The small things

“Thirty five!”

My heart begins to pound. Could it be? That’s three out of six numbers so far, I had never done this well.

“Seventeen!”

I’m out of the seat. I grasp the lottery ticket in my right hand tightly and stare at the TV. Images of yachts, parties, European vacations flash before me. The woman on the TV bends over and pulls the last number from the bin.

“Eleven!”

I’m screaming. Everyone’s screaming. We’re hugging, jumping crying in joy, when –

cup of coffee near croissant bread
Photo by julie aagaard on Pexels.com

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

I role over as I bring myself from a foggy haze back to the planet Earth. I look to my side, expecting to see the brightness of the TV and the infinitely smiling lottery woman. Instead I’m met with a dark bedroom and the slightest hint of sunlight beginning to break through the bedroom window.

It was all a dream.

For a moment, I’m sad. I mourn my yacht. I mourn the Greek islands. I prepare to mourn for my would-have-been pet Tiger, when the hope begins to trickle into my mind.

It’s Saturday.

Oh, Saturday. The king of days, the glory of glory. We meet again. What have you brought me today? Is it a hike? An interesting play? The sweet nectar of shameless hedonism and laziness so that I may bathe myself in relaxation? Perhaps.

But first, there’s coffee.

Ah, coffee. I smell the sweet fumes, the pungency of the beans as they’re cracked over blade. I’m intoxicated with the idea. I climb out of bed and realize my mouth is watering. I sneak by my loved one and enter the kitchen, the regular opening scene to my Saturday-plays.

I grind the beans, turn on the machine, and wait patiently through the glug-glug. Soon, it’s ready. I sit on the step and drink from my chalice. I find myself wondering just how much of my blood is this very drink. For those moments, the world is still. As long as there’s blackness that sits in my cup, time is frozen, and it remains in good form until I take the final sip.

I find myself mourning the lottery once more. I look to my cup and smile to myself. What I really appreciate, are the small things.

Dr. Travis Barron is a resident physician in Toronto, Canada.

9 thoughts on “The small things

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