kiss but she just stood there, looking off to the side. “Have a safe trip, Clara.”

“Bye,” she said, and climbed aboard the bus. He looked for her as the bus crept away, wanting to mouth the words ‘I love you’ but she was looking away.

* * *

He watched the terrorist attacks on TV all day and waited for her to call him. When she didn’t, he dug through her desk and found her flight information written on a pad.

9/11
American Flt 77
DC to L.A.
8:10AM

He touched her handwriting and wished he could have been on the plane with her.

But he knew it wasn’t his destiny.



(999 words)