I dried those few, muffled, salty tears before they could take hold. Spilt milk is spilt milk, and crying over it won't change that. I knew that, and I knew I needed to be brave: for my family. Sure enough, later that afternoon, my parents met in the back yard, where they could talk without being overheard by my grandparents, or me, I suppose. I watched them from the hole in the roof, and although I couldn't hear what they were saying, I knew it was bad. They stood close to each other, my mother patting my father's arm, as she had patted his shoulder earlier, and standing against the fence, in the corner of our yard, they hugged each other like they were adrift on a rough sea, and the other person was their life raft.

My Grandpa Joe picked that moment to try to cheer me up. He called me down from my loft, and taking a coin purse from under the mattress, held out a silver dollar.

'My secret hoard,' he said. 'You and I are going to have one more fling, at finding that last ticket.'

Maybe Dad hadn't lost his job. Maybe his 'vacation' was temporary. But maybe my Grandpa Joe didn't know. Maybe he was as in the dark as I was. I gave up trying to know. 'Are you sure you want to spend your money on that, Grandpa?'

'Of course I'm sure. Here.'

He handed me the money. It felt cool and hard, as my fingers curled around it. Money was the solution to all our woes.

'Run down to the nearest store, and buy the first Wonka candy bar you see. Bring it straight back, and we'll open it together.'

He was serious. What could I say? The chocolate would be incredible, and two bars in the same month, not to mention the same year was unbelievable; as unbelievable as finding a Golden Ticket would be. I pursed my lips to keep from saying more, grabbed my coat, and did my best at running. As soon as I was out the door, I slowed to a walk. I didn't have the calories in that candy bar yet.

When I got back, my Grandpa had fallen asleep. Just as well: the time spent getting the candy bar was a sure giveaway I hadn't been running. I woke him up.

'Have you got it?'

I handed it to him. It was a Nutty Crunch Surprise. He was so hopeful. I wished I was. 'Which end should we open first?' he asked.

I knew there'd be nothing in it but chocolate. There was no point in dragging this out. 'Just do it quick,' I said, 'like a band-aid.'

We each took an end, he the wrapper and me the foil. We pulled, and in that moment, that moment when the bar was free, and our eyes were closed, it was possible, just possible, that there was a Golden Ticket in that bar, and my heart beat faster, and my breath came slower, and the smell of chocolate filled my nostrils, and maybe...

I opened my eyes. Grandpa Joe opened his. There was no glint of gold. We turned the bar over. There was no gold there, either. There was nothing to say, and that's what we said. We shared the chocolate with the others after the cabbage soup that night, and my parents came clean about what we were all facing in the days ahead.

The days went by, and my father looked for work. He found some jobs shoveling snow, but it wasn't enough. If I thought I'd been walking slowly before, now I found out what not having enough to eat really meant. It meant letting your brain go numb; not thinking more than a minute or two ahead; taking one step at a time, and doing that carefully. I wasn't average anymore. I was below average. My homework was all wrong. My teachers told me I wasn't concentrating. They were right. I wasn't. I couldn't concentrate. I could sleep though, and I often did.

I still went by the Chocolate Factory every day. And smelled the smells; and dreamed the smells were filling meals of fudge, or ice cream with any topping you could imagine, or candy canes, or all day suckers, or nerds of every color, or chocolate, or some of everything there was! The dreaming never worked, the smells never were filling meals, but it was wonderful anyway.

In all that time, the fifth Golden Ticket wasn't found. The world was looking for it, that hadn't changed, but weeks had gone by, and no ticket. It made me wonder if the fifth ticket was lost in the mail. I'd stopped worrying about it, and on January 31st, while I was standing by the factory gates, I heard two people walking their dogs talking about it. The fifth Golden Ticket had been found by someone in Russia. Great. There went a stake through my heart. That smidgeon of hope I'd had in the back of my heart all this time met its doom. Oh, well. As my Grandpa Joe said, 'that's that.' I barely felt the pain.

Whatever, it was time to go home. I'd tell my family the news, and together, we could all keep stiff upper lips. I crossed the street. One foot, in front of the other, and watch where you put it. The snow had melted during the day, and now it was re-freezing. I keep my eyes on the sidewalk. And saw something flutter in the gutter. It was in the slush, by the curb. It was flapping. It was paper. I bent down. It was a ten dollar bill! I looked around. Nobody was looking for it. I picked it up. I couldn't believe my luck! It was real!

My feet took me to the nearest store before my brain knew I was moving. I knew I was in the store because the warmth of it surrounded me like a hug. It was my nose that took me to the counter. I was following the smell of chocolate. Chocolate! The feel of it in my mouth, down my throat, in my tummy … Was there anything in life better than chocolate? I didn't think so.

'One Wonka Whipple-Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight, please,' I managed to breath. The clerk handed me it. I opened it. Not the way I usually do, but in a hurry, as if my life depended on it. I think it did. And then… And then… I thought I'd swoon. That's the word: swoon. Not faint; that's lack of blood pressure. Swoon: that's disbelief, happy or otherwise, wiping out everything else, including being conscience. I'd seen gold. The gold of a Golden Ticket! I didn't believe it. I kept staring at it. I didn't swoon. I think my brain had frozen over. The clerk saw it, too. That's when I knew it was real.

'It's a Golden Ticket!' he said, as shocked as I. 'You've found Wonka's last Golden Ticket! In my shop, too!'

Others in the store got interested. A man offered me fifty dollars and a bike. A lady offered me five hundred dollars. Five hundred dollars! The clerk told me to take it straight home, and of course I must! Five hundred dollars! We needed the money, but I couldn't take it! My family would never believe I'd found the ticket if I didn't show it to them. I must show it to them!

I ran. I don't remember running so hard in all my life. I was down the hill in a blur, around our fence, through the gate, though the door, and beside my Grandpa Joe, shouting my head off.

'Mum! Dad! I found it! The last Golden Ticket! It's mine!'

They wouldn't believe it, of course. How could they believe it? How could we be so lucky? How could the Golden Ticket be in this town, the town Mr. Wonka hates? I handed the ticket to Grandpa Joe. He brought it to his face as if it would disappear down a mine shaft before he could examine it. The impossible came into focus, but I'm thinking for him, it was only the big letters. Those were enough. He saw it was real.

'Yippee!' he shouted. Whatever had given me the strength to run as if I were in a marathon got to him, too, and before I knew it, he'd thrown back the covers, leapt out of bed, and was dancing a jig like an ungainly puppet, bouncing on its strings.

'Here,' he said, handing it to my Dad, who with my Mum, had come in from outside after me. It was easy for my Dad to take it. They'd both dropped what they were carrying. 'Read it aloud. Let's hear exactly what it says.'

My father started reading.

'Greetings to you, the lucky finder of this Golden Ticket from Mr. Willy Wonka. I shake you warmly by the hand, for now I do invite you…

So it was an invitation now, and not an allowance. Mr. Wonka must have been in a friendlier mood when he wrote the ticket than he was when he wrote the contest announcement.

…to come to my Factory and be my guest for one whole day. I, Willy Wonka…

He was still in love with his name, just like in the announcement.

…will conduct you around the Factory myself, showing you everything…

Everything? I found that hard to believe. It was a big factory.

…there is to see…

That would be cool. Mr. Wonka was an ambitious man, so maybe he could do it.

…Afterwards, when it is time to leave, you will be escorted home by a procession of large trucks, each one filled with all the chocolate you could ever eat…

THAT sounded good!

…and remember, one of you lucky five children will receive an extra prize beyond your wildest imagination.

Mr. Wonka was kinda arrogant. How does he know what I can and can't imagine? Anyway, I didn't care about the extra prize. The fact there'd been a ticket sent to this town was extra prize enough for me. My Dad kept reading. He'd gotten to the instructions. I could feel the wonder leaking out of me; run-of-the-mill details will do that to wonder. I could bring one person to look after me. We were to be at the gates at ten o'clock sharp. The tour date was February 1st. My Mum was the first to say it.

'The first of February; that's tomorrow!'

Grandpa Joe, still out of bed, took up the cry. He gave a list of things I must do, but I knew I wouldn't be doing any of them. I'd already decided, while I listened to my Dad read. I wouldn't go. My family was oblivious of the frown on my face. They were still working out the details. My Mum said we should stay calm, and decide who should take me. I was calm. I knew I wasn't going. Grandpa Joe barely let her finish the thought.

'I will,' he croaked. 'I'll take him. You leave it to me!'

I hated to disappoint my family, but it had to be done. When I could get a word in, I told them.

'No. We're not going. A woman offered me five hundred dollars for the ticket. I bet some one else would pay more. We need the money more than we need the chocolate.'

My family's faces fell to below the floor, especially my Grandpa Joe's. His despair sank him onto the bed, a spring creaking beneath him, his happiness gone, and I had taken it. But he didn't argue with me. None of them did. They give me credit for being able to make up my own mind, and I love them for that. Just then, Grandpa George's stern voice called to me.

'Young man,' he said, in no uncertain way. 'Come here.'

I went around the bed to stand near him.

'There's plenty of money out there. They print more every day. But this ticket: there's only five of them in the whole world, and that's all there's ever going to be. Only a dummy would give this up for something as common as money.'

He leant forward, the lines in his face stern, and waggled his bushy eyebrows at me.

'Are you a dummy?'

I hadn't thought of it like that. There were only five tickets in the whole world, and I had one of them. With it, I could realize my dream, and meet Mr. Wonka, and see his factory. But what struck me most about what he'd said, was that when it came to realizing my dream—and Grandpa Joe's dream—to see Mr. Wonka's factory, money, as badly as we needed it, shouldn't get the deciding vote, and speaking for my family, my Grandpa George wanted me to know that. Not a one of the others contradicted him, in any way.

I desperately wanted to go. My family wanted me to go. Hang being practical! 'No, sir,' I answered, grateful to all of them. My Grandpa George didn't wait for me to change my mind.

'Then get that mud off your pants! You've got a factory to go to!'

Are these my characters? They are not. Is this purely for entertainment? It is.
Thanks for reading.
Have my reviewers made my day? They have, and I thank them, one and all.
As it ever is in my stories, direct quotes from the 2005 movie are in italics.