The bulb on the front door of the house flickered as it tried to light up the middle of the darkening streets. Inside, the television buzzed tirelessly and the dishes and steel clinked as they were being washed clean. The forty-six year old man of the house, Mr. Antonio Dimawili, sat comfortably with one leg elevated on the arm of his favorite couch in front of the television. The couch was moved out from its proper place and was now positioned too close to the TV set. Behind him on a long couch beside the front door sat his twenty-five year old son, Antony. The young man was holding a cell phone on one hand, but both of them were intently concentrating on the war-movie as it reached its climax.
There was a knock on the door. Both men jumped, looking distracted by the sudden interruption.
“Go get the door,” Antonio ordered, waving a hand which held the remote control.
Antony went to the door and turned the knob open.
“Good evening Tony,” a big-busted middle-aged woman greeted him.
“Good evening too, Nang Dorin.”
“Aba! Dorin, come in! Come in!” Antonio’s loud voice echoed inside the tiny town house. His body was now turned to the woman. Antony closed the door behind them when the woman was finally inside. Dorin sat beside the young man on the long couch. She pulled open the zipper of her belt-bag and took out a small notebook, a stub of Lotto receipts and a ball pen.
“Cory!” Antonio called for his daughter who was busy washing dishes in the kitchen.
“Yes Papang?!” she called back. Cory turned off the faucet and wiped her soaped-wet hands
with a clean towel hanging on the refrigerator’s handle. She fixed her shoulder-length hair,
pulled a lock at the back of her ear, and hurried to the living room.
“Yes Papang? What is it?”
“Where’s your Mamang?”
She didn’t answer yet when she saw Dorin sitting beside her older brother. She sighed and pouted her lips in disapproval. She gestured to their backyard, “. . . feeding the dogs outside.”
“Tell her Dorin’s here.”
She rolled her eyes, and scratched her neck, “Okay, Pang.”
Cory went outside to the backyard. She saw her mother pouring food into a worn out gallon-sized empty bucket of ice cream. Flanking her were two white spaniels, with grimy coats you would mistake these mutts as rags. Mrs. Thalia Dimawili's a couple of years younger than her husband. Her hair was tightly pinned into a bun, was slightly skinny, and had an angular and wearied face.
“Nang Dorin’s here, Mamang,” Cory sneered at the name when Thalia bent down quickly to get the empty bowl.
“Oh, Dorin! I almost forgot!” She handed the empty bowl to her daughter then spoke with a pressured tone, “bring this inside the house, dear . . . and don’t forget to lock the backdoor, okay?”
Thalia didn’t wait for a reply, and hurried inside the house. In the living room, Antonio and Dorin were talking about a constant player of Mahjong who just won eighty thousand pesos in the First-Two-Digit Lotto draw last week. Both turned their heads toward Thalia. Dorin spoke in excitement, “Taling, we were just talking about Fe Lamangan! Have you heard about the latest buzz on her?”
“Who? That shrewd Mahjong player at Maurine’s?”
“Yes! Well, I met her kumare while I was walking along Alunan Avenue this afternoon, and she told me that Fe Lamangan won the draw last week . . . Eighty thousand pesos,” Dorin leaned forward as she spoke.
Thalia covered her mouth, and her eyes widened, “No kidding! Eighty thousand?! What were
her numbers?”
“She wagered in the First-Two-Digit Lotto draw, 26 and 18 for two hundred pesos. Luckily, her numbers were drawn that day!”
“Wow, she’s indeed lucky, that gambler of a widow!”
“Hey, Taling, told’ya you should’ve wagered on 26,” Antonio butt in.
“The taga-suma gave me the numbers 06, and 23. The numbers were at least a bit closer to 26,” His wife replied. Her husband just snickered, still focused on the TV screen.
Dorin flipped a page of her lotto receipt stubs. Hastily, Thalia sat between Dorin and Antony. She said, “I think I’ll go with 15-41 and 02-37, thirty pesos for each, First-Two. And . . . 08 for fifty pesos, Last-Two.”
Antonio added, “11 and 14 for fifty pesos each, that’s for Last-Two-Digit draw.”
The Lotto dealer wrote down Antonio and Thalia’s numbers on one receipt.
“Okay, that’s all. Can I pay you tomorrow?” said Thalia.
“Uh—sure, but you still got a balance of two hundred fifty pesos, though— ”
“I’ll also pay you that tomorrow, don’t worry Dorin,” Thalia said, a little annoyed by the reminder of her debt. Dorin slid her things back inside her belt-bag, “I’ll just bring these in the Lotto outlet in KCC tomorrow. Well then, I’ll be going.”
Both of the women stood up, then Dorin bade them goodbye. Antonio turned to her and did the same. When she was finally gone, Thalia sat beside her son on the long couch. Cory came to join the rest of her family in the living room, and then told her mother she needed three hundred pesos to pay to a school organization tomorrow.
“Your Papang gave you five hundred pesos last week. Don’t tell me you spent them all?” Mrs. Dimawili said.
“Huh! That was really intended for that week only!” Cory argued. The men were just silent, still focused on the movie they’re watching.
“Listen Cory, I only have five hundred pesos left in my wallet, and I can give you three-fifths of it if you’d want a hunger strike for the next seven days.”
Cory groaned. “Fine. I understand that that big-busted parasite will be sucking your wallet again tomorrow . . . C’mon, when was the last time you ever won? Ten years ago?” she paused to heave a sigh, “Sweet dreams!” She turned away and went to her room. Mrs. Dimawili raised both hands and rolled her eyes in exasperation.
The movie was finally at its end, so Antonio spoke, “Ah, it’s finished. Shall we check what’s drawn in the Lotto tonight?” He changed the channel.
The lotto show has already started. Antonio and Thalia Dimawili were silent as they waited for the 45-ball jackpot draw to begin. Antony yawned beside her and started texting on his cell phone, then after a few boring minutes he went to his bedroom and slept. The jackpot draw was about to begin, where the winning First-Two-Digit and Last-Two-Digit numbers were based. Thalia rubbed her eyes and squinted as she focused on the TV. The balls were now being rambled, and then drawn one by one in respective order. 15—came the first ball.
Thalia gasped, it was hers! If her 41 would be drawn, she’d win almost fifteen thousand pesos. Another ball was drawn—the number . . . 13.
“No! That was so close!” Thalia exclaimed.
“Well, let’s see the Last-Two-Digit draw,” Antonio said.
They waited for the Last-Two-Digit ball to be drawn . . . And the last digit for today’s ramble lotto is . . . the number two-zero. None of their numbers were drawn. Thalia cocked her head back and groaned under her breath, “Ah! What a waste, Antonio! Such a waste I tell you!”
“It seems that luck’s not on our side tonight, Taling. We’ll try again . . . maybe tomorrow— ”
“My number will be drawn next time and we’ll get rich. We’ll start a business and get very rich!”
Antonio didn’t say anything but Thalia continued talking about how she’ll receive the big
amount of money if her numbers would be drawn in the Lotto next time, her future plans for her children and for themselves.
The next day, Dorin visited the Dimawili residence again. Thalia wagered, and this time with a bigger amount of money. Unfortunately, as always, her numbers were not drawn in the Lotto.
When she finally realized the amount her debts to the Lotto dealer had surmounted, she began to panic. She worried how she will be able to pay Dorin since she spent almost the family’s entire budget now. Her husband was dismissed from work a month ago, she couldn’t earn enough to pay for her debts and provide her family’s needs on her own. Thalia thought she couldn’t face Dorin now, she would hide and her family would help her.
“If Dorin ever comes again, tell her I’m out or I had an emergency or anything! Just don’t let her know I’m home, do you understand—both of you?” her teeth clenched in anxiety and fear as she spoke to her children.
The next time Dorin came, the children followed what their mother ordered, until the Lotto dealer was now trying to demand Thalia’s presence and that she should pay her debts.
“Where’s Taling your mother?! I know you’re hiding her somewhere! She has to pay her debts or I’ll call the police!”
“We don’t know Nang Dorin, she never returned since two weeks ago,” Antony lied.
The visits became more frequent, in the morning and in the afternoon, and the Dimawili residence would sometimes lock all their doors and never turned on their lights even at night to avoid people, especially Dorin. Thalia never left the house for the next two months, for fear of being caught by neighbors or worse, by the police.
........................................This was written for a Creative Writing class (LIT 143) during the first semester of my fourth year in college.
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