1.6.26

Dear Mom,

This short story is titled “The Stonemason” and it takes place at a bar in Spain. The characters are Spanish but I’ve written it in English. It’s largely unedited so ignore the inconsistencies if you can. Enjoy.

——————

“I’m waiting for my mom,” Liz James said.

Bill, polishing a glass behind the bar, nodded at the doorway and said, “She’s been standing right there.”

“I’m waiting for her to leave.”

“Might want to tell her that.”

“Ma! Go home!” she yelled.

“Buffy needs to go for a walk!” she replied. 

“Walk him home! It’s about to rain.”

“How are you going to get home?” Buffy stared dumbly at Elizabeth from the doorway, only a foot tall.

Instead of answering Liz took a drink.

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Jesus Christ.” Elizabeth turned back to Bill and flicked ash into her tray. Bill crushed a peanut shell and popped it in his mouth, swiping the husk on the floor. He watched the silent TV hanging in the corner. The party of six in the booth cheered in laughter and a young man swirled his finger at Bill for another round. Past Elizabeth’s mother and across the cobblestone plaza the monastery’s bell chimed three times. The sky darkened.

Melchor walked in with his bright orange vest and rolodex of lottery tickets and the patrons gathered for their daily ritual. 

“Holiday season,” he said. “Adding up.” He tore tickets from his booklet and passed them out like to kids lined up for candy.

“Melchor when are you ever going to bring us something good,” Mrs. James scolded.

“Abstaining is the same as losing,” Melchor chuckled and he tore off her ticket and handed it to her.

“I should punch you,” the old woman said.

“Ma, go walk Buffy.”

“Buffy let’s go make pee. C’mon.”

Elizabeth’s shoulders relaxed and she celebrated with another sip and another toke. Her daily ritual.

The group of six shouted in expectation at their scratch offs, each followed by a loud “Ah” of disappointment. Bill scratched his. “Nothing.” He rolled his eyes and flicked it in the trash. 

“You don’t play to win,” Melchor said. “It’s the lead up.”

“Half of those people who win end up exactly where they started, anyway,” Liz said.

Melchor winked at her, smiling, and walked out.

A few minutes later Johnathan emerged from The Harp’s kitchen’s swinging doors, rag over his shoulder, apron at his waist. He leaned next to Bill. “Did I miss him?”

“Just left.”

“Damn. I was feeling lucky today. I know this town is due to hit. I can feel it.” He looked to the far end of the bar at Elizabeth. “What do you think, Liz? Could I’ve gotten lucky today?” He swaggered over to her and kissed her cheek; she let him. 

“It’s not luck when you pay for it.”

“What are we talking about?” He stood over her back, hands on her shoulders. He snaked around to look at her face which she ignored.

“You smell.” She took another drink.

“That’s my cue.” He patted her shoulders and went back into the kitchen.

The booth laughed again, glasses clanked on the table. Elizabeth felt tired. It started to rain.

“She’s back,” Bill said, looking to the doorway.

“Jesus, mom, go home please! It’s raining.”

“I don’t want to walk in the rain. Come with me.”

“That doesn’t change––ugh. I’m not going home.” She turned away.

“Where are we going?”

“You’re going home! I’m staying here!” Liz looked straight ahead.

“Well why can’t I stay here?”

Elizabeth slapped the bar and huffed at Bill. “I’ll see you later.” She brushed past her stout mother in the doorway, grabbing Buffy’s leash. The three stepped into the plaza which was gray and unsettled with wind. It was a slight drizzle. Pine needles skittered across the cobblestone. The trees shivered and shook with a loud rustle. A gale threw Elizabeth’s hair into her face; she walked.

Mrs. James shuffled behind her with a limp. Time was attempting to fold the woman in on herself and it was maybe only a few years before her chin would hit her chest permanently, and a few more after that before her forehead faced her knees.

There wasn’t one man alive whose treasure was hiding in the trash of their second story apartment. The door only opened a quarter of the way, which, for the widening Liz and the folding Mrs. James, became harder and harder to enter and exit. It was blocked by trash bags of clothes, trash bags of trash, trash bags of papers and newspapers, and boxes of trash bags and laundry detergents and shampoos and baskets and a bike pump and a toy basketball hoop even though a child had never stepped foot in the apartment, a fish tank that had water maybe decades ago yet still had the remnants of a few fish, a mini shopping cart full of paper towels and aluminum foil and grocery bags, phone books, encyclopedias, dictionaries, catalogs, cat food even though a cat had never stepped foot in the apartment, and a few dozen boxes of Buffy’s wet dog food. This was just the entryway. The apartment smelled of piss and fermentation and the floor was buried from view by various piles of papers and wrappers and cigarette butts. Dog hair was everywhere. Liz hopped to the bed where two deeply sunken-in sides of the mattress were separated by a mountain of laundry nearly reaching the ceiling fan. Somewhere among that pile were the blankets and sheets for the mattress but a few pairs of sweatpants and a few t-shirts and hoodies, if you stacked them right, were enough to keep warm. The mother and daughter crashed on their respective sides. Buffy lay somewhere in the living room on an unopened sack of flour.

“So lonely in here,” Mrs. James said. 

“I’m right here.” 

“But aren’t you ever lonely, Elizabeth?”

“How can I be, you’re like a leech.”

“You haven’t gone to see Johnathan in a while––”

“I’m not talking about this.”

“You should go see a movie with him.”

“No.”

“Fine, I’ll go see a movie with him.”

“No.”

“What? I’m allowed to.”

Liz laid staring at her phone.

“You don’t get lonely, Liz?”

“I wish I could.”

“We should clean this house.”

“…”

“I’m cold.”

“…”

“Lizzie, I’m cold.”

Liz shuffled through the stack and ripped out an old bath towel and threw it on her mom with the slightest bit of care. Then she threw on a handful of clothing just to be safe.

“Thank you, and was that so hard. Goodness you’da thought I asked you for ten million euros.” Within minutes she was snoring.

Liz nestled her feet under the mountain and swung a big pair of jeans over her chest, then a big t-shirt on top of that, then a pair of cargo shorts. A 20 euro bill fell out of the pocket and onto her lap. Her eyebrows raised and she stuffed it in her yoga pants. It was no ten million.

——————

“I’ve got a girlfriend who’s a social worker and she goes into these folks apartments, dad’s on the couch doing shit, mom’s pregnant for the fourth time this year and the little snots are running around in their unders! So the parents are allowed to take money out of my pension because they can’t work to find their kid a decent pair of pants? They shouldn’t even be here to begin with.” Mrs. James was screeching to Bill. It continued to rain outside.

“The worst part is we let them,” he said.

“They expect to come to this country and receive a free handout?” 

“Mom, shut up about this, please. You sound so goddamn old.” Liz said. “When was the last time you worked for a paycheck.”

“Your father worked in the quarry for 25 years, Liz, and he didn’t do it so a family of foreigners could steal from his legacy.”

“That’s not even where our money comes from anymore, Mom.”

“C’mon, Liz,” Bill said, gesturing like, what difference does it make.

“Big from you, Liz,” Jonathan said. “I haven’t seen you punch a clock in two years.”

“Oh, you’re right John––that’s cause I never punch out. Round the clock with this lunatic, and apparently ‘full-time caretaker’ means 24/7.”

“And some job you do, too!” Mrs. James shouted at her daughter. “Left me in the rain yesterday!”

“I did not leave you in the rain, mom!”

“Did too! I was soaking wet by the time we got home.”

“You stood outside waiting for me when I told you just to leave. And you weren’t soaking wet, gimme a break.” 

Mrs. James started mumbling as if to herself, “Well you’ll be sorry when I die of hypothermia.”

“Jesus Christ, ma.”

“I raised you all on my own and all I’m asking for is a little bit of care and attention in return. If my mother were half as kind to me as I am to you I’d be thrilled at an opportunity to show her a bit of love.”

“Well I’m sorry your mother was so mean.”

“It hurts when you act like this, Liz.”

The two men behind the counter pretended to watch the hanging TV. Another part of their daily ritual which meant at any second…

The doorchime jingled. Melchor walked in.

“Mel, perfect timing––I want one!” Liz shouted. “I’m feeling just unlucky enough to win.”

Mrs. James gasped.

“Since when do you tithe to the god of despair?” Jonathan asked.

“Since he started blessing me everyday,” Liz replied.

“Elizabeth! I don’t permit it!” Mrs. James said hitting her daughter’s arm.

“Only the unlucky play.” Melchor tore from his booklet and looked Liz in the eye with an insinuating smile.

“Only the unlucky win.” Liz brandished her ticket to the patrons and bar staff, half of whom she was related to.

“I swear if you win a single cent from just one ticket,” Jonathan said, “I’m taking it on principle.” 

“And you can use that to take me to a movie!” Mrs. James shouted.

“Of course, Mrs. James.”

“Everyone shut up!”

“What are we at now, Mel?” Bill asked.

“Just broke 10 million euro,” he said proudly.

“Gotta be real unlucky to win that.”

“I’m with you, Bill.”

“I’m the unluckiest person in this whole town and I never get to win anything,” Mrs. James said.

“Mom, stop telling people you’re unlucky. You’re just bitter.”

Mrs. James huffed and turned as if she was speaking to Bill but kept Liz in her side eye. “I hope you get married someday sweetheart and I hope he also drops dead on a dime at 45 then you might know what unluck is.” Then she shouted, “are you gonna scratch that thing?”

“I am, Mom, and guess what? The first two numbers are on.”

The whole bar leaned in. “Really?”

“It doesn’t mean anything yet,” Bill waved it away.

“Well, go on!”

“They always put the match in the first two spots. She’s still got three more…”

“Thirty…-six!”

“Ah! Two more!”

“Twenty-nine! Twenty-nine! Oh my god!”

“Do it already! Liz!”

“Liz!”

“The star number…”

“C’mon sixteen… Sixteen…”

Held breath. Nothing but the quiet scratch of a quarter on paper. The star icon slowly paring away… then the reveal. Liz held it out and squinted.

“Oh.”

“Hm.”

“Ah.”

“Rats.”

“Four? Fuck you, four.”

The room took a breath. Bill polished another glass and said, “Alright, alright. Anyone else got something good?”

“Nothing here.”

“Nope.”

“Melchor get outta here already! You masochist! You like to watch, don’t you! This is your favorite part.”

“Small sacrifice for hope!” Melchor sang as he waddled out of The Harp. 

——————

Later in bed, Mrs. James said, “Your father loved to play.”

“And he sure was unlucky.”

“Your father? Oh no. He was the luckiest man I’d ever met. Not just for catching me, that is. Somedays he used to tell me not to pack him a lunch because he’d be feeling something in the air. Then he’d get home and say it was the boss’s birthday or something and everyone got a plate for lunch. And he didn’t even know the boss’s birthday.”

“Wow.”

“I remember he found us this apartment on the market for half the price of what it should have been. Really it was a mistake on the realtor’s part.”

“What fortune.”

“One time he was walking past the reservoir and he found a diamond ring. Sold it at the pawnshop for 2800 euro. That was a lot back then. Hell, it’s a lot now.”

Liz turned over. “And you started with the lunch story?”

“Never did win, though,” Mrs. James said, lost in her memories.

——————

“Bill?” Liz asked the next day. “Do you think your brother was lucky?”

“Your father? Man died of a heart attack at 45 in perfect health, what do you think?”

“In other ways, though?”

“There was that diamond ring.”

“Yes.”

“And the man had a hound’s nose for a free lunch. Why do you ask?”

“I think when people talk about luck, they tend to cite things that didn’t happen to them. Like, say a building falls over and all the bricks land around me in a perfect circle––I’m untouched. Am I lucky? Or are all the victims in the building unlucky?”

“I think the stonemason in the town’s got it worst.”

Liz didn’t know what he meant.

Melchor walked in from the front. Jonathan walked in from the back.

“Finally! What is it today, Mel?” he said.

“28!”

“Oh shit!” Johnathan slapped his rag on his thigh. “Liz, where’s your mom?”

“She’s home.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to play for her tonight.”

“I don’t play.”

“You did last night and you do tonight. C’mon! Who else? C’mon folks, we’re feeling good tonight, right?” He slapped Melchor’s shoulders.

Bill looked at Liz through eyebrows. Liz looked at Jonathan passing out tickets.

“Fine,” she said. “Gimme that.”

——————

One Year Later

——————

“Your father loved to play,” Mrs. James said in bed one night.

“I know, ma.”

“He was a very lucky man.”

“…”

“I’m cold.”

“…”

“Lizzie, I’m cold.”

Liz covered her mother with a big pair of sweatpants from the pile.

——————

Sincerely,

Luke