The Price

You are the next contestant on the Price is Right.

The Price

The early morning wind cut through me, down to my bones. I thought the music playing in my Airpods would distract me, give me something to focus on, but it barely did anything. The cold was louder than everything else.

The line wasn’t that long. Maybe a hundred people waiting with me. Most of us were shivering, hugging ourselves, stamping our feet. Others were wired, bouncing around like they had been awake for hours. Just looking at them made me tired.

I hate morning people.

A voice came through the speaker overhead, cheerfully. “Attendees for The Price Is Right, we’ll start handing out name tags shortly and letting you inside. I know anyone visiting from out of state will laugh at this ‘cold’ but this is LA cold. Bear with us, guys.”

People laughed. I smiled without really meaning to. I wanted to go inside, sure, but more than that I wanted this to feel real. Like I was supposed to be here.

I used to watch The Price Is Right with my grandma Lupe. That’s how we bonded. That’s how we learned English together, repeating phrases and laughing at people who guessed too high or spun the wheel too hard. Somewhere along the way, I forgot about that. Not on purpose. It just slipped away. One of those things you don’t realize you’re doing for the last time.

I am nineteen now. Lupe had been gone for years. I worked minimum wage at a car wash, stuck, frustrated, trying to figure out who I was supposed to be and failing at it. I didn’t talk to my high school friends anymore. I didn’t have a girlfriend. I wasn’t talking to anyone at all. By every measure that mattered, I knew what I was. A loser.

The night I found the show again, I hadn’t slept. Another all-nighter playing video games. I was flipping channels when I heard the music. I laughed and almost changed it, but instead I stayed. The wheel spun. The crowd screamed. Something warm settled in my chest, sharp enough to hurt.

I said it out loud before I could stop myself. I have to be there. I booked the ticket immediately. Grandma will guide me, I thought.

The line moved forward, and soon I was standing at a folding table with blank name tags stacked on it. An older woman looked up at me and smiled.  “What’s your name, sweetie?”

Something about the way she said it hit me harder than it should have. Sweetie turned into mijo in my head without asking.

“Felipe,” I said.

She wrote it out and handed me the tag. I stuck it on my jacket like it meant something. Like it proved I belonged.

I stepped forward and waited again.
“What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Lupe.”

I turned around so fast I startled everyone. A young woman stood behind me, pulling her jacket tighter, looking embarrassed. I apologized and looked forward again. Now I was the one embarrassed.

That’s not my grandma.
So why did my chest feel tight? Why did it feel like she was close?

This is a sign, I told myself. I’m supposed to be here.

Inside the studio, I finally took it all in. The lights. The set. The models. Drew Carey. For how short the line looked outside, the place was packed. Loud. Alive.

I sat there smiling, just happy to be inside. Ready to win. Ready for something to finally change.

The show started. Music, clapping, signs telling us when to be loud. Contestants were called. People won. People lost. Cars rolled out. The wheel spun. I started guessing prices in my head and getting some right.
I knew that, I kept thinking.

As time passed and my name didn’t get called, that confidence started slipping. Drew paused before each card, and every pause felt heavier.

Maybe I’m not getting called. Maybe this was nothing. Maybe this wasn’t my break.
Then I heard it.

“Felipe Solis, come on down! You are the next contestant on The Price Is Right!”

Everything drained out of me at once. My body moved before my brain did. I jumped, waved, screamed, and completely lost control. I finally understood why people went wild. It wasn’t fake. It was shock.

The item was a gold bracelet. Drew talked, but I barely heard him. My mind was racing.
Not cheap. Not flashy. Think store. Think receipt. Grandma, help me out.

“700” I said. My heart slammed against my ribs.

“1!” the next guy yelled.

“1,000,” the third said.

“701.”

I turned toward him immediately. Are you fucking kidding me?

“The actual retail price is 775” Drew said.

“Frederick, you win!”

I felt hollow. Like something had been pulled out of me and left nothing behind.
Then Drew said it.

“You’re going to play Plinko!”

Plinko. The game. The one that changed lives. And it wasn’t mine.

Frederick won money. Then the wheel. He fucking guessed within $1000 and won both showcases. A car. Everything. The show ended, and people filed out buzzing and laughing.

I stayed seated.

This wasn’t fair. He didn’t need it. I did.

I eventually left…well got kicked out. Same difference. I stood outside chain-smoking, trying to figure out what the hell came next. That’s when I saw him.

Frederick. Short. Old. Clean. Comfortable. His wife kissed him goodbye and drove off in a Mercedes. A fucking Mercedes.

The Toyota pulled up. Keys were handed over. Frederick walked around the car, taking pictures, smiling like this was nothing. Like it was a joke.

I started walking toward him. I told myself I was just going to talk. When I reached for a cigarette, the pack was empty. That stopped me long enough to just keep walking past him instead.

Piece of shit, I muttered.

I went to the gas station. Bought another pack. I stepped back outside, ready to enjoy my Snapple and then I saw him again. At the pump.

Frederick filled the tank, put the nozzle back, closed the gas door, and got into the car without looking around. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think anything of it.

He drove off.

About a block later, I spoke.
“Don’t look at me,” I said from the back seat. “Just keep driving.”

He was shaking, offering me everything. His wallet. The car. Begging me not to hurt him. I told him to drive to his house. Told him I didn’t want the Toyota. Told him I wanted the Mercedes. When he asked who I was, I punched him. Oh that felt great and confirmed for me that HE was at fault for everything. He will pay.

“No questions. Just drive.”

Fuck fuck fuck spilled out of me as I yelled that he took everything from me. Louder each time. Veins throbbing. I cried as I yelled at him. He cried, said I had the wrong person, begged me to take the car and leave him alone.

Just drive, I screamed.

The Toyota ended up on the side of PCH by some bushes, engine running, doors open.

Then it didn’t.

The car merged back onto the road and headed west. Rubber burning away from the scene.

When I finally noticed myself again, it was in the rearview mirror. My face was streaked and dark, eyes red and unfocused. Blood was smeared across my cheek and jaw, dried in places, wet in others. I stared at it longer than I should have, trying to recognize myself.

The music on the radio was interrupted.

A breaking news voice cut through the car, tense and fast, talking about a body found along PCH, an older male. No name yet. No details. Just location.

I turned it off.

It was my prize, I said out loud. I won it. Saying it didn’t feel emotional anymore. It felt settled. Nobody gets to take things from me anymore.

I pulled over briefly, checked my phone, and with a few Google searches I found it. Drew Carey's home address.

When I started driving again, the GPS recalculated calmly, pointing me forward like nothing had changed.

Never again, I whispered.

The road stretched ahead, glowing gold in the dying light, and for the first time all day, I felt certain I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

The end.