Scratching for Survival

I was so hungry I saw stars. Everything had double vision.

The book of 20-dollar scratch cards Mom gave me felt like a countdown to my death. Only one card remained.

The 30 dollars I had won before this, even though I had been incredibly frugal, eating nothing but plain bread and canned soup for every meal, had lasted two weeks at most.

My stomach felt like an invisible hand was squeezing it tight, cramping with pain. So I clung to one last shred of hope and called Mom.

Reality dumped cold water over my head.

I was still blocked. She had not added me back.

Left with no choice, I borrowed a stranger's phone and dialed her number again.

"Mom..."

Before I could get another word out, a sharp, cutting voice came through the line.

"If I remember right, you've still got one scratch card left, don't you? Don't come crying poor to me. I'm not falling for that! If you're so capable, do what you did when you got into college and won all those scholarships. Use your luck!"

The call cut off abruptly. When I tried again, her phone was off.

The single remaining scratch card in my hand suddenly felt impossibly heavy. I did not dare scratch it. I was terrified it would be another loss.

When the semester started, my weight had been normal.

Now I was severely malnourished. At five foot five, I weighed only 73 pounds.

Blue veins showed through my skin. There was not a trace of color in my face.

When I got back to the dorm, no one was there. I walked toward the trash can, my steps unsteady.

Out of habit, I checked to see if my roommates had thrown away any leftover or expired food I could salvage. I had spent most of the semester surviving this way.

Just as I started digging through the trash, someone pushed the door open.

"Ugh, Elena, why are you going through the garbage again? That's disgusting."

My roommate Danielle Lynch's voice made my face burn with shame. I jerked my hand back from the trash can like it had burned me.

She glanced at the scratch card on my desk and immediately understood. Undisguised contempt filled her eyes.

"I really can't believe you. How can you be this addicted to gambling! You'd rather buy these things and dig through trash than eat actual food!

"Even if you really love scratch cards that much, you could at least get a part-time job so you can afford to eat, right?

"Whatever. It's my bad luck rooming with someone like you!"

With that, Danielle looked at the cake in her hand with one last bite remaining, tossed it into the trash, and walked out of the room.

I was dizzy with hunger. My head buzzed.

I had no energy to think about whether she was trying to help me or humiliate me. I lunged at the trash can like a starving wolf and grabbed the cake.

I devoured it. As I ate, scalding tears fell in heavy drops, mixing with the cake crumbs. Salt and bitterness filled my mouth.

I could not blame her for thinking that way. She did not know that before the semester started, Mom had printed my photo on flyers and distributed them to every shop around campus with one message: do not hire me for part-time work.

She had cut off every avenue of escape.

"Doesn't she have good luck? Then let her eat on luck." When Mom said those words, did her face carry the same mockery as Danielle's?

I had explained countless times. I did not rely on luck.

Every award I had won, I had fought for bit by bit. But she did not believe me.

She was convinced everything I had came from luck. One flippant word that erased all my effort.

The last bite of cake went down. The dizziness eased slightly.

I turned my gaze to the final scratch card once more. I made up my mind.

My hand trembling, I began to scratch.