Many people thinks it's cute how I carry my little stuffed penguin around wherever I go. They think it's sweet that Ive become so attached to an inanimate stuffed toy. When I tell them his name is Chubsy and he loves snow cones and hot dogs and never really liked the NBA's luxury tax rule, some coo quietly about the sweetness of youth and the innocence some people manage to hold onto longer than others. My big brother, Ken, isn't one of those people.
Ken tells me to get rid of Chubsy, but Chubsy is my only real friend. I'm 12 years old and maybe a little old for stuffed animals from what I gather from the malicious heckling I get at school, but the other kids don't bother me with their "penguin boy" chants and when they call me a baby. It's not like I'm sucking on my thumbs or carrying a blanket around like Linus from the Peanuts comic strip for comfort. Chubsy is really my friend. He stays either in my desk or my backpack most of the school day and only comes out to play at recess or during lunch if I eat alone.
At least Andy isn't afraid to be heckled either. He sits and eats with me some days when he can, but he has a fragile immune system due to complications when he was born and can't always come to school. Those days I hang out with Chubsy and we play twenty questions. He never guesses what I'm thinking of, but I can usually guess what Chubsy was thinking of on any given day. He's mostly transparent about his interests, but it's the days when I can't guess what he was thinking and he won't tell me that scare me a little.
I suppose Chubsy gets tired of how the other children all tease me and I won't return fire in their verbal assaults. Chubsy is a bit libertarian and believe people should take care of themselves whenever possible. Libertarian isn't my word, but that's how Chubsy describes himself. The tiny black beads of his eyes stare straight through you at times and only the smile sewn into his faded orange beak lets me know his judgements are in my best interest.
The days when Chubsy and I eat lunch together have been increasing recently as Andy hasn't been feeling up to school for about a week now. We would go see him at home, but his parents won't ever let me in the door. They say they appreciate my concern, but that I might be bringing in additional germs. They seem to be saying it directly at Chubsy who has seen better days.
He's been with me daily for 10 years now ever since my parents died and Ken and I went to grow up with our Aunt Jackie and Uncle Sam. They're nice people and Uncle Sam likes to wear a stars and stripes top hat and white beard on the 4th of July to play on his name being Uncle Sam or so I'm told. I don't really get it. Chubsy tells me it's an old characterization of the United States from armed forces draft posters. That still doesn't explain much to me, but Chubsy just keeps going with our lunches and moves on to conversations like "if I were a snow cone, what flavor would I want to be."
Chubsy was the last gift my parents got me before they passed away and he's been there whenever times are rough and when Ken isn't around to help me out. This also means he's pretty dirty over the years and washes have become fewer and fewer as he's become a little thinner around the seams. He's well loved I always say, but Chubsy demands the occasional cleaning. He likes to feel presentable when we go out to play, but doesn't mind playing in the dirt. That's usually where we are when Chubsy and I are mocked and get dirt kicked on us. I like to pretend we are in a baseball argument like managers and umpires have on TV. Chubsy just gets quiet and starts writing in his journal.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Every Corner Crossed
Steven feels the world he lives in is a pop up book. Around ever corner, the leaves and branches sway and the cars bounce in his vision like a new page turned and the scenery still settles as he walks home from the train. Though the cars and people may differ from day to day, they do not make an impact on him. The world could be crash test dummies in wigs to Steven, but he would walk home without a second thought just the same.
As he crosses another intersection, another page turns and a breeze seems to blow the swings in the schoolyard to push the ghosts of children past. The birds rebuild their tattered nests and the empty beer cans roll in the street. Season bring different flowers and colors to the trees that are blocked out by the blinders over his eyes. To him, everything repeats everyday.
He wakes up and sees the same reflection in his mirror. He brushes his teeth with the same toothbrush and locks the door at he same time each morning. He boards the same train with the same people whom he does not know. He sits in his moderately cushioned office chair for 8 hours of work with a half hour break where he gets the same lunch from his favorite local fast food restaurant.
He does not notice the new apartment buildings being built around him each day. The jackhammers are always on the sidewalks he doesn't take. The trains advertise cola products, local hospitals, schools, employments opportunities, but he stares ahead in a daze focusing through in his own world. He does not see the red head that has begun to ride the train at the same time as him over the past three weeks. He does not notice that she began getting off at his stop two weeks ago and does not see her pretending to dig for her keys at different buildings each time she walks behind him down the street.
It is a Thursday afternoon when he is forced to see her in her newly dyed black hair as she pretends to be living in the same building he does. She asks him to hold the door for her as she rushes up behind him before it closes. He does not make an effort for the door or even seem to hear her as she asks him what floor he's on when she enters the elevator with him. He will not remember what floor she pressed for herself, but, when she enters his apartment with him, he begins to wonder if he's been living in somebody else's pop up book.
As he crosses another intersection, another page turns and a breeze seems to blow the swings in the schoolyard to push the ghosts of children past. The birds rebuild their tattered nests and the empty beer cans roll in the street. Season bring different flowers and colors to the trees that are blocked out by the blinders over his eyes. To him, everything repeats everyday.
He wakes up and sees the same reflection in his mirror. He brushes his teeth with the same toothbrush and locks the door at he same time each morning. He boards the same train with the same people whom he does not know. He sits in his moderately cushioned office chair for 8 hours of work with a half hour break where he gets the same lunch from his favorite local fast food restaurant.
He does not notice the new apartment buildings being built around him each day. The jackhammers are always on the sidewalks he doesn't take. The trains advertise cola products, local hospitals, schools, employments opportunities, but he stares ahead in a daze focusing through in his own world. He does not see the red head that has begun to ride the train at the same time as him over the past three weeks. He does not notice that she began getting off at his stop two weeks ago and does not see her pretending to dig for her keys at different buildings each time she walks behind him down the street.
It is a Thursday afternoon when he is forced to see her in her newly dyed black hair as she pretends to be living in the same building he does. She asks him to hold the door for her as she rushes up behind him before it closes. He does not make an effort for the door or even seem to hear her as she asks him what floor he's on when she enters the elevator with him. He will not remember what floor she pressed for herself, but, when she enters his apartment with him, he begins to wonder if he's been living in somebody else's pop up book.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Landing in Gyropolous
Flight 789 from Atlanta to Athens landed at 11:15am Athens time. He had spent the flight trying to sleep in the hope of waking up in the Athens morning none the wiser that he was hours off from his typical routine. Instead, he had spent 10 hours tossing and turning in a feverish fight for some lucidity and peace. The video unit on the 747 had been announced as frozen and unresponsive adding to the sense of isolation from the world. Luckily, Jim had brought his video iPod to watch, but staring at movie images on a tiny screen only made him more nauseous.
Movement from next to him cleared the map image from his mind. His wife had put in her ear plugs and a sleeping mask nearly 3 hours into the flight and had drifted off to blissful sleep instantly. She only awoke every few hours to stretch her legs to avoid any circulatory problems from the long plane ride. Sarah was comfortable in any position and had been found asleep in her closet one morning when she was supposed to be at an 8am class in college. Her had was wedged against a shoe box and her legs hung out of the closet as the door continued to bounce open and closed against her feet. Her roommate feared Sarah had narcolepsy and anticipated a long year of high maintenance demands to break into the bathroom or make sure the stove top was turned off due to her sleeping roommate.
The truth of it was Sarah loved a good nap. This added to her requests for trips to Europe and the appreciation of the planned siestas there. She had wandered the streets of Paris enjoying shops and pounding coffee drinks. At the stroke of 3pm, she was asleep regardless of the liters of caffeine coursing through her body. Jim had been in Paris on a business trip and had found Sarah passed out with a cappuccino in her right hand and her purse laying open on the table in front of her. He quickly chased away a young boy intrigued by the easy pick pocketing mark and Jim sat for an hour until Sarah came back to life. They spent every day of her trip together after that and were married a year later.
The trip was meant to be a break from tough time back home where Jim had just lost his job, but received a severance large enough for a nice trip. They had discussed saving the money up for having a child together, but Sarah suggested they might enjoy a large amount of olive oil and lamb dishes more in the short term. Future be damned, they loved lamb. However, Jim reached the point at an hour left before landing in which he would have believed they were landing on the moon. As the wheels touched down and Jim finished choking down his bagel breakfast, he knew what a nervous breakdown must feel like.
By the time they reached customs, Jim had plenty to declare. There are many professions that take their jobs lightly enough to have a sense of humor. Customs officers at the Athens airport are not those people.
The only thing he could focus on was the frigid air coming from the windows in the cabin of the plane and the little plane image mapped out on its course to Greece. On more than one occasion, Jim began to hallucinate that the plane was turning in big circles instead of moving towards its destination and delaying them for hours on end without sleep in sight. When the plan did make it across the Atlantic ocean and Europe was visible on the map, Greece often appears in the form of an gyro firing tzatziki at the plane until, blinded by tiny chunks of cucumber, the plane overshot Greece and crashed into Turkey which looked like a giant falafel.
The mediocre US dinner time/ Greek breakfast time meal of ricotta stuffed manicotti coated in what was labelled as a tomato sauce but could have been a generic red toothpaste for the flavor it had. Luckily for Jim, the bland salad dressing cancelled out the main course. As a change from his previous unsettled condition, Jim was now graced with a heartburn that made him wish for the frigid breeze despite his concern on where this much air could be coming from on an airplane.Movement from next to him cleared the map image from his mind. His wife had put in her ear plugs and a sleeping mask nearly 3 hours into the flight and had drifted off to blissful sleep instantly. She only awoke every few hours to stretch her legs to avoid any circulatory problems from the long plane ride. Sarah was comfortable in any position and had been found asleep in her closet one morning when she was supposed to be at an 8am class in college. Her had was wedged against a shoe box and her legs hung out of the closet as the door continued to bounce open and closed against her feet. Her roommate feared Sarah had narcolepsy and anticipated a long year of high maintenance demands to break into the bathroom or make sure the stove top was turned off due to her sleeping roommate.
The truth of it was Sarah loved a good nap. This added to her requests for trips to Europe and the appreciation of the planned siestas there. She had wandered the streets of Paris enjoying shops and pounding coffee drinks. At the stroke of 3pm, she was asleep regardless of the liters of caffeine coursing through her body. Jim had been in Paris on a business trip and had found Sarah passed out with a cappuccino in her right hand and her purse laying open on the table in front of her. He quickly chased away a young boy intrigued by the easy pick pocketing mark and Jim sat for an hour until Sarah came back to life. They spent every day of her trip together after that and were married a year later.
The trip was meant to be a break from tough time back home where Jim had just lost his job, but received a severance large enough for a nice trip. They had discussed saving the money up for having a child together, but Sarah suggested they might enjoy a large amount of olive oil and lamb dishes more in the short term. Future be damned, they loved lamb. However, Jim reached the point at an hour left before landing in which he would have believed they were landing on the moon. As the wheels touched down and Jim finished choking down his bagel breakfast, he knew what a nervous breakdown must feel like.
By the time they reached customs, Jim had plenty to declare. There are many professions that take their jobs lightly enough to have a sense of humor. Customs officers at the Athens airport are not those people.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Objects in the mirror may...
Thomas was staring into the mirror when time reset itself. His final unsuccessful attempt at fashioning a bow tie for his cousin's wedding led to his surrender. It was the light slow behind his sambas outlining his suit pants that made Thomas raise his head. The door to his room was glow white with an edge of red. The wooden panels behind the coat hook on the back began to bulge in and out with a life all its own.
Frozen in terror, he continued to stare as the light pierced through in bubbles in the wallpaper within seconds. Reaching for his iPhone, he began to dial Shannon to see if she noticed anything downstairs, but the phone flashed no signal before reflecting the light shining through the ceiling and engulfing the brown faux wood panels of the ceiling fan. The light bulbs began to pop with electricity as charges from the light reach through the glass around the metal filaments.
In his head, Thomas began to hear John Lithgow's voice whisper, "Time sneaks up on you like a windshield on a bug." He could not figure out why this line hit him at that moment when the light took over everything behind him in the mirror and his vision whited out the day.
When his vision cleared and objects took shape again around him. His room was gone. His feet were planted in a patch of dirt with footprints in every shape and size but his. Nowhere could he see the ribbed arch of his shoe print or the round outlines at the ball of each foot. The horizon filled with building outlines of the neighborhood he had grown up in since he was five. The house next door was merely a frame of itself and the builders were staring at him as if he were a car wreck they had just witnessed a moment before.
There was no ringing in his ears like bending metal, so he knew he was no car wreck, but also he did not know where he was either. It was in the height of his brain freeze that he heard his name called out from across the street. "Thomas?"
From the dug out future basement of the Hanson's house across the street, Eddie Hanson was crawling from the hole in the ground between the cement mixers and the stacks of bricks. He pulled himself to his feet next to the stack of bricks before Thomas watched his eyes grow large and Eddie ducked behind the stack of bricks.
Following Eddie's previous gaze, Thomas felt his jaw go slack. Next to the architect's station in front of the future Sanders house, Thomas recognized Jan and Steve Sanders staring at him. He had known them for years as they had been his parents' closest friends in the neighborhood, but never had kids. It had leaked out over years growing up that Steve had been mugged and shot causing severe trauma to his thigh limiting blood flow for so long that he was declared sterile. He had never looked at Steve the same after that, but now he was seeing him anew as Steve and Jan stood staring from their future home at age 23. Their house had been built 3 years before Thomas was born. What in the hell was that glow?
Frozen in terror, he continued to stare as the light pierced through in bubbles in the wallpaper within seconds. Reaching for his iPhone, he began to dial Shannon to see if she noticed anything downstairs, but the phone flashed no signal before reflecting the light shining through the ceiling and engulfing the brown faux wood panels of the ceiling fan. The light bulbs began to pop with electricity as charges from the light reach through the glass around the metal filaments.
In his head, Thomas began to hear John Lithgow's voice whisper, "Time sneaks up on you like a windshield on a bug." He could not figure out why this line hit him at that moment when the light took over everything behind him in the mirror and his vision whited out the day.
When his vision cleared and objects took shape again around him. His room was gone. His feet were planted in a patch of dirt with footprints in every shape and size but his. Nowhere could he see the ribbed arch of his shoe print or the round outlines at the ball of each foot. The horizon filled with building outlines of the neighborhood he had grown up in since he was five. The house next door was merely a frame of itself and the builders were staring at him as if he were a car wreck they had just witnessed a moment before.
There was no ringing in his ears like bending metal, so he knew he was no car wreck, but also he did not know where he was either. It was in the height of his brain freeze that he heard his name called out from across the street. "Thomas?"
From the dug out future basement of the Hanson's house across the street, Eddie Hanson was crawling from the hole in the ground between the cement mixers and the stacks of bricks. He pulled himself to his feet next to the stack of bricks before Thomas watched his eyes grow large and Eddie ducked behind the stack of bricks.
Following Eddie's previous gaze, Thomas felt his jaw go slack. Next to the architect's station in front of the future Sanders house, Thomas recognized Jan and Steve Sanders staring at him. He had known them for years as they had been his parents' closest friends in the neighborhood, but never had kids. It had leaked out over years growing up that Steve had been mugged and shot causing severe trauma to his thigh limiting blood flow for so long that he was declared sterile. He had never looked at Steve the same after that, but now he was seeing him anew as Steve and Jan stood staring from their future home at age 23. Their house had been built 3 years before Thomas was born. What in the hell was that glow?
Thursday, June 19, 2008
I need a hero
December 8, 2007
Dear MacGuyver,
I have 35 cents, a watch and an empty Mountain Dew bottle sitting next to me on the hotel desk. I have the remote control perched on the edge of the desk ready to leap if I turn too fast away from my laptop. My cell phone is grey. My ipod is silver. The phone is a dirty taupe. There is a thermonuclear device across the room by the bed surrounded by a laser grid that will detonate the bomb if crossed and I need to find a way to get to bed. Please help.
Sleepless and terrified in Charlotte
December 10, 2007
Dear Sleepless,
The character MacGuyver is a trademarked name from the Paramount company. My name is Richard Dean Anderson. I am no longer portraying this character even at conventions. I've moved onto my appearances as Colonel Jack O'Neill from the Stargate series. I am an actor. I do not have the expertise to dictate thermonuclear mechanics nor could I even fathom how to disarm a bomb with 35 cents, a wristwatch, an empty bottle, a cell phone, an ipod and a crappy hotel phone. Please refrain from sending these emails my way in an attempt at a response. I appreciate your continued appreciation of a role I played decades ago, but it is time for all of us to move on. I have and so should you.
Sincerely,
Richard Dean Anderson
P.S. Tune into Stargate SG-1 on the Sci-Fi channel now playing every week night at 10pm eastern and twice on Saturday at 2 and 3 pm eastern.
December 10, 2007
Dear MacGuyver,
I do not require your expertise in the area of thermonuclear mechanics. I have no issue with the presence of the bomb. I just need to get to bed without setting off the laser sensors. I have now been sitting awake in the desk chair for 78 hours and truly need your help soon lest I fall asleep, slip from my chair and set it off. Please help at your earliest convenience.
Still sleepless and terrified in Charlotte (now with a numb ass)
P.S. If it helps, the 35 cents is broken up into a quarter, a dime and a nickel and my wrist watch has indiglo.
December 12, 2007
To whom it may concern,
We at the firm of Lawson, Turner and Bloomstein are contacting you in regards to the potentially threatening emails being sent to our client, Richard Dean Anderson. Please refrain from further communications including the word 'bomb' and any references to our client, RDA, as 'MacGuyver' or a suit will be filed and an injunction obtained.
Cordially,
Brian Lawson, Attorney at Law
P.S. I believe you can use the backlighting displays of your ipod, cell phone and watch combined with the change in the bottom of your dew bottle to aim the lights at the sensors until you reach your bed.
P.P.S. Our client is under contract to remind you to tune into Stargate SG-1 on the Sci-Fi channel now playing every week night at 10pm eastern and twice on Saturday at 2 and 3 pm eastern.
Dear MacGuyver,
I have 35 cents, a watch and an empty Mountain Dew bottle sitting next to me on the hotel desk. I have the remote control perched on the edge of the desk ready to leap if I turn too fast away from my laptop. My cell phone is grey. My ipod is silver. The phone is a dirty taupe. There is a thermonuclear device across the room by the bed surrounded by a laser grid that will detonate the bomb if crossed and I need to find a way to get to bed. Please help.
Sleepless and terrified in Charlotte
December 10, 2007
Dear Sleepless,
The character MacGuyver is a trademarked name from the Paramount company. My name is Richard Dean Anderson. I am no longer portraying this character even at conventions. I've moved onto my appearances as Colonel Jack O'Neill from the Stargate series. I am an actor. I do not have the expertise to dictate thermonuclear mechanics nor could I even fathom how to disarm a bomb with 35 cents, a wristwatch, an empty bottle, a cell phone, an ipod and a crappy hotel phone. Please refrain from sending these emails my way in an attempt at a response. I appreciate your continued appreciation of a role I played decades ago, but it is time for all of us to move on. I have and so should you.
Sincerely,
Richard Dean Anderson
P.S. Tune into Stargate SG-1 on the Sci-Fi channel now playing every week night at 10pm eastern and twice on Saturday at 2 and 3 pm eastern.
December 10, 2007
Dear MacGuyver,
I do not require your expertise in the area of thermonuclear mechanics. I have no issue with the presence of the bomb. I just need to get to bed without setting off the laser sensors. I have now been sitting awake in the desk chair for 78 hours and truly need your help soon lest I fall asleep, slip from my chair and set it off. Please help at your earliest convenience.
Still sleepless and terrified in Charlotte (now with a numb ass)
P.S. If it helps, the 35 cents is broken up into a quarter, a dime and a nickel and my wrist watch has indiglo.
December 12, 2007
To whom it may concern,
We at the firm of Lawson, Turner and Bloomstein are contacting you in regards to the potentially threatening emails being sent to our client, Richard Dean Anderson. Please refrain from further communications including the word 'bomb' and any references to our client, RDA, as 'MacGuyver' or a suit will be filed and an injunction obtained.
Cordially,
Brian Lawson, Attorney at Law
P.S. I believe you can use the backlighting displays of your ipod, cell phone and watch combined with the change in the bottom of your dew bottle to aim the lights at the sensors until you reach your bed.
P.P.S. Our client is under contract to remind you to tune into Stargate SG-1 on the Sci-Fi channel now playing every week night at 10pm eastern and twice on Saturday at 2 and 3 pm eastern.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Hit Me
"Hit me." Bill McGwire said to the dealer as he looked at is two of hearts and three of spades lying on the table before him. He glanced up at the dealer and across at the dealer's eight of diamonds knowing he was already beat no matter what the hidden card showed. His eyes lifted to the name tag indicating Duncan was the dealer's name at this table.
"Hold up there, Duncan. He's staying." A voice from across the table rose above the sunglasses the man nearest the dealer. He didn't appear to be looking at his cards much less Bill's, but seemed to think he was in charge of the table. The sound of his voice resounded at the table and surprised everyone. His tone contained enough authority that no one at the table looked at him. Everyone instead watched Bill and Duncan.
A chuckle rose from Bill's throat at the nerve of this guy telling him what to do with his cards. That chuckled was quickly choked off with annoyance as Bill realized the dealer had not given him another card. "Are you have trouble discerning sounds and pinpointing the origin? I said hit me. He obviously was the one that said to hold. He's not a ventriloquist. Now listen again. Hit me."
Duncan's eyes shot to his left at the man at the end of the table. The man stared off into the distance and slowly shook his head "no". Bill stared as the dealer turned back to him and waited to see if Bill would surrender to the advice to stay on 5. He was not giving in and Duncan now had a bead of sweat running down his forehead.
"You need to listen up and listen closely to my words and my tone. I am a diamond card holder with this casino. I spend three months every year hear and I live on the east coast. This isn't a casual jaunt to the casino for me. I came out to gamble and to make my own calls and I feel I run enough money through this place to entitle me to be listened to. Lay another card down on this miserable hand." Bill was leaning in close to stare in Duncan's eyes and keep him focused. Proximity and intensity was the way to deal with people. That's what Bill had always learned in business. He was about to learn a new technique.
"That's a $100 bet you have right now. You don't have black jack, so that best you could do winning and doubling down on that miserable 5 is $400." The man reach into his coat pocket and tosses a chip onto the table. It bounces over the hands of the current players and lands on Bill's cards. The red $500 chip wobbles for a second and settles to a stop. "Take that chip and you've taken $100 over your best option and tell the dealer you would like to stay. I feel this is a fair offer."
The other two players at the table began to smirk at the gall of the man at the end of the table. The next two players held 19s and 20s respectively and were unlikely to make a move and didn't mind watching the scene play out.
"I give no power to you at the end of the table. However, I am a business man and a $400 gain is acceptable. Let's see how you play the rest of the table's hands." Bill placed the $500 chip in his pocket as if to keep it separate for story telling later.
Each of the two players in the middle passed on card with a wave of their hands as Duncan turned to the man at the end of the table. He held a 10 of diamonds and a jack of diamonds. Duncan glanced quickly at his hand and turned his eyes expectantly to his hand when he heard the voice. "Double down."
Bill could not believe this guy. With 20 and the dealer, at best, holding 19, he should be staying. Especially with $5000 in front of him. Was he trying to lose everything? This was $10,000 with only two Aces unaccounted for with the middle two players holding the aces of clubs and hearts.
"What?" Bill and the dealer's voice combined into one as the both questioned the move. Only Duncan received a cold stare from the stranger at having his decision questioned. In response, the stranger reached into his pocket and put down another $5000 in chips and waited.
A waitress stepped to the table next to Bill her tray inches from Bill's shoulder. "Drink from the bar? Anyone?" The three players turned to her and quickly ordered whiskeys, scotches and bourbons. When she had finished jotting down orders, the waitress looked to the stranger expectantly. He, in turn, continued to stare at Duncan while answering.
"Nothing from the bar, but could you please ask Mr. Taffin to stop by this table. Tell him Mr. Montgomery is having a problem with one of his dealers and requests a change over."
Duncan quickly stiffened in his seat at the mention of the casino owners name and dispensed the top card from the deck. He turned it quickly in the air as everyone watched the ace of spades tumble to his stack and set him to 21.
The waitress walked away unaware of what had been transpiring at the table and without intention of finding anyone named Taffin as she was hired through a local vendor and had no direct ties to the casino. All eyes lay on the ace at the end of the table as 'Mr. Montgomery' leaned back in his chair. "Stay."
It took a few seconds for Duncan to return to his senses and reach for his face down card. He turned the card face up to reveal a two of clubs. The table turned to stare at the stranger again as everyone realized he had saved them from a loss to the dealer turning up an ace and coming up 21 over all of their hands. Bill was the first to come to his senses and shake off the amazement.
"Wake up, people. I could have had that ace and been at 16 and the dealer would not have gotten the 21 either." Bill leaned back arms folded in defiance as the two middle players still sat somewhat stunned awaiting the next card.
"Interesting theory." The voice returned at the end of the table. "Would you have stayed on a soft 16 with the dealer already showing an eight?"
Bill looked back at the dealer's hand and looked to the stranger a bit baffled. "No. I would have asked for at least one more card." At this, all eyes returned to Duncan. On cue, the dealer takes the top card from the deck and reveals a five of hearts. Bill lets out a grunt. "Fantastic intuition there. I would have had 21."
"Continue, Duncan." The man was unfazed by Bill's tone and turned to stare out across the casino floor again. Duncan's hand moved to the pile again and turned up the fourth ace. Bill's jaw dropped. He could have cost the table their money. Sure, he would have pushed, but that seems a selfish man's game.
Duncan's hand now stood at 16 with one more card coming. With a reach to the stack, he turned up the king of spades. A few moments passed as the table stared at the dealer's busted hand. "Pay out, my friend." For the first time, the man at the end of the table smiled. With an additional $10,000 in his pocket, he packed up his things and walked away.
"Hold up there, Duncan. He's staying." A voice from across the table rose above the sunglasses the man nearest the dealer. He didn't appear to be looking at his cards much less Bill's, but seemed to think he was in charge of the table. The sound of his voice resounded at the table and surprised everyone. His tone contained enough authority that no one at the table looked at him. Everyone instead watched Bill and Duncan.
A chuckle rose from Bill's throat at the nerve of this guy telling him what to do with his cards. That chuckled was quickly choked off with annoyance as Bill realized the dealer had not given him another card. "Are you have trouble discerning sounds and pinpointing the origin? I said hit me. He obviously was the one that said to hold. He's not a ventriloquist. Now listen again. Hit me."
Duncan's eyes shot to his left at the man at the end of the table. The man stared off into the distance and slowly shook his head "no". Bill stared as the dealer turned back to him and waited to see if Bill would surrender to the advice to stay on 5. He was not giving in and Duncan now had a bead of sweat running down his forehead.
"You need to listen up and listen closely to my words and my tone. I am a diamond card holder with this casino. I spend three months every year hear and I live on the east coast. This isn't a casual jaunt to the casino for me. I came out to gamble and to make my own calls and I feel I run enough money through this place to entitle me to be listened to. Lay another card down on this miserable hand." Bill was leaning in close to stare in Duncan's eyes and keep him focused. Proximity and intensity was the way to deal with people. That's what Bill had always learned in business. He was about to learn a new technique.
"That's a $100 bet you have right now. You don't have black jack, so that best you could do winning and doubling down on that miserable 5 is $400." The man reach into his coat pocket and tosses a chip onto the table. It bounces over the hands of the current players and lands on Bill's cards. The red $500 chip wobbles for a second and settles to a stop. "Take that chip and you've taken $100 over your best option and tell the dealer you would like to stay. I feel this is a fair offer."
The other two players at the table began to smirk at the gall of the man at the end of the table. The next two players held 19s and 20s respectively and were unlikely to make a move and didn't mind watching the scene play out.
"I give no power to you at the end of the table. However, I am a business man and a $400 gain is acceptable. Let's see how you play the rest of the table's hands." Bill placed the $500 chip in his pocket as if to keep it separate for story telling later.
Each of the two players in the middle passed on card with a wave of their hands as Duncan turned to the man at the end of the table. He held a 10 of diamonds and a jack of diamonds. Duncan glanced quickly at his hand and turned his eyes expectantly to his hand when he heard the voice. "Double down."
Bill could not believe this guy. With 20 and the dealer, at best, holding 19, he should be staying. Especially with $5000 in front of him. Was he trying to lose everything? This was $10,000 with only two Aces unaccounted for with the middle two players holding the aces of clubs and hearts.
"What?" Bill and the dealer's voice combined into one as the both questioned the move. Only Duncan received a cold stare from the stranger at having his decision questioned. In response, the stranger reached into his pocket and put down another $5000 in chips and waited.
A waitress stepped to the table next to Bill her tray inches from Bill's shoulder. "Drink from the bar? Anyone?" The three players turned to her and quickly ordered whiskeys, scotches and bourbons. When she had finished jotting down orders, the waitress looked to the stranger expectantly. He, in turn, continued to stare at Duncan while answering.
"Nothing from the bar, but could you please ask Mr. Taffin to stop by this table. Tell him Mr. Montgomery is having a problem with one of his dealers and requests a change over."
Duncan quickly stiffened in his seat at the mention of the casino owners name and dispensed the top card from the deck. He turned it quickly in the air as everyone watched the ace of spades tumble to his stack and set him to 21.
The waitress walked away unaware of what had been transpiring at the table and without intention of finding anyone named Taffin as she was hired through a local vendor and had no direct ties to the casino. All eyes lay on the ace at the end of the table as 'Mr. Montgomery' leaned back in his chair. "Stay."
It took a few seconds for Duncan to return to his senses and reach for his face down card. He turned the card face up to reveal a two of clubs. The table turned to stare at the stranger again as everyone realized he had saved them from a loss to the dealer turning up an ace and coming up 21 over all of their hands. Bill was the first to come to his senses and shake off the amazement.
"Wake up, people. I could have had that ace and been at 16 and the dealer would not have gotten the 21 either." Bill leaned back arms folded in defiance as the two middle players still sat somewhat stunned awaiting the next card.
"Interesting theory." The voice returned at the end of the table. "Would you have stayed on a soft 16 with the dealer already showing an eight?"
Bill looked back at the dealer's hand and looked to the stranger a bit baffled. "No. I would have asked for at least one more card." At this, all eyes returned to Duncan. On cue, the dealer takes the top card from the deck and reveals a five of hearts. Bill lets out a grunt. "Fantastic intuition there. I would have had 21."
"Continue, Duncan." The man was unfazed by Bill's tone and turned to stare out across the casino floor again. Duncan's hand moved to the pile again and turned up the fourth ace. Bill's jaw dropped. He could have cost the table their money. Sure, he would have pushed, but that seems a selfish man's game.
Duncan's hand now stood at 16 with one more card coming. With a reach to the stack, he turned up the king of spades. A few moments passed as the table stared at the dealer's busted hand. "Pay out, my friend." For the first time, the man at the end of the table smiled. With an additional $10,000 in his pocket, he packed up his things and walked away.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Coming Around Again
William sat in the back of the ambulance as the paramedics worked to patch the hole in his father's chest. He would not have imagined that morning that he would be fighting to keep his father alive when the day concluded, but here he was. He had called the ambulance and told them a mad man had come and shot his father. He hid the gun in the freezer before the ambulance arrived and rode the entire trip without saying a word. He only stared at his father's labored breathing and remembered those words on the phone.
We've found your son? Was he really looking for me? William stared at the array of plastic containers stocked on the opposite side of the ambulance and pondered his experience. Had he been wrong all of these years? Was his father always looking for him to make amends, but had a terrible service working for him until the one today? If that was the case, what are the odds of the call coming in just as he stood over his father's body?
A gurgle from his father on the stretcher drew William's attention from the drawers. He turned to find his father attempting to lean up and his eyes met William's eyes. There was a pleading in Andrew's eyes much like someone being held at gun point. Only there was a less life concerned edge to this look. It was the pleading eyes of someone still looking for forgiveness. Even after William shot him, Andrew still wanted William's forgiveness instead of the other way around. This was not the trip William had expected to be making today.
Andrew Porter had done nothing good in his life and made no indication he ever would, but that morning in that kitchen, William had not shot that Andrew Porter.
Upon arriving at the hospital, William clarified that he was Andrew's long lost son and asked if there was anything he could do to help his father. When the nurse told him he could donate blood for his father to lessen the impact on their low blood reserves, he emphatically agreed and spent the next half hour giving blood specifically marked for his father post-surgery.
During the hour and a half while his father lie in the operating room, William wondered the halls of the hospital. He went past his brother's room to find him passed out likely recovery from his recent encounter when his stitches came open. William had caused this pain too. His foster mother would not have been surprised. She had always sensed William had something scarred about him ever since she admitted he was adopted shortly after birth. Some people just take being abandoned immediately in their life and decide the world never wanted them either.
A nurse tapped William on the shoulder to let him know his father was in recovery and he could sit with him if he liked. He would like that.
After surgery, he sat with his father as the doctors attached the IV and waited. He began to hope his father would recover from the gun shot so soon after his liver surgery. He also hoped that he might get to know this man he had just met; the one that did not fit the personality he had heard was his father.
The nurse came in with a new bag of blood with "For Andrew Porter" written in pen on the side. William knew this was his blood and gained a little pleasure watching to nurse attach it to his father's arm. He began to feel some redemption was coming for both he and his father today.
The nurse left the room as the blood began to course through Andrew's veins and William felt he could see his father's cheeks flush a bit. The color was returning as his father opened his eyes ten minutes later. He looked confused as he realized he was in the hospital again. His eyes fixed on his son's as he reached out his left arm and called him.
William was taken back by the gesture and moved closer to his father to hear what he had to say. In a low whisper that only William could hear, Andrew said, "William, my boy?"
Tear welled in his eyes as William responded. "Yes...father?"
"When I get back on my feet, son...I'm going to make you suffer for ever drop of blood I've lost today. If you survive the first wave of punishment I plan to send your way, you'll only wish you'd died."
Astounded, William stood staring down at his father. This was the Andrew Porter he had wanted to shoot, but where had he been and why was he returning now?
We've found your son? Was he really looking for me? William stared at the array of plastic containers stocked on the opposite side of the ambulance and pondered his experience. Had he been wrong all of these years? Was his father always looking for him to make amends, but had a terrible service working for him until the one today? If that was the case, what are the odds of the call coming in just as he stood over his father's body?
A gurgle from his father on the stretcher drew William's attention from the drawers. He turned to find his father attempting to lean up and his eyes met William's eyes. There was a pleading in Andrew's eyes much like someone being held at gun point. Only there was a less life concerned edge to this look. It was the pleading eyes of someone still looking for forgiveness. Even after William shot him, Andrew still wanted William's forgiveness instead of the other way around. This was not the trip William had expected to be making today.
Andrew Porter had done nothing good in his life and made no indication he ever would, but that morning in that kitchen, William had not shot that Andrew Porter.
Upon arriving at the hospital, William clarified that he was Andrew's long lost son and asked if there was anything he could do to help his father. When the nurse told him he could donate blood for his father to lessen the impact on their low blood reserves, he emphatically agreed and spent the next half hour giving blood specifically marked for his father post-surgery.
During the hour and a half while his father lie in the operating room, William wondered the halls of the hospital. He went past his brother's room to find him passed out likely recovery from his recent encounter when his stitches came open. William had caused this pain too. His foster mother would not have been surprised. She had always sensed William had something scarred about him ever since she admitted he was adopted shortly after birth. Some people just take being abandoned immediately in their life and decide the world never wanted them either.
A nurse tapped William on the shoulder to let him know his father was in recovery and he could sit with him if he liked. He would like that.
After surgery, he sat with his father as the doctors attached the IV and waited. He began to hope his father would recover from the gun shot so soon after his liver surgery. He also hoped that he might get to know this man he had just met; the one that did not fit the personality he had heard was his father.
The nurse came in with a new bag of blood with "For Andrew Porter" written in pen on the side. William knew this was his blood and gained a little pleasure watching to nurse attach it to his father's arm. He began to feel some redemption was coming for both he and his father today.
The nurse left the room as the blood began to course through Andrew's veins and William felt he could see his father's cheeks flush a bit. The color was returning as his father opened his eyes ten minutes later. He looked confused as he realized he was in the hospital again. His eyes fixed on his son's as he reached out his left arm and called him.
William was taken back by the gesture and moved closer to his father to hear what he had to say. In a low whisper that only William could hear, Andrew said, "William, my boy?"
Tear welled in his eyes as William responded. "Yes...father?"
"When I get back on my feet, son...I'm going to make you suffer for ever drop of blood I've lost today. If you survive the first wave of punishment I plan to send your way, you'll only wish you'd died."
Astounded, William stood staring down at his father. This was the Andrew Porter he had wanted to shoot, but where had he been and why was he returning now?
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