Chapter 16 – The Patron Saint of Bingo – Transcript

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Christopher Gronlund presents Hell Comes with Wood Paneled Doors. Read by me, the author, Christopher Gronlund.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“The Patron Saint of Bingo”

            Mom and bingo went hand in hand. She was convinced she could earn a decent living playing bingo, and for a short time, she was pulling in more money than my old man. If anyone could turn five dollars into enough money to fund the rest of the road trip, it was definitely Mom! We walked along the access road to the biggest bingo hall I’ve ever seen.

            I can’t remember if the Choctaw Nation, or the Chicasaws ran the bingo hall, but I do remember the image on the sign above the building. The words “HIGH STAKES” were prominently featured in several places, and the proud face of a tribal chief was placed over a bingo card. I remember thinking how tacky it seemed as Dad said, “When we come back by here, I’m definitely getting a picture of that!”

            We made our way inside and Mom was in heaven! She reached into her purse and pulled out her lucky card blotter—she never left home without it. The hostess knew Mom meant business.

            “Can I help y’all?”

            “One card, please,” Mom said, handing over the five. She pointed to Lucky, her third breast. “Is it okay if I bring him in? He brings me luck.”

            “I really shouldn’t let you,” the hostess said, popping her gum, “but I understand. Go ahead, but if you get caught, I didn’t say you could bring him in.”

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            Mom and Aunt Margie fit right in with the bingo crowd; they were among their own kind. A thick cloud of smoke hung over the room, a sticky fog that wouldn’t go away. Over 25,000 square feet of tables, chairs, and people there to win money; it was overwhelming. Players lined up their good luck charms in front of them: rubber troll dolls, rabbit’s feet, crosses and other religious icons. One woman, wearing a T-shirt with a four-leaf clover on it, wasn’t taking any chances. She had stacks of pennies around her cards, a horseshoe, a baseball cap with a rainbow and pot of gold embroidered on it, stuffed animals, and so many Precious Moments angels it was creepy. The entire time we were there, she won nothing.

             Another woman’s good luck charm was something floating in a jar of liquid; the way she inhaled cigarettes, maybe it was part of her lung. Some people had chair cushions with everything from slot machine graphics on them, to old cartoon characters, like Betty Boop.

            Mom found a chair and we all gathered around to watch. The woman to her right and the guy to her left each were running multiple cards. They had them taped to the table and each time a number was called, they worked over their cards with two-fisted bingo blotters. A woman in the back shouted “BINGO!” while Mom got situated. By the time they verified the winner’s card, Mom had a cigarette burning, her card ready, and her sleeves rolled up to her shoulders, revealing armpits full of stubbly hair.

            They called the game and Mom was the first to shout, “BINGO!” She ran her sole bingo card like Minnesota Fats running a pool table. She won twenty-five dollars and immediately sent Dad to buy five more cards. When Dad returned, she set the cards on the table and pulled another blotter from her purse.

            “Wanna borrow some tape for those?” the guy sitting next to her said.

            “Thanks, but I don’t need ‘em,” Mom said. Bingo was like Zen archery to her; no matter how many cards she played and how fast she had to go over them, they stayed put and never slid around. All she needed to win was a scratch on Lucky’s head, a constant supply of nicotine, and room to throw her arms around like an octopus. In no time, she turned one five dollar card into ten—it was like watching a cell divide over and over. Soon, she drove her neighbors off and had one side of the table to herself. She was never one for exercise, but the way she ran back and forth checking all her cards, she exerted herself enough to last her months. She kept winning and winning. She took over the table like it was a small country. People actually stopped playing their cards and watched her in amazement.

            “She’s cheating!” someone shouted. I didn’t see who said it, but Mom did. She locked eyes with a bear of a man—easily six foot seven and three-hundred fifty pounds. He said, “Sorry,” grabbed his Funshine Care Bear, and shuffled away.

            “Hon, you need to stop buying cards,” Dad said.

            “Don’t tell me how to play bingo, James O’Brien. I know what I’m doing! If you remember, there was a time I made more playing bingo than you did at work.” She loved rubbing that in. “I’ve got enough cards for that!” She pointed to a “$5,000 POT THREE TIMES A DAY” sign. It was just about time to make her move.

            “All right, everybody…thiiiiiiiiiiiis is the moment you’ve been waaaaaaaiting for!” the caller said into his microphone. Up to that point, he was very serious, like a Secret Service agent, but now he was working the crowd over like an announcer at a monster truck rally. “It’s tiiiiiiime for the fiiiiiiiive thousand dollar jaaaaaackpot! Be sure to get your cards. This is a five minute breather. Goooooood luuuuuuuuuuuck!”

            Flashing lights and police rollers flashed. People ran to the counter to buy more cards. Mom sat in an almost meditative state, waiting for her big payoff.

            “Are ya really gonna win it all?” Aunt Margie said.

            “I don’t play to lose, Marge. You know that,” Mom said.

            Everyone took their places at their tables. Cards laid out, blotters in hand; it was like the line up right before a stock car race and Mom had pole position. The woman next to her was ready to give her a run for her money, though. They snarled at each other as the first ball was announced.

            “B-13,” the caller said.

            Mom and the woman beside her blotted several cards with the first number. They ran neck and neck, sometimes Mom would fall behind, other times she took the lead. Both women were large, sweaty, and smelling like menthols. The game seemed to last longer than others, but when the caller said, “O-25” I saw Mom had it! So did the woman beside her. They both went for the last spot; they both hit it at the same time, but only Mom shouted “BINGO!”

            The woman beside her slumped onto her card, clutching her chest—in the excitement of hitting bingo on the big pot, she suffered a heart attack! People rushed up to Mom to check her card, while others ran to check out the woman beside her. In all the excitement, Mom did the most deplorable thing I ever saw her do in my life—she reached over and rubbed the winning mark off the woman’s card.

            While Mom’s card was verified the winner, our neighbor was on the table, receiving CPR. With one quick lick and swipe of Mom’s thumb, not only was the woman going for a ride to a local hospital, she was going twenty-five hundred bucks poorer. Mom, however, was happy she wouldn’t have to split the winnings. The bingo hall paid out the pot, Mom stuffed fifty hundred dollar bills into her purse, and we left in time to see the ambulance heading off toward the nearest hospital.

            As we walked across the parking lot, Mom came to my side.

            “I’m sorry you saw that, Michael,” she said. I could see no shame on her face for clearing the woman’s card of the other winning spot. “Let it be a lesson: only the strong survive. We’d only have twenty-five hundred dollars right now, instead of five thousand.”

            “Wouldn’t twenty-five hundred have been enough?” I said.

            “Yeah, but five grand feels much better,” she said with a big smile.

            “That’s wrong,”

            “That’s helping the family, Michael.” She lit a cigarette and dropped back behind me to chat with Aunt Margie, who thought Mom was magic at that moment. I’m guessing the most money Aunt Margie ever saw at once was twenty bucks. In her eyes, Mom was a millionaire.

            We neared the gas station. Dad said, “Why don’t you guys head back toward the car. Michael and I will get the hose and meet you.”

            Mom peeled a Franklin from her stack and said, “Get some cigarettes and munchies…whatever you want.”

            “Marshmallows!” the twins shouted in unison.

            The rest of the family went back to the Inferno while Dad and I got a hose for the car, a carton of cigarettes for Mom and Aunt Margie, and a bag of snacks to last us the rest of the day. We walked back to the car, and even from a distance, it was clear Mom was talking bingo with Aunt Margie, who was eating up every second. Dad laughed; he looked at Mom with a glimmer in his eye.

            “Your mother amazes me sometimes, Buddy.”

            “Yeah, she really cleaned up,” I said.

            “I know people don’t see what I see in her, but back at the bingo hall…that’s what I love about her. When she sets out to do something, she does it and doesn’t let anything get in her way. I really respect that side of her.”

            I wanted to tell him I saw her wipe the other winner’s card, but didn’t want to ruin the moment for him. Instead, I just agreed. “Yeah.”

            “And I really respect you,” he said. “It took guts to slap some sense into me the way you did. No hard feelings. We’ll get this hose on the car and head back to Stuckey’s, pay for our meal, and hit the car wash. Sound good?”
            “Yeah, sounds really good.” I looked at the Inferno as we got closer; there was something I thought about on the way to the bingo hall and it was time to speak up. “I’ve been thinking about something, Dad.”

            “What’s that?”

            “The car. Lucky. I think they are somehow related,” I said.

            Dad was actually listening. “How so?”

            “I know it’s hard to believe, but I know Lucky is possessed. Not just kidding around, but really possessed.”

            “I thought you didn’t believe that stuff, though?” Dad said.

            “I’m beginning to change my mind.”

            “Why?”

            “The Inferno,” I said. “I know it was choking me the other night. I know it chased me down last night. I’ve been thinking…it seems the car only acts up when we’re all mad and yelling at each other. It runs just fine when we’re all getting along, but when we’re mad, it breaks down. And Lucky: it’s like he knows I’m figuring things out and he’s trying to stop me. I bet I sound crazy?”

            Dad didn’t say a thing. I thought he was going to ignore me again. When he finally spoke up and said, “I believe you,” I stopped dead in my tracks.

            “Huh?!”

            “I believe you,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about the way the car’s been acting, too. I’m still not sure about Lucky being possessed, but it’s all too weird for coincidence. I know you wouldn’t make things up if you didn’t believe they were happening, or seen them firsthand.” He looked me right in the eyes and said, “I believe you, Buddy, but let’s keep this to ourselves right now—don’t want to worry everyone just yet. We’ll just stay in a good mood and test your theory. Sound good?”

          “Yeah!” I said, giving Dad a hug. “Thanks, Dad!”

            “No problem, Buddy. No problem.”

We finished our hike back to the Inferno, where Mom was telling Aunt Margie, “There was even a time I supported this family playing bingo…”

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