Bad luck.  Awful karma.  Rotten destiny.  However you described it, misfortune followed Mac.
        “Sometimes luck isn’t on your side, Mac,” Mom said.  “It will get better. I promise.”
        That was when he was five.
        “Face it, Mac,” Dad joked.  “Lady Luck isn’t smiling on you yet.”
        That was when he was six.  He wished he could get Lady Luck to laugh at one of his knock-knock jokes.
    
At eight, Mac broke his leg roller-skating.  The only cast color available was bright pink.  If that wasn’t insulting enough, the dang thing itched like crazy, making him scratch like a dog with a bad case of fleas.  Every boy steered clear of him because of the pink cast, while the girls refused to get close for fear of catching “cooties.”
    
When he was eleven, his parents planned a big birthday bash.  All of his classmates were invited.  Two days before the party, his little sister caught lice at a friend’s house.  Word spreads fast in a small town.  None of Mac’s friends wanted to come to his party.  He ate his birthday cake alone, while scratching his head.
     
At seventeen, Mac bought his first car.  He used the money he earned from washing windows, mowing lawns, and walking dogs.  Mac had scrapes, bruises, and scars as reminders of his odd jobs.  This car, though, was going to change his life.  It was a 1972 beat-up, blue Thunderbird.
       The car ran fine for six months. Around the seventh month, it started shaking.  In the ninth month, the heater wouldn’t shut off.  When he had owned it for a year, the windshield wipers came on every time he turned on the radio.  Two days later, it caught on fire.
        “I’ve got to be out of bad luck soon,” Mac told his best friend, Trey.
        “Probably not,” Trey kidded.
        “Come on,” Mac pleaded.  “I’ve caught every cold that came around, even walking pneumonia twice!  And the peanut butter sandwiches at school gave me an allergic reaction that made my lips swell.”
        “Oh yeah, the ‘Blowfish’ nickname.”
        “Very funny.”  Mac scratched his head.  “I also got my braces stuck on Kaitlyn’s sweater the first time I kissed her.  Try explaining that to her father.”
        “Maybe you’ll win the lottery, and then you can buy good luck.”  
       “That’s not a bad idea.”  Mac counted out some change.  “Hey, drive me to the gas station.  I want to buy a lottery ticket.”
    
Trey dropped Mac off at the station.  Mac was excited at the possibility that his accident-prone, miserable fate might change.
        As he strode into the station’s convenience store, his nostrils were assaulted by frying onions and strong garlic.  The lights flickered on and off, making it difficult to see.  The aisles were strewn with candy wrappers, napkins and sticky soda.
        “What a mess,” Mac said as he carefully picked his way to the front counter.
        The cash register was wide open and empty.  Mac checked behind the counter for the store manager. That’s when the police barged through the door.  “Put your hands up!” the officer commanded.
        Mac looked around to see if anyone was behind him.
        “Put them up, now!”
        Mac cautiously raised his hands.  In mere seconds, the officer had him cuffed and thrown into the back of the squad car.
        Seven hours of intense interrogation later, the police released Mac to his parents.
        “Only you could get arrested trying to buy a lottery ticket,” his dad joked.
        Mac groaned.  “I need to get out of here.”
    
The following week, Mac loaded his bags into the back of his Grandpa’s old Chevy.  After seven hours and one hundred fifty miles, Mac arrived in Sunnyside.  His aunt had praised the town for its endless days of sunshine, the perkiness of the people, and their general, happy-go-lucky demeanor.
        Two weeks of gray skies, thunderstorms, and a wicked hail storm ripped through Sunnyside.  The people were more grumpy than happy, and most decided to stay indoors.  Mac hadn’t found Fate to be very forgiving on the first stop of his road trip.
    
Mac bid his aunt farewell, packed up the car and headed toward Glitter Rock.  One of his former dog-walking clients lived there and had invited him to visit.  Glitter Rock was a cozy suburb, nestled in the valley.  People moved there and stayed there, it was just one of those places.
        The first week passed pleasantly. The neighbors were nice and the town was fun.  During the second week, news of a major employer closing its doors rocked the suburb to the core.  People panicked.  “For Sale” signs now decorated most lawns.
        Mac grimaced at the sight.  “I’ve brought the place to its knees.”  He packed up and headed out into the night.
    
Mac had no plan.  He just drove.  He finally ran out of gas in a little town called Last Chance. The gas station was closed and there wasn’t a hotel in sight.

         “My destiny proves true once again,” Mac mumbled.  He curled up in the back seat and fell asleep.
       
At five the next morning, Mac was startled awake by a loud banging.
        “Get up, son,” an old man bellowed from outside of the driver’s window.
        “Hold on,” Mac said.  He sat up and tried to stretch the kink out of his neck.  The cramped quarters of the back seat had caused him to sleep at an odd angle.
        “Something wrong, son?” the old man asked.
        “Uh,” Mac said as he massaged his neck.  “Can’t seem to straighten it out.”
        “I’ve got just the thing for you.”  The old man shuffled off.  Mac was left with no choice but to follow.
        They walked up a steep hill toward a dilapidated barn.  Cows, pigs, and sheep milled around while a dog barked in the distance.
        “Hurry up, son,” the old man said.
        Mac was leery about entering the barn.  He feared that as soon as he set foot inside, the barn would crash down around him.  “I’ll wait out here.”
        “Suit yourself.”
        The old man returned with a cup.  “Drink this,” he said.
        “What is it?”
        “What’s it look like, boy?”
        “Um,” Mac said as he sniffed the cup.  “I’m not sure.”
        “It’s the solution to all your problems.”  The man walked away.
    
Mac eyed the cup.  The steaming vile green liquid smelled awful.  A sharp pain shot through his neck.  “Guess I don’t have anything to lose.” He chugged down the scalding liquid before he could develop second thoughts.  It splashed into his stomach, making him queasy.
        Mac feared he’d been poisoned.  He staggered back toward the old Chevy.  His eyes blurred, nausea came in waves, and hot and cold flashes assaulted him.  “I’m going to die,” he whined.
        Mac flopped into the front seat.  He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.
    
The sun glared through the window, rousing Mac from a restless sleep.  His watch read 5:45 a.m.
        “That can’t be right.”  Mac rubbed his eyes and checked again.  He stretched. The neck pain was gone!  He turned the ignition and discovered that the car had a full tank of gas.
        “What’s going on?” he wondered aloud.  He looked around for the barn.  It was gone.
        “Great.  Now I’m going crazy, in addition to  having bad luck.”  Mac started the Chevy and headed home, leaving Last Chance behind.
    
Four years later, Mac graduated from college.  Those years were filled with several mishaps, accidents, and just plain bad luck.  The following year, he was married, and twins joined the family shortly thereafter.
    
Although Mac’s luck was never the best, it never got any worse after his trip to Last Chance.  Years later, Mac tried to recreate his summer road trip.  Sunnyside was named the “Most Pleasant Place on Earth,” several times after Mac’s visit. There was an economic upturn in Glitter Rock and it became home to numerous celebrities.   But, as much as he tried, he couldn’t find Last Chance again.
        “I’m telling you the truth,” Mac told his wife on his cell phone.  “There’s a town called Last Chance.”
        “Maybe you dreamt it,” she said.  “You’ve been driving for hours.  Come home.”
        “Fine,” Mac said.  He keyed the ignition.         The car sputtered.  The needle fell below the big “E” on the fuel gauge.  A large thundercloud darkened the sky, and rain pelted the windshield.
        Mac sighed.  “That’s just my luck.”  
    
    
   
                         About The Author
  
        Erica Sears in her own words:  “My family recently moved from South Carolina to Diamond, Illinois following my husband’s departure from the Navy.  This story was written during this transition time.  Our two sons and two dogs and I stayed in Colorado with family while we waited to close on our new home.  It seemed like everything that could go wrong with the closing and moving, did!  I definitely sympathized with the character, Mac, in my story.
        “All is great now. We love our new home and the town has a hometown feel that we are glad to be a part of.  I try to keep writing in between shuttling Ean to preschool, teaching fitness classes at the local gym, playing trains and trucks with Rylan, keeping my husband’s work schedule straight and, of course, keeping the two dogs in line.”
        Erica is no stranger to our pages.  She won Honorable Mention #3 in Calliope’s 14th Annual Fiction Contest, and was a Finalist in 2006, with her story, “Beware of Gardens,” which was published in Issue #116 (Summer 2007).
    
    
    
    
                                           Copyright © Erica Sears