Prologue

My name is Perry L. Crandall and I am not retarded.

Gram always told me the L stood for Lucky.

"Mister Perry Lucky Crandall, quit your bellyaching!" she would scold. "You got two good eyes, two good legs, and you're honest as the day is long." She always called me lucky and honest.

Being honest means you don't know any better.

My cousin-brother John called me lucky too, but he always snickered hard after he said it.

"You sure are a lucky bastard. No high-pressure job, no mortgage, and no worries. Yeah, you’re lucky all right." Then he would look at his wife and laugh harder. He is a lawyer.

John said lawyers get people out of trouble. Gram said lawyers get people into trouble. She ought to know. It was a lawyer who gave her the crappy advice on what to do after Gramp died.

I am thirty-two years old and I am not retarded. You have to have an IQ number less than 75 to be retarded. I read that in Reader’s Digest. I am not. Mine is 76.

"You have two good ears, Perry. Two! Count 'em!" Gram would hold my chin and cheeks between her fingers so tight my lips would feel like a fish. She stopped doing that because of evil arthritis. Arthritis is when you have to eat Aleve or Bayer and rub BENGAY.

"You're lucky," she said. "No evil arthritis for you. You’re a lucky, lucky boy."

I am lucky. I know this because I am not retarded.

I know this because I have two good arms.

And I know this because I won twelve million dollars in the Washington State Lottery.

1

I write things down so I do not forget.

"Writing helps you remember. It helps you think, Perry, and that's a good thing," Gram said.

"You're only slow." That's what my old teacher Miss Elk said,  "Just a little slow, Perry."

The other kids had different names for me.

Moron. Idiot. Retard.

Miss Elk told them to be nice. She said I was not any of those things.

"Don't you pay any attention to them, Perry," Gram told me when I cried. "Those other kids are just too goddamned fast. If you want to remember, you write it down in your notebook. See I'm not slow. I'm old. I have to write things down," she said. "People treat you the same when you're old as when you're slow."

Slow means you get to a place later than fast people.

Gram had me do a word a day in the dictionary since I was little.

"One word Perry. That’s the goddamned key. One word at a time."

Goddamned is an adjective, like, "I'll be goddamned!" Gram will be reading something in the newspaper and it will just come out all by itself. Out of the blue. "Goddamn." Or sometimes "Goddamned." Or even, "Goddamn it."

At nine, I was on page eight of our dictionary.

"Active. Change, taking part." Reading is hard. Like riding my bike up a hill. I have to push to keep going.

"Sound it out, Perry." Gram chews the inside of her lip when she concentrates.

"Squiggle vooollllcaaaanooo." It takes me a long time to figure out that word.

"That squiggle thing means 'related to'. Remember Mount Saint Helens?" Gram has a good memory for an old person and knows everything. On May 18, 1980, Mount St. Helens blew up. Three days after my birthday.

"Ashes from breakfast to Sunday!" Gram hollered. "Breakfast to Sunday!"

The ashes were gray sand that got in my mouth when I went outside, just like the stuff Doctor Reddy used when he cleaned my teeth.

"What’s breakfast to Sunday?" I asked.

"Don’t be smart." Gram always cautioned me about being smart.

At ten, I was still in the A's. Gram and I sat down and added it up. Our dictionary has 75,000 words and 852 pages. If I did one word a day, it would take me 205 years to finish. At three words, it would take fifty-one years. If I did five words, it would take twelve years and 6 months to get through the whole book. I wrote this all down. It is true because calculators do not lie and we used a calculator. Gram said we needed to rethink.

"Does that mean we made a mistake?" I asked.

"No, it's not a mistake to rethink. Rethink means you get to change your mind. You're never wrong if you just change your mind." Gram clapped her hands together to get my attention and make sure I was listening. "Pick up the pace, Perry," she said. "We have to pick up the pace."

That is when we got our subscription to Reader's Digest. We bought it from a girl who needed money for her school band to go to Florida.

"This is better than chocolate bars!" Gram was excited when the first one came. "Word Power! Here you go, Perry!"

It was the February issue and had hearts on the cover. We saved every copy that came in the mail. I remember I was on the word auditor. An auditor is a listener. It says so in the dictionary and in Reader's Digest Word Power. Answer D. A listener. I decided right then to be an auditor. Answer D. I remember this.

We picked up the pace and by the time I turned thirty-one, I was on page 337. Gram was right. That day my words were herd, herder, herdsman, here, hereabouts, and hereafter. Hereafter means future.

"You have to think of your future!" Gram warns about the future each time I deposit my check in the bank. Half in checking and half in savings. For my future.

"It is very important to think of your future, Perry," she tells me, "because at some point it becomes your past. You remember that!"

My best friend, Keith, agrees with everything Gram says.

"That L. It sure does stand for Lucky, Per." Keith drinks beer wrapped in a brown paper sack and calls me Per for short. He works with Manuel, Gary, and me at Holsted's Marine Supply. I have worked for Gary Holsted since I was sixteen years old.

Keith is older and bigger than me. I do not call him fat because that would not be nice. He cannot help being older. I can always tell how old people are by the songs they like. For example, Gary and Keith like the Beatles, so they are both older than me. Gram likes songs you never hear anymore, like "Hungry for Love" by Patsy Cline and "Always" by somebody else who is dead. If the songs you like are all by dead people, then you are really old.

I like every kind of music. Keith does not. He goes crazy when Manuel messes with the radio at work.

“Who put this rap crap on? Too much static! The reception is shit! Keep it on oldies but goodies." Keith has to change it back with foil and a screwdriver because of the reception. Static is when somebody else plays music you do not like and you change it because of reception.

Before Holsted's, I learned reading, writing, and math from Gram and boat stuff from Gramp. After he died, I had to get a job for money. I remember everything Gramp showed me about boats and sailing. Our family used to own the boatyard next to Holsted's.

"It's a complicated situation." Whenever Gram says this, her eyes get all hard and dark like two black olives, or like when you try to look through that tiny hole in the door at night. That is not a smart thing to do because it is dark at night and you cannot see very well.

Just before he died, Gramp took out a loan for a hoist for the yard.

A loan is when someone gives you money then takes collateral and advantage. After that, you drop dead of a stroke by the hand of God.

A hoist lifts boats up in the air and costs as much as a boatyard.

That is what the bank said.

I hope you've enjoyed this brief excerpt. To read more of LOTTERY, please visit your nearest bookseller or on-line retailer.