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It was well under way by the time we realized it had even begun. Sherman's luck. It wasn't the sort of luck, at first, that jumps up and makes you take notice. It was all slither-sneaky, like Sherman.
 We should have known.
But a penny here, a nickel there, and who's going to bat an eye at an old man turning in a big bag of coins for a short stack of quick, clean baby bills? Even when he turned and bought a couple rounds down at Targy's, why, we took it in stride, some part of each one of us feeling we were owed, that we had it coming. It wasn't until the third night running that someone made a half-hearted stink, someone who'd missed the second round, wondering out loud why there was anything to miss in the first place. Turns out ol' Sherman couldn't take five steps without spotting the shine-blinding slap of a US mint metal disk, smiling up at him, eager to be added to the pockets of his cheap, worn-out suit.
And even then it was an oddity, sure, but not one of us stopped to think about where, if all this change was being directed, okay, by some cosmic force into Sherman's increasingly well tailored pockets, those coins might be coming from. Because the air was not so thin, those days. There was something in it.
Some of us argue that if we'd seen it early on, caught some glimpse of the shift that was occurring, we could have somehow moved to prevent or derail it. Perhaps through mimicry, or sheer proximity. Others, fatalistic, hold fast to the notion that although we could have avoided particulars, the generalities were inescapable, and moved toward, over, and beyond us like weather. Still others have no opinion, for fear that such a possession might be interpreted as presumption, and serve only to anger further whatever god above it was to whom Sherman alone knew how to pray.
From nickels and dimes came new clothes and new opportunity. A haircut, a shave, and Sherman was picked up by the local paper in some brand-dandy promo for the mayor -- small, small man -- who boosted himself roundabout by brushing up against "lucky-man" Sherman. The vote came easy. Sponsorships, private clubs, quartz watches with his smiling mug. Visits to grade school classrooms on the benefits of "keeping your eyes open and your thinking cap on." We'd watch him drive away waving, arm out the limo window like a scarf.
*
When the first bad weather hit it lifted a few roofs, killed a few pets, and flooded someone's four-car garage. But only the first floor; the good cars stayed safe. Sherman came around to survey the damage, and his aid took quick little notes for Sherman's own home: the buff and level of the ground line, the make and mold of the brick. But he didn't weigh-in too heavily -- he was nothing new -- and we dressed our wounds and carried back on. We had lives to live, rain or shine. We had meals to prepare. The first sign of anything was like no sign at all.
But by the third storm we began to take notice. His large, lonesome house, cliff-sitting above the town, went virtually untouched. Its smiling dormers seemed to jeer. We'd break from the work of rebuilding our town and gaze up to measure Sherman's work against our own, how his stories lifted like layer cake into the air. We'd stare into the television to mark his steady growth, how his face appeared beside the spin-winning lotto numbers, the announcer now on friendly terms.
Some of us turned up the volume, still believing that Sherman, like a star athlete, spoke for the rest of us, while others turned the channel scornfully, feeling no such connection. The rest went plainly about their chores, hoping patience would pay the highest dividends.
But things grew steadily worse. The local economy, rut-gutted by the scourge of weather disasters and resulting disarray, left us with only our misfortune to mind. We became obsessed with it, tracing it toward the past. Looking back, we saw our houses being rebuilt, our town growing quiet and losing the reckless rumble of thunder that broke ceaselessly above our heads. We saw our schools back in session and our jobs back in state, and grew dizzy with euphoria by just the simple fact of our then unremarkable lives.
We saw Sherman, innocently picking up his first quarter, and grew dizzy for different reasons.
*
After the decision had been made, no one owned up to having introduced the idea. We sat quietly among the ruins of our unhappy homes, rebuilding efforts to capture the collapse of earlier attempts themselves lying abandoned to either side. We tried to make peace with the solution we'd selected. No one could deny the connection between those first few coins collecting in Sherman's pockets, and the fuzz-logic of forgetting where we'd placed our own change, how we'd managed to spend it all so soon. Those coins had been ours at one point, after all. What appeared to be luck, this loose term loosely related to a man among us but not ourselves, was surely in fact not luck itself but the lack thereof, spread even against us like an angry hand.
We had to free ourselves.
On our march up the hill to his house, many people lost their lives. So weakened by the daily battle just to keep pace with the extra dose of daily misfortune, even some of our least unlucky met with unforeseen obstacles. Twisted ankles, tramplings, lightening strikes, and we weren't yet half way up.
By the time we entered Sherman's house our ranks were dwindled, our bodies failing, but our intentions were strong and unwavering. We made our way through the house, the stories growing beneath us like a growl. People fell down the stairs, from balconies, out of windows. His study was at the top. When we reached the final room, we expected some final obstacle, some unsuspected ill-fate, but found none. Instead we found Sherman, sitting in an easy chair with his name embroidered across the top, brass knobs down each side, a comfortable smile perched on the end of his lips. His eyes stared forward, into nothing.
Some felt unnerved by this site, by Sherman's smile. Some felt his death more strongly than that of those who'd died around us on our way, or over time. Some felt nothing. We put down our weapons, blew out our torches, and sat in a circle around our passed ex-patriot. Our mission was complete. We experienced no immediate change, but felt we should give it some time. Soon, we agreed, our luck would be restored.
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