He told me that he had now finally begun to settle in with his new family, and for the first time in his life he felt good. There was something in his mind telling him that this could be the time when he could meet someone to live with. He was down to his last life and the margin for error was zero.
I felt sorry for Morris, I think, because I saw myself in him. Here I was, a recovering addict working in the most drugged up alcoholic business in the world.
As the night wore on, Morris won big, and then slowly lost it all back. He was a considerate gambler. He knew the rules. You win big, let the casino give you a ton of free comps, and then you slowly lose it back, so as to make it even. Not enough gamblers understand this rule. It makes the casinos welcome you back and more apt to comp you some good stuff in the future. Too many young punks just want to win big and leave. No one respects that.
Morris finally yawned and looked at his watch. It was small, miniature version, something you'd expect to get for fifty cents out of one of those machines outside Wal-Mart. He looked down at his pile of chips. There were two one hundred dollar chips.
Morris looked at me, cocked his head to the side and said, “Looks like I broke even, huh?”
“Kind of looks that way.” I said. Morris winked at me and hopped down from the stool.
He stood there as if he wanted to shake my hand or something, but knew that rules prohibited anything that would make anyone suspicious of chips changing hands.
“Another time, Morris?” I asked.
“Another time, my friend.” he said softly. “Another time.” He then turned, and jumped down from the stool and made his way out of the casino. I watched him leave, and wondered if I would meet anyone else that I could relate to as much.
Over the next few hours I couldn't stop thinking of what Morris had said. It obviously translated to my work, because I wasn't really concentrating and began losing money to the players quickly. I would constantly go over 21, until finally the pit boss came over and took me aside. A new dealer took my place.
“Look kid, I like you but you're losing us a ton of money here. You were doing fine earlier, what's up? You got family troubles or something?”
“No, I'm fine.”
“Regardless, you take the rest of the night off. Clock out, go home and relax. Go find a woman or something. Let her help you relax.”
I sighed and nodded. I went to the break room, and clocked out. As I slipped my jacket on, and fished out a smushed pack of Camels cigarettes from the breast pocket, I heard the sound of one of the slot machines going off, and some woman screaming hysterically. I sighed, thinking that someday I'd get used to that. Someday I would see a financially strapped gambler in dire need of money, gamble his or her last dollar away and not care whether that last pull of the handle would net them temporary financial security, or a long walk back to their car, trying to think of what they would tell their family. Someday that may happen, but today was not that day. I felt a smile creep on my face, as I imagined the happiness my place of employment had caused, if only for one person.
I lit up, and exited the employee lounge in the back of the casino, and made my way to the bar. This wasn't a regular occurrence. I hadn't touched alcohol in seven months, but apparently seven wasn't my lucky number tonight. It had been a weird night. Ever since Morris had sat down at my table, I couldn't think straight.
I walked into the casino's bar and sat down at the first stool that was open. I buried my head in my hands and sighed.
“Rough day there mate?”
I looked up and the bartender was standing in front of me. I blinked a couple times and nodded.
“What'll it be?”
I waved my hand at him, “I don't care. Surprise me.”
The bartender shook his head and disappeared at the end of the bar. My eyes followed him as he made his way down the bar and sitting down on the end, staring at me with a slight smile on his face was Morris. I climbed off my stool and walked over and sat beside him.
Morris cocked his head to the side, and looked at his watch.
“You off, already?” Morris asked me.
“Bad day at the office.” I muttered. The bartender came over and set two drinks down, one in front of each of us.
“Thanks Mike.” Morris said.
“No problem.” Mike said, as he went back down the bar, wiping the surface, and collecting tips.
“What's wrong?” Morris asked me.
“I don't know. I guess I've been thinking about what you were talking about. I mean trying to live a good life, getting clean and off the drugs. I thought maybe I could do the same. I mean I've been clean and sober for a hundred and fifty-eight days now, but here I am, sitting in a bar when I should be out there working.”
“You know we're both alike.” Morris said.
I thought about it for a minute and then looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we both want what we think is unattainable. We both want to be clean, we both want to stay on the straight and narrow, and we both want someone to love us and to somehow validate our lives. To us, we need that validation. We can't just wake up and say, 'I'm a good person. I deserve to live. I deserve to be happy'. We need something or someone to tell us this constantly, on a daily basis.”
I sat there, running my finger around the rim of the glass in front of me. Morris tapped me on the shoulder.
“And we're both recovering addicts sitting in Las Vegas, staring down at a glass of alcohol that neither of us plans on drinking.”
I suddenly realized that I hadn't taken a drink from the glass. Hadn't even made a move for it. Neither had he.
“We're alike, the two of us. Not only are we alike in the ways I mentioned, but we're both self-destructive people.”
“I'm not self-destructive. You think I want to fail?”
“Yeah. Well, maybe not fail but you want to put yourself in the most extreme positions to see if you can get out of it. You keep getting more and more in over your head until you can't even see the top anymore. You get yourself to the point where there's no way in hell you're going to succeed, and then when you fail you tell yourself you just can't do it, and that you might as well succumb to the addiction.”
I shook my head as if to say no, when he cleared his throat and said, “Why did you come here to work?”
I shrugged, “its work. I needed a job and my roommate's friend hooked me up.”
“No, I mean Vegas. Why in the entire country did you pick Vegas? There weren't any closer places to work? I can tell by your accent you're not from here.”
“Virginia.”
“Exactly. So why out of all the places in Virginia, North Carolina, Maryland and all the other places on the East Coast did you pick to drive across the country and get a job in a casino?”
“I wanted to get away. Start over.”
“How quickly did you decide this after drying out? One minute? Five? You obviously didn't waste any time.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked, getting irritated.
“Okay, let me ask you a question. Sort of a hypothetical, okay?”
I rolled my eyes, “Sure, whatever.”
“Suppose you meet this woman right? Now, she's just hot. She's everything you imagine the most beautiful perfect woman would be, okay? You got this image in your head?”
“Yeah, what's your point?”
“Just stay with me here. She offers you a night alone upstairs in one of these suites. And I’m not talking about the shitty suites that they comp the degenerate gamblers with, I mean the real suites. The ones set aside for the important people. So you get a night alone with this hot exotic woman.”
“Sounds great.”
“Now here's the kicker. You hear rumors that she's got a disease. You still go upstairs with her?”
“Are you nuts? Of course not.”
“Then why would you, a recovering addict, move to Las Vegas to get a job? Same thing.”
I sighed and shook my head slowly r
ealizing he was right. I was in a destructive pattern. I had been for years, and yet had never really noticed. It took a cat to point out what had been obvious to everyone but me. I mean, here I was a recovering drug addict and an alcoholic working in a casino where alcohol is flowing heavier than the water, and drugs are available everywhere you look. I could toss a chip and hit some coke in that place most nights. And I was supposed to succeed? I, of all people, should know that the house always wins. No matter what happens no matter how confident you are, the house will win.
If I keep going the way I am where will I end up? Where will I be when my luck runs out? A halfway house? A jail cell? Alone? How far was I away from that end?
Morris pushed his drink away from him and turned to me.
“Look, I can't tell you what to do. Even if I could, you wouldn't listen to me. We never do. We have to find out for ourselves, and then it's often too late. I was lucky and wised up before it was too late. Maybe you will too. Maybe you'll beat the house.”
My eyes widened a bit when he said that. Could this cat read my mind, too?
“Lots of luck, my friend.” Morris said, with an outstretched paw.
“Julian.” I said, as I gripped his paw gently in my hand.
He withdrew his paw, and jumped off the stool and quickly sprinted out of the bar. As he was exiting he stopped and called back, “Another time.”
He then ran out of the casino and into the night leaving me sitting there with a glass of some type of alcohol sitting in front of me. I stood up straightening my collar. I fished a ten out of my pocket and tossed it down by the untouched glasses, and walked toward the exit.
As I reached the door, I heard a voice behind me.
“Hey, you not gonna drink this?” I turned around and the bartender was pointing at my glass. I waved him away, and said no thanks. Suddenly I realized something. There was only one glass there.
“Hey, what happened to the other glass? You take it already?”
“What glass?”
“You know the one that the other guy beside me was drinking.”
Mike stared at me a few seconds and shook his head. “I think you've obviously had enough.” he said as he grabbed my glass and dumped it down the sink.
I stood there for a few trying to figure out what was going on. I shook my head a bit and turned and exited the lounge. As the door swung shut, I fished into my breast pocket and withdrew the pack of cigarettes. I looked at them and then tossed them in the trash can by the door.
I walked out of the casino and as I passed a pay phone, I stopped. I stared at it for a few seconds before walking over to it. I picked up the receiver, and entered a phone card number that I had committed to memory and then the pin number.
After a few seconds, I entered in Scott's number. Three rings into it, he picked up.
“Hello?” he sounded tired. I cursed silently as I remembered the time difference.
“Scott, I'm sorry I'm not even thinking. It's like two in the morning there.”
“Julian?”
“Yeah, I wanted to call you. I um...”
“Where are you?”
“Leaving work.”
“Are you alright?”
I stood there looking at all the neon signs around me. There were a crowd of people pouring out of the Stardust down the street.
“Wait...it's two in the morning where you are, right?”
Pause. “Um. Yeah.”
“That means its midnight here. Or just after, right?”
“Okay, you're a math whiz, what's this leading up to?”
“A hundred and fifty-nine days.”
“Congratulations. Did you have a hard day today?”
“Nah, actually I think I've had one of my better days. And you know what? I think things might be looking up. I met someone today.”
“Someone? Didn't you just say a hundred and fifty nine?”
“No, not that kind of someone. He...um...put things in perspective for me. Sort of clarified things. Pointed out the obvious, I guess you could say.”
“When are you coming back to Virginia? Back where it's the same time for both of us. No more waking me up in the middle of the night.”
“I don't know. I won't wake you up anymore, I'm sorry for bothering you.”
“You know you're not bothering me. I'm here for you no matter what, you know that too.”
“Yeah. Hey, have a great day Scott. I'll call you next week, at a decent hour this time.”
“Good luck Julian.”
“Yeah you too.”
I hung up the telephone, and took a deep breath. It is a brand new day. A hundred and fifty-nine and counting.
Circle of Life
The wind blew leaves all around them, as the kids stood at the foot of the driveway, leading up the hill towards a large mansion. They were trying to figure out which one of them would have the courage to go and see if anyone lived there, and possibly get some candy before turning in for the night.
“Why don't you go up there?” Jimmy asked Byron. Jimmy was dressed in a Morpheus costume, inspired by the Matrix films, complete with fake shaved head and glasses with no frames.
Byron turned to look at him, trying to navigate in the humongous Chewbacca costume he was wearing. “Me? I don't see why it should be me. I have plenty of candy already.”
“This isn't about candy, stupid it’s about seeing if you’re scared.”
“Well, someone needs to go up there, I want to go home.” Tiffany lamented. She was dressed as Lara Croft.
“I'll go.”
They all turned to see Dylan. Dylan scratched at some of the Dracula paint that covered his face.
“You're gonna go?” Jimmy asked, incredulously. “Don't you know what is up there?”
“No and neither do you. The difference is I'm willing to find out.” Dylan said, although he didn't sound anxious to find out.
“Look,” Dylan said, “we've all heard the stories. We've all heard about the guy and how he was supposedly locked up in a nuthouse for close to thirty years. But what do we really know? Everything we've heard is just...you know, passed on stories, stuff that probably isn’t even true.”
Byron shook his head. “I heard that his girlfriend or wife or whatever got raped and killed right in front of him. He was getting beat down by these sadistic freaks and couldn't help her. That's what made him snap, and is why they put him inside. This house he bought before he got put in.”
Tiffany sniffed a bit, and wiped her nose. “I heard that he was really smart before he got locked up, like a genius or something.”
“I don't know about that.” Jimmy said. “If he was so smart, why did he lose his mind? If you're smart, you're above that, aren't you?”
Byron sighed, and switched his Halloween bag to the other hand. “Look, someone go up there and get this over with. I've been out all night and I'm tired. It's nearly eight o’clock and I'd like to get back to see what all I got, you know?”
Dylan turned and faced his friends. “Look. I'm going up there. From the look of it, no one is home anyway. I'll knock on the door and if he's there, I'll do the trick or treat routine and if he has candy or whatever, fine, if not, I'm out of there and we're on our way home.”
“Be careful” Tiffany said.
“Don't worry about me. We've been to twenty or thirty houses tonight. One more, is all I got. Who knows, I might get lucky and get some cool candy or something.”
Tiffany hugged him quickly, and then backed away as if suddenly aware of herself. She looked away, and then walked over to a concrete wall that ran on either side of the driveway.
“Five minutes at most” Dylan said, as he turned and started up the driveway. Walking up the driveway, he marveled at the meticulously trimmed hedges, the neatly cut grass, and the lush green color of them. For someone who didn't come out much, everything sure looked taken care of, Dylan thought.
When he got to the porch he stood at the door for a couple moments. He looked behind him an
d he could barely see his friends at bottom. He turned back around, and the door had opened and a man was standing in the frame, staring down at him.
Dylan jumped back a few steps, and stumbled, tripping down the steps. He fell hard on his butt as the candy went flying. The man quickly rushed over to help.
Through The Soul's Window Page 3
