Hail Mary Corner. Brian Payton

never thought possible. Prim, proper old ladies—like the one sitting up straight. Usually it came out when someone else called, “Bingo!” The previous year one old lady leaned over and whispered in my ear that she wanted me to screw her. Hard. “With your pecker,” she added, in case I didn’t know. She must have kept this stuff bottled up her whole life. Sitting next to her wasn’t doing any good.

      Mr. Thorpe didn’t cling to me when I showed up and didn’t cry when I left. He acted like a normal but generally pissed-off person. I sat with him three times in a row before he indicated he cared one way or another. I think he liked me. Today he seemed spry. “I’ll bet you a buck I can tell you who’ll win,” he said.

      “How do you know?”

      “You’ll have to pay to find out. Unless you think you know something I don’t.”

      I looked around. The odds were in my favour. “Okay. I’ll bet you a buck you can’t name the person who’ll win the next round. I don’t have to choose the right one. I’m just betting you can’t.”

      “Lawyer in the making. Deal.”

      He wrote down “Mrs. O’Malley” on a slip of paper and handed it to me. She was new. I’d never heard of her before.

      “She runs ten cards at once and she cheats,” he said.

      “How do you cheat at bingo?”

      “She’ll call ‘Bingo,’ then pitch a fit when they try to question her. They’ll give in to make her pipe down.”

      “We’ll see.”

      The hum of the bingo-ball machine and Eric’s steady monotone were putting a few inmates to sleep. A little later Mr. Thorpe quietly asked to be removed.

      “The game isn’t over yet,” I said. “I still want my buck.”

      “Now. Please. Just roll me out now.”

      I had my own card going and I was halfway through a brownie. I was determined to win the game myself. Sighing, I slowly stood.

      “C’mon, boy. Please.”

      I rolled him past the other fogies and toward the door.

      “Faster!”

      “Calm down.”

      As soon as the words left my lips, I heard something dripping from the wheelchair and onto the white tile floor. He covered his face. I stopped, glanced down, and saw the puddle of piss trailing behind us. I had walked right through it.

      “Mr. Thorpe, I...”

      He wouldn’t look up. I rolled him toward the nursing station where a black nurse peered at me, then at Mr. Thorpe. She nodded and waved me off. I tried again to apologize. “Mr. Thorpe, I...” He turned and punched my thigh with his tightly clenched fist.