I'll never forget the image of my friend Chris leaping from the couch, waving his arms and running euphorically around his Oakwood apartment yelling, "I'm rich! I'm rich!." His wife, Maryanne looking at me with curious apprehension.
Aware that I had nowhere to go, they had graciously invited me to join them for breakfast Christmas morning. Since relocating to California many years before, I had grown accustomed to being an orphan on holidays and friends like Chris and Maryanne made it bearable.
While Maryanne and I drank Mimosas and played Mortal Kombat, Chris made eggs benedict and skillet potatoes. Smoke drifted from a tired plastic bong and Luscious Jackson shook the walls. Greetings from Costa Mesa. Circa 1998.
Chris was a part-time construction worker with a bad back and a fist full of painkillers. Tall, laconic and muscular, he had natural grace and rugged good looks. A smart guy, he talked about becoming a draftsman but lacked the motivation for school. Maryanne was a pretty receptionist for an Irvine chiropractor who wanted to be an actress. As a teen, she appeared in an Afterschool Special but since moving to Orange County had fallen off the radar. They were a cute couple but the marriage wasn't always pretty. It was an accidental detour they were making the best of. I, too was in an unhealthy relationship and found myself at their apartment often. Misery loves company.
And so, on Christmas morning, I had bought the most sentimental Hallmark I could find, wrote inside a heartfelt note and, as an afterthought, dropped inside a holiday-themed Lotto Scratcher. While enjoying the afterglow of a hearty breakfast and obligatory bong-rips, I handed the card to Chris. A sensitive guy, he was moved by the note and with glassy eyes found a quarter and began scratching the ticket. The first scratch revealed $25,000. The second scratch? $25,000. Scratch number three? Drumroll, please… $25,000! That's when Chris began running around the apartment.
I tried to look surprised.
It was the happiest I'd ever seen him. The happiest I'd ever seen anyone. It was infectious and my heart was filled with joy. But, joy became terror when I considered the inevitable outcome. When I began edging towards the door, Maryanne looked at me suspiciously and took the Scratcher from Chris. "Please redeem at the North Pole," she read.
"You're an asshole," Chris said as he sank back into the couch, deflated. "That would have solved alot of problems." "Think how happy you felt. If only for a minute," I offered.
Chris went outside to brood over a cigarette and I apologized to Maryanne. I had forgotten that they played the Lotto every week praying for a miracle. But, when Chris came back inside, he was chuckling and asked if the card was at least sincere. Chris was far too mellow to stay angry. Instead, he sat down and brutally destroyed me in Mortal Kombat.
After Chris and Maryanne split up, we grew apart. I miss hanging out in that Oakwood apartment and smile when I remember that Christmas morning. I hope they do too.
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