I recently read where a man described life as a roll of toilet paper. The closer to the end the faster it goes.

I thought he made a good point. We measure time by the sun and for most of us the clock on the wall.

If you can, imagine it stayed sunny all day and there were no clocks. Your only means of telling time was how it felt to you.

With that in mind, think back to when you were a kid and your whole life was a head of you. Remember those long summer afternoons. You could start and finish two projects before the sun went down,

I guess those afternoons s would have contained an extra few hours.

Do you remember the month in between Thanksgiving and Christmas? That month must have held at least sixty-three days.

Then there were the last two weeks of school. Those two weeks most likely held thirty days.

Now that you are grown. I am sure the average month has less than two weeks. After all, I hardly get my power bill paid before it is due again.

For you that have reached and passed your mid-life years. No one knows how many months those years held. One day the hours were passing like a race car. The next you were sure times had come to a complete halt.

The year between my forty-ninth birthday and my fifth had exactly twelve months in it. Every year since has one less month that the year before it.

My great granddaddy lived to ninety-seven. I bet he felt like he was getting up in time to go to bed.

him that such a terrible thing happened in such a faraway land.

He, like everyone, had known some boys that had left as boys,

but had returned as broken spirited, empty men. According to

the news, the Americans were killing the enemy at the rate of ten

to one. Still, this did not seem to comfort the young widows or

the mothers and sweethearts left behind.

Bubba, too, was in a war, a war that you did not have to go

away to fight. He had grown up fighting prejudice and

ignorance and when you are not like everybody else, you are an

outcast. Bubba was the enemy in his own country. Each day, he

got up and fought a private battle. He faced his enemy every

day. He faced it like a true solider. The enemy Bubba faced wore

no uniform and carried no weapon.

He caught the man in the flannel shirt out of the corner of his

eye pointing at his watch. Bubba reached down and adjusted the

throttle on the front-end loader to where the engine dropped

from a roar to a purr. He could see Sam’s mouth moving but

could not hear the words. Must be quitting time. It was twelve

o’clock Saturday and Sam took his index finger and raked it

across his throat. Bubba smiled and killed the engine on the

tractor.

As he climbed off, Sam walked up to him. “You got ten hours

of overtime already, Bubba. I’d give you some more, but things

are slowing down a little and those idiots in the front office are

checking everyone’s time.”

Bubba smiled. “No prob, Mr. Sam, I appreciate you giving me

what you have. We can use the extra money with Christmas

being right around the corner and all.”

Sam looked at Bubba. “How many kids you got now, Bubba,

with that new baby?”

“I got four, Mr. Sam, won’t be no more though. Ole Doc

Gingham went ahead and fixed my Mary Jane after the last

baby.”

“Well, four is a lot for that trailer y’all live in, Bubba. I have a

three-bedroom house and it doesn’t seem big enough for my

two.”

Bubba again smiled showing his twisted, tarred teeth. “Well,

Mr. Sam, that is because you are rich and educated. It just takes

more room for rich and educated people to live. At our house,

the baby sleeps in our room. Rose Anne got her own being she is

fifteen and thinking she is a woman and everything, and then

the boys share the other room. I will admit it gets a little tight

from time to time but we make do the best we can.”

“That’s the trouble at my house, nobody thinks they’re

supposed to make do. Come on, Bubba, I’m off too, let’s stop at

Zing’s and I’ll buy you a couple of beers.”

“Can’t today, Mr. Sam, I got to get to my part-time job.”

“I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Bubba watched as Sam walked to the parking lot marked

Management Parking. He climbed in his new Chevrolet truck

and bumped the switch to hear the engine fire right off and start

to idle awaiting the next command. After he adjusted his

rearview mirror and fastened his seat belt, Sam pulled away.

Bubba trudged over to the larger parking lot where all the

hourly employees parked. It was almost empty today. What few

cars and trucks were there belonged to the high paid electricia

and maintenance men who looked after the machines on

weekends to make sure they keep on running. They were hourly

employees but they had the best paying jobs in the mill. The

older men could walk up to a running saw and tell if it was

binding or not or cutting straight by simply listening to the song

the blades made Bubba would love to work with this group.

Unfortunately, one had to have a minimum of a high school

education. In fact, some of them had degrees from two-year

colleges, proudly mounted in heavy plastic and placed on the

inside of their locker doors. Some of these men made as much as

five dollars an hour and a few had been with the mill less than a

year.

Bubba had come to the mill the summer after finishing the

tenth grade whereupon at the end of the summer, he never went

back to school. As the middle child of a family of eleven, his

father had been a sharecropper on the Blackstock plantation.

Therefore, when Bubba finished the tenth grade, his father told

him there were just too many mouths to feed and not enough

money to feed them. Bubba had contributed to the family

budget that summer. That fall he and Mary Jane, who had been

his sweetheart since the eighth grade, married and Bubba took

his life savings of two hundred and fifty dollars and put it on a

used mobile home just outside of town. He had gotten a local

finance company to carry the balance at ten percent higher

interest rate than the bank would have loaned the money.

Bubba knew his place in the little sleepy delta town and he

did not bother embarrassing himself or the banker by asking for

a loan. Ten years later Bubba only made two dollars and fifty

cents an hour. Still, he had a reputation as being one of the

hardest workers at the mill. This did not help him with

promotions, but it did afford him a lot of overtime. The truth

was, Bubba had always been just a little slow and could barely

read and he lacked writing skills. In school, the teachers had

simply passed him figuring he would drop out eventually.

Mary Jane did all the reading and writing in the family. Yet ever

bill was paid or one decision made, nor a report card ever signed

until Bubba gave his approval. It had been this way their entire

married life and Mary Jane had no desire to change anything

about it. Early in the marriage, Bubba had walked in, laid his

check on the table, and told her to pay what needed to be paid.

That night she told her huge, slow-minded loving husband that

any decision made in the family, big or small, would be a joint

decision. If Bubba had ever had any reservations about

marrying Mary Jane, they vanished.

All of Bubba’s checks and overtime went into the family

budget. This was an understood fact. The second job was

another thing altogether. Bubba had held that job for the last five

years. He had inherited it from an older brother who had moved

up north looking for a better life. Bubba kept up Mrs. Violet

Blackburn’s yard and garden. He mowed the yard, pulled the

weeds, and broke the garden every spring. This job paid twenty

dollars a month. The money went to a different person each

month. One month Mary Jane would get the twenty dollars to

do whatever she wanted. This might be a new dress from the

catalogue, a new bedspread, or a day out of the house away

from the kids. There would be enough for a babysitter, a day of

shopping at Wal-Mart or at one of the dime stores in town.

Somehow, even though this was her money, she always

managed to pick up some candy and a cigar for the ones left

behind.

The next time would be kids’ day. They would take them to

town to shop and then to McDonald’s for a Happy Meal. The

next month would be family night. The whole family would

load up and go to the Sizzler Steak House and then to the drivein

movie, if it was not raining or too cold. They would gorge on

popcorn, fountain Cokes, and peanuts. On the way home, the

boys would always get in a burping contest, which was highly

protested by their mother. Rose Anne, the older girl, would

comment about how vulgar this was. Somehow, that always

had an affect on her daddy. He would then burp the longest and

loudest of either of the boys. Everyone would be saying “pee

yew.” Rolling down of all the windows would follow. This

would conclude the Joneses’ family night out.

Bubba’s day would consist of sitting on the feed sacks at the

back of Zing’s store, drinking beer with his pals. He would buy

four or five cigars and they would swap lies and pass the time.

The next day the cookie jar would usually be fifteen dollars

richer.

When Mary Jane asked why, he would always give her the

same answer, “Oh, sweetie pie, I can come home and snuggle up

to you and have a better time than all the money in the world

will buy.” A giggle from Mary Jane and a pat on the rump by

Bubba usually followed.

The only other vice Bubba had was he spent one dollar each

week at Zing’s for a lottery ticket. He had bought this ticket since

the very first Friday he had drawn a check at the mill. In the past

fifteen years no two of his numbers were drawn and it took

seven correct numbers to win. Maybe it was because Bubba was

slow but it never dawned on him how great the odds were

stacked against him. Every Saturday the whole family would be

required to sit in the front of the used black and white television

as Bubba checked his numbers. After each drawing, he would

have a sad look on his face, then turn to his family, and say the

same thing every week.

“Next week, I just feel it, next week we are going to win.” This

is how life has been for the last fifteen years at Bubba Jones’

house.

The next week was Thanksgiving and things were getting

tight financially. Three of the four kids had started back to

school this year and it seemed as if things were getting higher.

Bubba’s checks were not getting any bigger. When Friday rolled

around Bubba went to Zing’s grocery as he did every Friday.

The only thing that made this day any different from any other

Friday was guilt. He thought about the fact that the dollar he

was on the verge of spending would buy a loaf of bread or a handful of pencils. When he pulled into the parking lot at Zing’s

he still wondered what to do. What he saw interrupted his

thoughts. There sat Johnny Brown’s new Camaro. Wherever

that car was, trouble was close.

Johnny had gone off to war a bully and had come back worse.

In his wallet were pictures of dead bodies. Enemy solders he

bragged of killing. Before he had left for war, he often said of the

torture and killing he hoped to find. Now he sat on the feed

sacks in the back of the store, drank beer, and gave all the details

of his twelve months of killing and raping. Still, with this to keep

him busy he would always stop long enough to harass Bubba.

Bubba parked his truck next to the Camaro and reached in his

glove box for a scrap piece of paper and a pencil. He had to do

some figuring today before he bought the ticket. He could not

put his own greed ahead of his family no matter how much he

believed in the lottery and his chance of winning. He licked the

little stubby pencil’s lead and wrote down some letters on the

paper. First, he scratched out a miserable looking “M” and then

a very crooked “T,” followed by a “W,” another “T,” and finally

an “F.” Then he took his pencil and scratched through the

second “T.”

He mumbled aloud, “Thursday is Thanksgiving and it don’t

count.” Next he started back with the “M,” which in his case was

an upside down W. Beside it he carefully wrote: “25.” Then he

moved down the page placing the same number by each letter,

except the second “T.” Then he drew a line under the twentyfive

next to the “F.” Again, he licked the pencil. He wrote a zero

under the line after much thought. The next zero came faster.

Then it was time to think again.

After deliberation, he finally placed a period to the left of the

two zeroes. Again, the pencil lay on his tongue, this time for a

much longer time than before. Finally, with a frown on his face,

he placed a zero to the left of the period. With this done, he felt

confused, he was not sure if he was figuring right.

keeps coming up zeroes

Everything, he thought to himself. With nothing to lose, except starting over, he trusted his judgment and placed

another zero and then a one to the left of that.

He seemed rather stunned at his own ability to figure such a

complex problem. With this success under his belt, he took the

pencil without even licking the lead and placed an “RC” by each

twenty-five. He examined his own form of algebra and then

went down to the dollar and wrote “LT” by it.

Suddenly the light came on. All he had to do was skip the RC

Cola he had with lunch that Mary Jane packed him each day for

one four-day week. He could buy a lottery ticket with no guilt at

all.

With this profound problem worked out, he climbed out of

the truck boldly and proudly walked into Zing’s store and up to

the counter where Zing sat on a stool reading the newspaper.

Seeing Bubba come in brought a smile to the small middle-aged

Chinese man’s face.

He looked up at Bubba and said, “So, Bubba Sahn, you come

in for winning ticket today, do you?”

Bubba smiled back and said, “Yes, sir, Zing.” With that, he

explained he would take 4-9-4-6-1-0-1.

Zing smiled and said, “After all this time, Bubba Sahn, I

should remember that. What does it stand for?” Bubba had no

idea what the numbers stood for. He had used the same ones

since the beginning. His reasoning was eventually they would

come up and he would be a winner.

He grinned. “Zing, those numbers stand for winner.” He

handed the man his dollar. Zing thanked him for his business

and Bubba retreated for the door before Johnny Brown could see

him. Too late, Johnny had just finished his last beer and was

making his way to the cooler for another when he saw Bubba.

“Hey, retard, what are you doing in here, wife send you in for

a box of Kotex?”

Johnny’s pals sitting on the feed sacks began to laugh. Bubba

pretended not to hear the remark and headed on to the door.

This was not good enough for JohnnHe became louder. “Hey, retard, you ain’t deaf, is you, boy?

Don’t you hear me talking to you, son? Don’t make me have to

come over there and lay hand’s on you now.” Again, Bubba

dropped his head and stared at the floor.

Zing interrupted, “No trouble in here! Johnny, I mean it, no

trouble, you hear!” Bubba took the distraction for the time to get

closer to the door. When Johnny looked back at him, he already

had one hand on the doorknob.

“One more step, Bubba, and I’m gonna to have to teach you

a lesson on coming when yore called, you moron!”

Bubba froze in his steps. Suddenly, someone on the other side

pushed the door against his hand. He moved his hand from the

knob and the door swung open. It was Deputy Walker, stopping

by for his afternoon snack of an RC and a pack of peanuts.

Bubba, seeing his chance, walked out the door.

He could hear Johnny in the background saying, “See you

later, Bubba.”

Bubba lost no time getting out the door and into the truck.

After a quick lunch Bubba went to Mrs. Blackburn’s house and

worked until sundown.

The next day, Bubba went to Mrs. Blackburn’s house and

worked until sundown. When he had finished, she paid him and

handed him a sack of groceries.

“Bubba, I was invited out for dinner this year. I won’t need all

this food. Take it home with you.”

“Now, Mrs. Blackburn, you knows Mary Jane and me don’t

cotton to no charity.”

“Fine, Bubba, I won’t be in need of them, and I guess you

don’t want them, either, so do me a favor. Throw the sack in the

garbage when you pass the can, would you?” After some

consideration, he decided waste was worse than charity and

thanked her for the food. When he got home, Mary Jane agreed,

under the circumstances, he had done the right thing.

* * *

The thunder rolled in and the winds picked up outside.

Bubba’s oldest son, Junior, who sat on the floor, blurted out,

“Damn it.”

Mary Jane and Bubba walked into the living room. Mary Jane

swatted him on the mouth. “Boy, you watch that garbage mouth

of yours in my house. I’ll wash it out with lye soap. If you don’t

believe me just let me hear something like that again.

Bubba came up to him and bopped him on the back of the

head. “What’s wrong with you, boy, sitting in my living room

floor cussing like you in some pool hall or something?”

“Pa, the wind done gone and blew the TV antenna around

and everything done turned to snow,” Junior said, rubbing his

head and licking his lips.

Bubba almost fainted. The calling of the winning number

would come after the weather. Bubba headed out to the shed to

get a ladder and he felt the first pelts of rain that came from the

November thunderstorm. As he laid the ladder on the side of the

trailer, Mary Jane hollered out the front door.

“Bubba Jones, get back in this trailer before lightning strikes

you, fool.”

Bubba was deaf to her pleas. Fighting the wind and rain, he

climbed the ladder with a pipe wrench in hand. He was almost

to the top of the ladder and within reach of the mask as he locked

the teeth of the wrench onto the pipe. Lightning hit a nearby oak

tree making a sound like a cannon. This scared Bubba, still the

boom was not as loud as the scream that came from Mary Jane

who was standing in the door of the trailer. Bubba snatched the

wrench and he felt the pipe turn under the pressure of his pull.

He looked over his shoulder and screamed down at Mary

Jane, “How does it look? Mary Jane, is the snow gone?”

He heard his wife’s voice coming over the roar of the wind,

“Yes, Bubba, it’s fine. Now get yourself in here before you’re

killed.”

Bubba climbed down the ladder and as he walked in the door,

the woman with the lottery cut on the fans to the ping-pong

balls. The first ball blew up “3.” Bubba thought,

win big on six

“7,” “8,” “3.”

It was the thousandth time that Bubba did not have a single

number right. Mary Jane walked up to him with a towel and

started drying his head off.

He turned and looked at her as if he had just found out there

was a death in the family and said, “Not one number, Mary Jane.

I just knew I had a winner this week. Honey, I just knowed it.”

Mary Jane softly said, “Maybe next week, baby, maybe next

week.”

Bubba smiled. “Yeah, Mary Jane, I really feel lucky; I bet I win

next week. He turned and went to the bathroom to finish the

shower he had started earlier on the roof.

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