Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - Faith – Morley’s Hairdresser & The Lottery Ticket

Episode Date: March 31, 2023

"Imagine. A million dollars. What would you do with a million dollars?”A couple of favourite Vinyl Cafe stories this week. Stories about faith. When Tommy’s grandpa dies the conversation turns to his unscratched lottery ticket and the faith he had in its possibilities. That was one of Stuart’s favourites. And Jess shares a personal story about the inspiration behind the story Morley’s Hairdresser. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

From the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton, and this is Backstage at the Vinyl Café. Welcome. We have two stories about faith today. We're going to start with this one. We recorded this story in Surrey, British Columbia. This is Stuart McLean with The Hairdresser. For the past 20 years, Morley, faithful beyond fault, has gone to the same hairdresser whenever she needs her haircut. Morley goes to Lawrence. She found him when she and Dave moved into the neighborhood where they still live. A woman who has her priorities straight, Morley found Lawrence before she found a doctor or a dentist.

priorities straight, Morley found Lawrence before she found a doctor or a dentist. And over the past 20-odd years, Morley has followed Lawrence from one salon to the next. Right from the start, Lawrence made Morley feel special. Instead of delegating the job to an assistant, Lawrence washed Morley's hair himself. He kept a special bottle of shampoo for her. He used it instead of the salon's usual rehydrating, mineralizing, oxygenating, detangling, protein boosting, volumizing apricot shampoo with a jojoba infusion. If there is one thing in the world that Morley hates. It's a jojoba infusion. Lawrence remembers stuff like that. In fact, Lawrence's memory is the most appealing thing about Lawrence. Lawrence remembers things like how his clients take their coffee and things about their families. How was Sam's birthday, he would ask when Morley showed up for her next appointment. Morley felt

that she and Lawrence had a special rapport, a relationship built on the important things of life, like history, trust, and a hoba. Over the past few years, however, things have been changing slowly, slightly, but significantly nevertheless. Over the past few years, Lawrence has let things slide. One afternoon, as she settled into his chair, Lawrence brought Morley a cup of tea instead of coffee. Another time, he used the foul-smelling apricot shampoo, and he would have finished off with hairspray if Morley hadn't stopped him. It had been years since Lawrence had asked Morley what she wanted done to her hair, or suggested a cut he thought would make her look good. Not the end of the world, to be sure.

More a disappointment than a disaster. And Morley, faithful beyond fault, resigned herself to the changing and slightly diminished Lawrence, to the way things were rather than the way things used to be. She hadn't given it a lot of thought, not until the Saturday morning she went to get her hair cut and she came face to face with the salon's new stylist, a young hairdresser from Quebec with a liquid accent and spiky black hair. His name was Mathieu. And he had been assigned to the chair right beside Lawrence, although when Morley walked in, he was everywhere except the chair,

jumping around the room, waving his scissors in the air, trying to persuade the woman he was working on to let him loose on her head. What's the worst that can happen, he called over his shoulder as he blew past Morley with his hands full of magazines. If you don't like what I do, we'll change it. And then he dropped to his knees in front of his chair. Please, I'm begging, he said. You were born to be a blonde. That was the day that Lawrence told her that he had been thinking of opening a salon for dogs.

Waving his hands around, staring at Morley in the mirror, not looking at her hair at all as he cut it. Do you know how much you can charge for styling a shih tzu, he asked earnestly. Morley was telling Betty Schellenberger all about this when Betty called on Sunday night. Dave and Morley had just finished dinner, and Dave was lying on the couch reading the December issue of Canadian Living, absorbed by an article called Leaving the Bird Behind, Christmas Without a Turkey. Morley was moving around the kitchen unloading the dishwasher, wiping counters, and talking to Betty on the portable phone. She was telling Betty all about Mathieu and what a riot he was, which of course led her to Lawrence and how Lawrence seemed to be slipping. 21 years, Morley was saying. We've been together for almost 21 years. 21 years, thought Dave.

We've been married 23 years. Dave, out of sight but not out of earshot, overheard Morley talking on the phone in the kitchen, and Dave assumed that she was talking about him. How was Dave to know Morley was talking about her hairdresser? He irritates me, said Morley. He doesn't listen to me anymore. Dave, out of sight but not out of earshot, propped himself up on the couch. Okay, Dave shouldn't have been listening in, but he was listening in, and he was thunderstruck by what Morley

was saying on the phone. He used to know what I like, she said, but I've changed. I'm ready to experiment. I've seen things in magazines. I'd like him to try on me. me. It used to take an hour. Now he speeds through it in 15 minutes. It feels like he's just going through the motions. He won't look me in the eye. He just looks in the mirror. Morley, his sweet wife, his partner of 23 years, his soulmate, the mother of his children, his rock, what had he done wrong? When had this started?

What mirror? And now what was she saying? She was saying, oh my God, there's another guy. I'd love to try him out. Just, you know, once maybe. Dave leapt off the couch, and he stood in the middle of the living room, his heart pounding. Morley, meanwhile, who had said goodbye to Betty, was heading upstairs.

Dave watched her go, and then he bounded up the stairs behind her. And when he got there, Morley was standing in the bathroom gazing in the mirror and she was thinking, my hair always will look the same. I will always look the same. I'll never be a blonde. She was so preoccupied with the state of her hair that she didn't notice Dave standing behind her when she picked up her toothbrush. Dave was standing there looking over her shoulder at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she brushed her teeth. Oh, hi, she said when she noticed him. And then she turned and she said, do you think loyalty is an important quality? What, said Dave, trying to ignore the ringing in his ears.

If you're in a bad relationship, said Marley, should you stay if you're just staying out of loyalty? And she dropped her toothbrush in the glass on the counter and she flounced off to bed. She fell asleep immediately, snoring softly and twitching, and she dreamed that she was having her hair cut. And in the dream, Lawrence was using dog clippers. And when he finished, he charged her twice as much and gave her a milk bone. She tried to object, but all she could do was bark.

Dave tossed and turned all night. By morning, Dave had worked himself into a complete panic. He went to Kenny Wong's Cafe for lunch. He sat at the counter. I'm not really hungry, he said, finally settling on soup, barely touching it, finally fessing up. I think Morley's seeing someone else, he said. Don't be crazy, said Kenny. Morley wouldn't do that. Dave looked at Kenny forlornly. Eat your soup, said Kenny. Come back and talk to me if she starts behaving suspiciously.

Suspiciously, said Dave. Like what? Well, you know, said Kenny, if she changes her hairstyle, that sort of thing. As April folded into May, Morley couldn't stop thinking about Mathieu. And the more she thought about him, the more she yearned for a different haircut. Every day without Mathieu became a bad hair day. By the end of May, Morley could barely stand to brush her hair. She called the salon on a Wednesday afternoon. Wednesday was Lawrence's day off.

She asked if they could fit her in for a style. Not a cut, she said. I'm not ready for a cut. Mathieu's had a cancellation at four, said the girl on the phone. What's your name? Helen, said the girl on the phone. What's your name? Helen, said Marley. She wore a baseball cap and sunglasses to the salon, and she slinked past the receptionist and shampoo girl. She went there with her layered bob, intending to let Mathieu wash and style it nothing more. But he stood behind her, and he held up her hair from the back and he let it fall through his fingers like sand. Over and over he picked up her hair and let it drop

back to her shoulders piece by piece and he said, I have to cut this. She knew it was coming. It was inevitable. If she didn't want him to cut it, why had she come? Okay, she said, quietly. And when he had finished, she looked at herself in the mirror and she couldn't believe the change. She looked totally different, smarter, sophisticated. I love it, she said. She couldn't wait for Dave to come home. So she headed off to the store instead. Dave was sitting behind the counter flipping through a magazine when Morley walked through the door. I decided it was time for a change,

she said. What do you think? Ten minutes later, Dave burst into Kenny Wong's cafe. Don't panic, said Kenny. Your job, said Kenny, is to make a fuss. Your job is to win her back. And so Dave set off to woo his wife. He bought Morley a green Jane Jetson Pez dispenser. Morley always loved the Jetsons. And then he added a pack of refills at the counter. What the heck, he thought. She seemed to like the Pez, but Dave didn't think the presence had had enough of an effect. What about flowers, asked Kenny Wong. So the next day, Dave went to the florist. He couldn't believe his luck. They had Venus fly traps. Each day, he brought home something different. Ever since Mathieu's cut my hair, he's been bringing me little treats, Morley told Betty. It's so cute. A Venus fly trap,

said Betty. Yes, said Morley, and a pair of wool socks and a bouquet of Tootsie Pops, red ones. Morley loved the sudden attention almost as much as she loved her new hairdo, but she was plagued with guilt. She had to change the way she walked to work so she didn't go past the salon and accidentally bump into Lawrence. And one evening when she saw Lawrence in the grocery store, she had to abandon her basket and bolt. I gotta stop this, she told Betty. I can't keep seeing him. Not like this. But she went again on a Wednesday, a Wednesday afternoon in September. I'll need three hours, said Mathieu. I want to add some color.

Morley, who had never even had highlights, was reluctant. I don't know, she said. Trust me, said Mathieu, you'll love it. So while Morley was sitting in the salon chair, guilty, nervous, and excited, Dave was slumped behind the counter in his record store, staring at the piece of paper that he had found on the kitchen table that morning. There were three words written on it. They were written in Morley's handwriting. Mathieu, two o'clock. Dave was staring at the paper and reaching for the phone,

about to call Betty Schellenberger. It had taken him all day to screw up the courage to make the call. If anyone knew what was going on, Betty Schellenberger would. Betty, said Dave, getting right to the point. Betty, said Dave, do you know about Mathieu? Of course, said Betty. It's not exactly a secret. She hasn't told me, said Dave.

Well, Dave, said Betty, it's not something you'd necessarily share with your husband, is it? I have a date with him, too. I haven't told Arnie. You're seeing him, too, said Dave. Yes, said Betty. Gerd is coming with me. Two at once, said Dave. Yes, said Betty. Gerd is coming with me. Two at once, said Dave. Of course not, said Betty. One after the other. He does my whole bridge club, Dave. Everybody loves Mathieu. Oh, my God, croaked Dave. Honestly, Dave, on a Saturday morning, people line up to see Mathieu. My last appointment was so good, said Betty, that I gave him a $30 tip.

Why is this happening, said Dave. Things get stale, Dave, said Betty. Mathieu has amazing technique. He's French, you know. Where do they meet, said Dave? His place, of course, said Betty. Give me the address, said Dave, filled with a sudden resolve. Mathieu had already began Morley's transformation as Dave flew down the street. Dave was checking

numbers as he ran. He was running without thinking what he was going to do when he got to where he was going. He was just consumed by the need to act. And when he found the right number, he burst through the salon door without registering where he was or what was going on around him. He spotted Morley before he spotted anything else. His wife, Morley, a black nylon cape cinched tightly around her neck, half her head covered in clumps of hair, the other half festooned with dozens of little pieces of tinfoil, something red dribbling down her face. His wife, Morley, had never looked worse.

He had never loved her more. Morley, he blurted out i love you don't go through with this it's not too late everything in the salon screeched to a halt and as it did, Dave slowly took in his surroundings. The women sitting in the chairs, the stylists with their hair dryers poised in midair, the spiky-haired young man with his mouth gaping open, hovering over Morley with a paintbrush in his hand. All things considered, the salon staff were very nice to Dave. They guided him to a quiet corner in a soft chair, and they bought him a coffee, and he sat and he waited, and after the coloring was finished, he and Morley walked home together. I told him I wanted something natural, said Morley as they walked along.

It is natural, said Dave, pointing at the bright red leaves on the maple tree in the park. They sat on a park bench under that tree, and Dave, overcome with love and relief, finally asked the question that he had been afraid to ask before he knew the answer. Are you still happy with me, he asked. Is everything okay? Morley looked at him with her licorice red streaks and said, of course it's okay. I would have told you if it wasn't.

said, of course it's okay. I would have told you if it wasn't. And so it was six weeks later that Morley called the salon and booked an appointment with Lawrence. And before she went, she phoned Lawrence himself. I feel a little embarrassed about this, she said. And she told him everything about the day he had brought her tea instead of coffee, about the time he had used the apricot shampoo, and about Mathieu. Lawrence was a little chilly the first time she saw him, but she didn't let him get away with it. We have to try something different, she said, and it has to be your idea. I was thinking, said Lawrence, we could start with apricot shampoo. I was thinking, said Lawrence, we could start with apricot shampoo. That's when she knew they were going to be okay. And she isn't wrong. They will be okay.

Though it's going to take a little longer than she thinks. Lawrence will suggest things and they will try them, but not many of the things will work. Morley was never meant to be a blonde or have dreadlocks. But it won't be what they're doing that counts, just that they are doing something new and they're doing it together. As for Dave, Dave will keep bringing your stuff all winter long. Root beer flavored jelly beans, sponge toffee. beer-flavored jelly beans, sponge toffee. And on her birthday, instead of going out to one of the neighborhood restaurants they favor this year, he'll cook for her just the way he did when they were dating, heating cheddar cheese hot dogs in the toaster oven and roasting marshmallows over

the gas flame of the stove. Thank you very much. That was the story we call The Hairdresser. We recorded that story in Surrey, British Columbia, and I've always loved it. I love the humor in it, but I also love it because it reminds me of my mom. It was inspired by something that happened to my mom. Like so many of you probably, she went to the same hairdresser for years, for decades. Steve, Steve the hairdresser. She started going to him when I was a little kid. And then at some point, I started going to him. And I think my dad started going to him at some point and my little brother, like we all went there. And, you know, he met my mom. My mom

started going to him when we were little kids. And she did what we all do when we're sitting in that chair getting our hair cut. She shared stories about her life, and he listened. He would have listened to her tell stories about her kids, us, when we were little. He would have listened to her tell stories about her new job and changing careers. He would have listened to her tell stories about her new job and changing careers. He would have listened to her tell some difficult stories about some difficult days. I'm sure he would have listened to her talk about being diagnosed with cancer the first time and the treatment. He certainly would have listened to her complain about my dad and, you know, hear about their difficult decision to get divorced.

And he would have heard her talk about my brother and I moving out and going to university. And he would have heard her and listened to her talk about Joe, her new partner, when they met. And when my mom and Joe decided to get married, I offered to help her with the invitations, and I remember saying, Mom, are you inviting Steve the hairdresser? And she said, Of course. Of course Steve's going to be there. I started writing that card, and I got Steve, and then I paused, and I said, Oh, this is weird, but I don't know Steve's last name. What's his last name?

And there was a long pause. And then a beat. And then another long pause. I mean, this man probably knew as much, maybe more about my mom than anyone else alive. And it was becoming abundantly clear that she had no idea what his last name was. No clue. Nothing. It's all right, Mom. I got this. And I wrote down on the card, first name, Steve. Middle name, The. Last name, Hairdresser. I have no idea if she gave him that card. I have no idea if she ever found out what his last name was. And if so, if she fessed up. And to be honest, I think he was at the wedding, but I don't remember. My mom passed away 16 years ago now, I guess.

away 16 years ago now, I guess. And what is Steve the hairdresser's last name is on a long list of many questions that I wish I could ask her today. Along with, hey, mom, what kind of cheese did you put on top of your lasagna? Because it's not mozzarella. Like I've tried mozzarella. It doesn't taste anything like the cheese you put on. So what is that? I know you always put cottage cheese in instead of ricotta, but what was the top? Because it's not mozzarella. There's no way. And while we're talking about recipes, what about that curried cabbage and rice? I just can't get it to, I have that recipe, but I'm just not, I can't get it tasting quite right. Those things and, you know, other little things like, how do you raise small children? All right, that's enough nonsense for now. We got to take a break. But we'll be back in a couple of

minutes with another story. And this one is about a winning lottery ticket. So stay with me. Welcome back. I told you we had two stories for you today. Here's the second one. This is a story we recorded in Winkler, Manitoba. This is Stuart McLean with The Lottery Ticket. There's no good time for bad news. Something bad happens, people often say it. It couldn't have come at a worse time. But there's no better time when the news that comes is not the news you want. Bad news always has bad timing.

Stephanie's boyfriend, Tommy, hung up the phone and walked into the bathroom and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. He stood there staring for the longest time. When he was finished staring, he went into his bedroom and picked his green hoodie off the floor. His toque was on top of the fridge. He fetched his toque, grabbed his notebook from the couch, and he headed out, hands in his pocket, shoulders hunched. He didn't know it, but he was going to see Steph. He didn't go right there, though. He walked around for a good hour before he realized that's where he was going. Steph was in her kitchen when he got there,

by the stove to be precise, holding a handful of pasta over a big pot. She was wearing an apron that said, Procrastinate Now. Tommy knocked on the window in the kitchen door and let himself in. She was surprised to see him. He had told her that he was going to stay

home and write. Steph said, what are you doing here? And right out of the blue, just like he had appeared, just like the phone call, Tommy said, my grandpa died. Steph ran across the kitchen and gave him a hug. She said, are you okay? Tommy dropped his canvas bag by the table. Tommy said, I totally don't believe it. The first time Tommy took Stephanie to meet his grandpa, it was his birthday, a family dinner, and it was a deal that he took her.

He'd never taken anyone before, especially not a girl. She was nervous. She'd talked way too much. But his grandpa liked her. He had sat with her after dinner and talked to her about the war. Tommy said he was at the barber's. He had a stroke. They didn't even take him to the hospital.

Ink. That's what Tommy was thinking about. His grandfather was plagued by ink. Ink on his fingers, ink on his shirt. He dies and all Tommy can think about is what was going to happen to his grandpa's pants. Steffi said, I was thinking about them too. Anyone would think about that. That would come to anyone's mind.

He was ink-stained. Tommy's grandfather was the only person Stephanie knew who used a fountain pen. He had a collection of pens that he kept in a wooden box on his desk. This one's a Parker 51, he said, holding up a sleek gray pen with a hooded nib. This is my waterman. He took a glass bottle of ink out of the drawer and unscrewed it. Then he sniffed it. You have to be careful, he said, looking at her over his glasses.

Ink can go bad. He took an eyedropper and used the eyedropper to fill the waterman. When he finished, there was a smudge of ink on his forehead. He handed her the pen. His initials were engraved on the gold clip. He got a piece of paper out and laid it on the desk. You have to break a pen like this in, he said. The paper wears the nib down for just the way you write. It's a gold nib. Stephanie looked at him and he nodded. Go on, he said. So she sat down and she wrote her name in real ink. Imagine, he said, paper wearing down gold. It's like that kid's game.

You probably write with a safety pin. The ballpoint, said Stephanie. Ah, he said, you might as well write with a nail. He gave her one of his pens. It was tortoise shell with gold inlay. The first thing she wrote was a letter to him. Thank you. She sniffed the ink every time she felt it.

She had no idea what bad ink smelled like. And now she never would. It was a waterman. Louis J. Waterman was an insurance man. So was Tommy's grandfather Waterman got messed up in the pen business after a leaky pen messed up one of his contracts Tommy's grandfather who was also Lewis

didn't go anywhere without his Waterman Tommy stayed at Stephanie's for dinner that night it was while they were doing the dishes that Stephanie said, hey, what's going to happen to the ticket? Tommy said, I hadn't thought about that. His grandfather's famous lottery ticket. He'd owned it for 10 years. Longer, said Tommy, longer for sure. I remember from when I was a kid. There were different stories. He bought it after he had touched a bride. He bought it the day he found a four-leaf clover. He bought it with a hundred pennies that he'd found heads up. Tommy and Stephanie were sitting on her couch. Stephanie said, I don't think he really believed that stuff.

Tommy said, I asked him about the pennies once. I mean, he had this whole routine with pennies he found, right? If they were heads up, he kept them and made a wish. If they were heads down, he'd give them away. Because heads down meant bad luck. So he had to give them away heads up to cancel the bad luck. When I was a kid, if I was with him, when he found a penny, he'd give me the wishes. Then he'd make me tell him what I'd wished for. I told him you weren't

supposed to tell. He said you were allowed to tell grandfathers. I asked him when I was older, and he laughed and said he didn't really believe. Stephanie said, I didn't think so. Then she said, weird that you'd still do it anyway, right? Like saying bless you after you sneeze. Tommy said, he said he did it because he had heard that it still worked. Even if you didn't believe.

So Tommy's grandfather had this lottery ticket. It was one of those scratch tickets from way back. There's no date on it. Not even an expiry date. The prize was $1 million. That's what he used to say. Imagine $1 million. Then he'd say, what would you do with $1 million?

And then you had to tell him what you do. And he would listen ever so carefully. And when you were finished, he'd say, are you sure that's what you do? Is that your heart's desire and you had to go through the whole thing all over again it was all very serious because of the ticket which he'd never scratched and which he told everyone with absolute conviction was the winning ticket might sound crazy but he was a very convincing man. So the ticket was a huge deal in the family. And it had been for years.

They argued about it at family dinners. They argued about it at Christmas time. Louis shouted his brother, million dollars isn't what it used to be. Still a million dollars, said Louis. shouted his brother. Million dollars isn't what it used to be. Still a million dollars, said Lewis. But if you'd put it in the bank instead of leaving it on the mantel, you would have collected interest.

All these years, you know how much you would have had? Maybe I'd had nothing, he said. Tommy, pass your mother the peas. You've read what happens to lottery winners. That man in Niagara Falls, that family in New Brunswick. I still have the million. How much does one man need? And then he'd gesture toward the ticket,

or maybe he'd get up and walk over to the mantel where he kept it in a box, and he would pick it up and wave it in the air. Lewis believed having a dream was better than having a pile of money. Money, well, money could cause no end of problems. It's way better to stick with dreams, he said. Tommy said, it used to drive my uncle nuts. My uncle thought he was crazy. Stephanie said, what do you think? Tommy said, I used to drive my uncle nuts. My uncle thought he was crazy. Stephanie said, what do you think?

Tommy said, I don't know. He was so sure. He was certain. I mean, it could be the winner. You can't deny that. It could be. Steph said, do you think you should scratch it? Tommy said, do you think so? Steph it? Tommy said, do you think so?

Steph said, well, that way you'd know. Tommy said, because he's gone, don't you think we should check the will? She hadn't thought of that. She hadn't thought of what he'd want. He didn't mention it, said Tommy's father, holding his cell phone in his hand. Don't you think that's odd, said Tommy's mother? What, said Tommy's father? That it wasn't mentioned?

Or that I'm phoning a lawyer to ask him to recheck my father's will to make certain he didn't mention an unscratched lottery ticket that he's had on his mantelpiece for a decade? Yes. Now that you ask, I think it's odd. What would happen, said Stephanie, if you scratched it and it was a winner? I'd feel bad for not trusting him, said Tommy, for not believing. And if it wasn't a winner, well, then I just feel bad. The funeral was scheduled for Monday. Tommy went home on Thursday. And by the time he got there,

the whole neighborhood was buzzing. No one had a say, but everyone had an opinion. Wherever Tommy went, they were talking about the ticket and they all wanted to tell him what they thought. They were talking about it at the funeral parlor. Tommy, the reason he didn't mention it at the will is because he knew it wasn't a winner he knew it was worthless you should just scratch it and be done with it they were talking about it at the corner store Ahmed if you're so sure that it's not a winning ticket why are you in such a hurry for the boy to scratch it if you're so sure you should just tell him to throw it out. And they were talking about it at the barbershop, the very place where Lewis had had his stroke. Tommy, I went to your grandpa's house once so he could show it to me. I have a picture. In the picture, I'm holding the ticket. Maybe we could scratch the picture.

They were talking about it in front of Tommy, but also behind his back. He could feel it, the way they stopped talking when they saw him. Some were believers. It made them happy, they'd say, and no harm was done. Everyone should have such a thing. Others thought the whole thing was foolish. It's not the original ticket, said one of them. He scratched the original ticket years ago. He won five bucks. That's all. I know a guy who was there when he did it. It was only five bucks. The guy told me. The whole neighborhood was divided into two camps, the scratchers and the non-scratchers, the believers and the ones who didn't believe.

The night before the funeral, Tommy's family gathered at the house after dinner. Tommy, Tommy's father, and Tommy's great-un uncle Lawrence were sitting at the dining room table. The ticket was lying on the table between them. Louis used to torment Uncle Lawrence with the ticket. He'd bring the ticket out at family dinners and lay it in front of him and watch him squirm. Watch him squirm, he'd say. And oh, he'd squirm. Watch him squirm, he'd say. And oh, he'd squirm. Lois, he'd start it. It's arrogant to say that money doesn't matter. Tommy's grandfather didn't have to say much during these conversations. He'd just poke his brother Lawrence now and again if he was running out of steam.

It's irresponsible. If you don't want the money, you should use it for something else. Send the grandchildren to university. He said that at Christmas this year. And when he did, Lewis twinkled and he winked at Tommy and he said, but the grandchildren are already at university. Uncle Lawrence said, give it to charity then and that's when Lewis pounced Lewis said ah now we're talking tell me exactly which charity come on now what would you do if you had a million dollars and Uncle Lawrence knew he'd been suckered in again

and he slapped the table and that was the end of that it's not about the money And he slapped the table and that was the end of that. It's not about the money, said Uncle Lawrence for the fourth time that night. I don't want the money. It's the principle. If it's not about the money, said Tommy's father, then what's the hurry? Ten years we've gone without scratching. We can wait until he's buried?

And so it was decided. They would wait until after the funeral. And after the funeral, when everyone was together, they would scratch the ticket. Everyone had an opinion, all right. Even the Reverend Sims, who everyone agreed spoke so nicely at the service, appeared to have weighed in. Lewis was a man of faith, and faith is the ability to believe in something that cannot be proven. What is he talking about? It's Uncle Lawrence. We scratch and we know. It's as simple as that. There's the proof. Be quiet, you old goat. Lawrence's wife. He isn't talking about the ticket. Show some respect for your dead brother. Hocus pocus, muttered Uncle Lawrence.

Back at the house after the service, there was a lot of discussion about what the Reverend Sims had meant. What he's saying, said Tommy's father, is if you believe you know, then you know. That's what faith is. Tommy's head was spinning. If you were among the faithful then, you believed that scratching the ticket would be a loss of faith. Louis had faith. He didn't need to scratch the ticket. Uncle Lawrence was sitting in his brother Louis' favorite chair. had a a coffee cup perched precariously on the arm lawrence said tommy's father owning the ticket gave him hope maybe he needed hope more than he needed money hope said uncle lawrence Hope is false and foolish. All he had was false hope.

Hope, said Tommy's father, keeps despair at bay. Not mine, said Uncle Lawrence. I despair that I'm living in a family of idiots. There were seven people around the table on Tuesday night. Tommy, Tommy's mother, Tommy's father, Uncle Lawrence, Lawrence's wife Muriel, his Aunt Edith, and Edith's son, Tony. Tony was the youngest. It was Tony's job to go to the mantel and get the box with the ticket. Tony got up from the dining room table and walked to the mantel.

He carried the wooden box carefully across the room and placed it in front of Uncle Lawrence, who was the oldest. Tommy was sitting opposite Uncle Lawrence. Tommy squeezed his eyes closed as Uncle Lawrence opened the box. His eyes closed as Uncle Lawrence opened the box. Uncle Lawrence looked into the box and then slowly around the table. Then he picked the box up and held it so everyone could see in. Lewis's faded lottery ticket was gone. There were seven brand new tickets in its place.

And so a week passed. And Tommy and Stephanie were back at her apartment. Tommy said, it was only a week ago. Tommy was sitting at the table where he had sat that night. He was drinking a coffee. Stephanie said, I wish I could have been there when you told them. Tommy said, my father laughed. No one else said anything. What could they say? The ticket was buried. I put the ticket in grandpa's pocket.

I put the ticket in Grandpa's pocket. They weren't going to dig him up. Tommy stumbled on the word buried. And then he started to cry. Whoa, he said. That took a while. It's okay, said Stephanie. It's about time and she waited and when he was finished she said I wish I could have seen your uncle Lawrence I wish you had a video yeah said Tommy

he surprised me I thought he was going to scratch the new ticket right away, like to make a point. No one did. Then she said, why did you do it? Because, said Tommy, I trusted him. Steffi said, I think he would have liked you to have it. Tommy said, the money? Steffi said, not the money, the dream. And Tommy said, I do. And he reached into his pocket and he pulled out his ticket. I bought seven, he said. Stephanie held out her hand and he handed the ticket to her. Steffi said, do you think it's a winner?

And Tommy said, oh, I know it's a winner. I'm sure it's a winner. You can tell. Stephanie said, are we going to scratch it? Tommy said, no, we're going to hold on to it just in case. Stephanie said, just in case, in case what? In case we need the money? Tommy said, no, we don't need the money. We'll never need the money. In case we need the money? Tommy said, no, we don't need the money. We'll never need the money in case we need him. But Grandpa, said Tommy, now this is a long time ago. He's remembering this part from a long time ago. To be honest, he's not even sure this part happened. When he remembers it, it seems like a dream to him. Maybe he imagined it. But this is the way he remembers it.

But Grandpa, he says, it's just a dream. And his grandfather says, now you've got it. Now you understand. It's just a dream. It's nothing at all. And in the dream, I'm still here. I'm still with you. I may seem to be gone, but I've only gone on a little trip.

Whatever I was once, I am still. And all the little jokes I played, I'm going to play them still. When you see a penny, you must pick it up for me. Save all the ones that are heads up in the little jar the way we do. And tonight, when you're falling asleep, I want you to think very hard because tomorrow when you wake up, I want you to tell me exactly what you'd do if you had a million dollars.

I want you to tell me your heart's desire. That was The Lottery Ticket. We recorded that story in Winkler, Manitoba. Okay, we're going to take a short break, but we'll be back in a minute, and I'll have a clip for you from next week's episode. So come back with me, will you? Well, that's it for this week. We'll be back here next week with two more Dave and Morley stories, including this one. So Mary missed the part where they drove the axe through the red oak front doors.

But she was there when the elevator doors opened to see Dave huddled over her cake like a raccoon huddled over a garbage can. His hands and face were covered in icing. He'd been trying to smooth out the cake service with his fingers. That's next week. Keep in touch until then. You can find us on VinylCafe.com or Facebook or Instagram. Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Theme music is by Danny Michelle. The show was recorded by Greg Duclute and produced by Louise Curtis and me, Jess Milton. Let's meet again next week.

Until then, so long for now.