Luck of the Draw

Luck of the Draw

“Nobody gets justice- people just get good luck or bad luck.”

-           Orson Welles

“I’ll have the rent on Monday, Mrs. Bruno.”

“That’s what you said last week, Henry, and the weekend before that.”

Thirty-six years old and unable to pay the rent on his rundown Woodlawn basement apartment. The walls were closing in, all youthful dreams of the good life having been abandoned years ago. Henry bounced around from meaningless job to meaningless job and often relied solely on his veteran’s benefits to pay his bills. The problem was he had expenses most don’t have. This month, Henry had to choose between paying the rent or buying food and getting the brakes fixed on his rusting ’72 Chevy. He had to eat, and he feared the possibility of someday careening off East 67th Street into Lake Michigan with his faulty brakes, so his landlords would have to wait… again.

“Marco will be upset… again. We have bills to pay.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Bruno. I’m just going through a tough time.”

“Monday?”

“Yes, Monday.”

Henry’s landlords would wait. They had a common bond. Their son was killed in Vietnam, not far from the same jungle hell hole where Henry lost half his harm. The misfortunes of years ago and thousands of miles away would buy him some more time.

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Henry sat at his kitchen table, penning down numbers, crossing them out, and writing in new numbers. The numbers kept changing, but there was one common theme. They didn’t add up.

Economic realities precluded college, and shortly after high school, his birthdate came in at seven in the draft lottery of 1969. He was sent to a place where he’d be shooting at people he didn’t even know. Eight months later at the age of nineteen, half his arm was blown off for a cause he would never understand. The remnants of his body would heal, but job opportunities were limited, and the emotional damage would last a lifetime. There was no “Well, I did my duty”, or “I was proud to have served my country”, only a soul-sucking bitterness that he couldn’t shake.

Sweltering heat, mud, relentless insects, and guys shooting at him. Like many others, drugs became Henry’s coping mechanism. The dependency had taken firm root and reemerged after Henry returned home and continued to battle the emotional scars.

 Henry was once again working on a budget, not to get ahead in life, but merely to survive. Money in, money out. Normal living expenses were cut to the bone and cutting out the drugs was not an option. He needed a bigger number to start with. The classified ads from the Tribune were piled up in the corner of the table. Henry liked his Industrial Arts classes in high school and imagined himself someday making good money in the trades- electrician, plumber, or carpenter. He left those plans in a place most people couldn’t find on a map.

Even if he landed and could keep a steady job, he wouldn’t get the money he needed fast enough. For the desperate, there is a fine line between hope and delusion.

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“Bernie, you got any hot tips on the ponies running at Arlington this weekend?”

Bernie’s neighbor worked at the stables at Arlington Park, one of the premier horse race tracks in America, located in the Chicago suburb of Arlington Heights and a short drive for Henry. He wasn’t a regular player, but he did enjoy the sports aspect of the events. He jokingly told people he would only take an amount of money to that track that he might put in an ashtray someday and set on fire. He wouldn’t be happy about it, but the losses wouldn’t be crushing. Now wasn’t one of those times.

“You called the right guy at the right time, buddy-boy. This Saturday, Fire and Ice in the fifth. He could go off at fifteen to one.”

 Henry did the math. With the $60 he’d had left after paying for parking and admission, a Win ticket would get him a cool $900 and a little breathing room.

“How sure are you?”

“I talked to his trainer the other day. They picked him up at a Claiming Race a couple of months ago. He says it was a steal. His workouts have been sensational.”

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Henry sat through the first four races with little interest. By the time the horses left the stable for the fifth, Henry’s nerves were shot. With all the money Henry had left in life riding on the prospects of a horse, he thought he’d take a look at the animal in the paddock as the jockeys mounted up. The eye test was perhaps clouded by wishful thinking, but the horse looked magnificent. Henry reached into his pocket and rubbed the ticket between his fingers for luck. He was trying to push his mindset from the worry zone he had been in since he got up that morning into a place of quiet confidence. The stunning specimen before him was helping him get there.

The odds on Fire and Ice had gotten even better. At eighteen to one his $60 bet would net him something in the range of $1,000. He hoped, he dreamed, he even prayed.

His thoughts flipped in an instant. Looking past his champion, he noticed a man standing on the other side of the paddock who looked eerily like… him. Despite the differences- a shorter, carefully crafted hairstyle, mustache, sunglasses, and a suit that would have cost Henry a month’s wages- the similarities were striking. Even at a distance, the image was what Henry saw every morning when he looked in the mirror.

Henry didn’t even notice the jockey in the blue racing silks climbing aboard Fire and Ice and leaving the paddock area. His total focus was on the familiar stranger.

“The horses are entering the track. Twenty-two minutes to post."

Henry didn’t hear it. All of his senses had dissipated into the trackside air, except for the gift of sight which permitted him to see only the intriguing image at the paddock fence. Henry noticed the deep tan, which was unusual for Chicago this time of the year. The man held a rolled-up program in one hand while the other rested on the shoulder of a stunningly beautiful woman. The man turned to leave, and Henry hastened his pace and called out to him.

“Excuse me… excuse me, sir!”

The woman turned first. She froze, stared, and tugged at her companion’s arm.

“What is it, Linda?”

 She couldn’t speak. She could only turn her head and direct his attention to Henry with her eyes. The man turned toward Henry, removed his glasses, and appeared to be in a state of shock.

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“Sit down, Henry. I have something to tell you.”

“Sure, Mom, what is it?”

“Before you leave for the Army, there’s something you should know.”

There was a seriousness in her voice Henry had never heard before.

“What’s that?”

“I’m not your real mother, Henry. Frank and I adopted you when you were just a week old.”

Shocking news for a nineteen-year-old. Henry’s Mother went on to describe the circumstances. A young girl had given birth to twins and put them up for adoption. The concept that the woman who raised him wasn’t his mother couldn’t register.

“Makes no difference to me… Mom.”

Hugs and tears.

“Another couple took your twin brother the day before.”

A brother? Henry would think about that a thousand times over the years. At one point he considered seeking him out, but in the end, he decided it might not be right to disrupt another’s life. The man he knew as “dad” for the first nine years of his life before the SOB took off was of no matter, except Henry did feel a sense of relief as he had once read there could be a genetic element to alcoholism.

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That moment in the kitchen so many years ago flashed through Henry’s mind as he approached the man.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but you and I might have something in common. My name is Henry, Henry Miller.”

Henry had prepared for the moment. The familiar stranger had not. He was in a state of shock, hovering uncomfortably somewhere between a heart attack and a stroke. The words came with great difficulty.

“I’m Roger Appleton and yes… I guess… we do have something in common.”

“Roger… he looks… just like you… exactly like you.”

“He does, Linda. This is incredible. How is this possible?”

“I think I might know. Prepare yourself for a shock… Roger. I know I have a twin brother who I’ve never met. It seems possible… I mean, look at us.”

“A twin brother? That’s not possible. I would know if I had a brother.”

“Fifteen minutes to post, fifteen minutes.”

“My birthday is May 20^th.”

 “Roger, that’s your birthday. And he even has your voice.”

Henry related the story his Mother told him. It all added up.

“I knew I was adopted. My parents told me when I turned eighteen. But I never knew I had a brother. This is remarkable.”

“I thought about finding you many times. I didn’t know if it would be right. I mean, I didn’t want to disrupt anyone’s life. Even today I wasn’t sure, but I couldn’t resist the chance to meet you.”

Linda stepped closer to Henry.

“Excuse me… I’m Linda, Roger’s wife. It is so nice to meet you, Henry.”

She extended her arm and shook Henry’s hand. The touch of her hand and the warmth of her smile diverted Henry’s attention for a moment.

It was all smiles and friendly. The celebration was reserved as young men aren’t prone to emotional theatrics, especially in the middle of a crowd.

“Do you live in the Chicago area, Roger?”

“God no, not with the winters you have here… and the crime.  No, I live in Coral Gables, Florida. I’m just here because I had a horse running today. Thunderin’ Billy in the third. I hope you had your money on him.”

“No, unfortunately, I didn’t. You own horses?”

“Yes, it’s more of a hobby. I try to catch my horses’ races when I’m in the States.”

“You spend time out of the country?”

“Yeah, my Dad wanted to open an office in Paris so we’re there two or three months a year. It’s a brokerage firm. It’s working out pretty well over there. It’s a great place. The wine is terrific and the women are beautiful.”

Roger laughed and turned toward Linda.

“Just for looking of course.”

Roger smiled. Linda didn’t.

“That… sounds nice.”

The comparisons were already having an impact. Henry’s life was looking even worse.

“And how about you, Roger? Do you work in Chicago?”

“Yes. I… ”

Think, Henry, think.

“… work at Citibank.”

Henry left out the part about how he had been a fill-in 3^rd shift security guard and put in his last hours five weeks ago.

“Great. We’ve got a lot of money parked at Citibank. I hope you’re taking good care of it.”

More laughter from Richard who went on to enthusiastically impart his life’s story. Roger grew up in the exclusive Chicago suburb of Northbrook, had the coolest car in his high school’s parking lot, went to Stanford (He left out the part about how it was a legacy admission.), won his club’s sailing regatta three years in a row, and was being groomed to take over his father’s business. Henry was spared the embarrassment of sharing his life’s story as Roger had so much to tell. That’s what Henry was hearing, but what he saw in his mind were the images of his mother being slapped around and a grenade landing just ten feet away from him. He was already thinking he should have stayed on the other side of the paddock.

“Ten minutes to post. Ten minutes.”

They continued to talk. Roger and Linda had to catch a plane so today the unsettling encounter would be short. They would meet again the next time Roger and Linda were in town. The inevitable topic of the missing arm came up.

“Vietnam.. a grenade.”

 “Oh, man, that’s a bummer. I skated out the whole thing with that college deferment stuff.” (Roger left out the part about how his Dad had to pull some strings once he graduated.)

“Couldn’t you get out of it somehow?”

“I didn’t try.”

“Oh, man, a twin brother. The thought just crossed my mind. Our lives could have been switched around. That could have been me. My life could have been so different.”

Henry looked at Linda and then down at the ground.

“Mine too.”

Linda’s face overflowed with compassion. She looked at Henry and at what was left of his arm, and then at her husband. No one will ever know what was going through her mind at that moment as she lowered her head, but if you had been at the paddock that day, you might have seen the hint of a tear in her eye.

Roger’s phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and looked at the screen.

“I’ve got to take this.”

Roger walked to a more private area, leaving Henry and Linda alone.

“So, you work at Citibank?”

A strange force was at work and commanded Henry’s response.

“I did, but it wasn’t what you probably think. I was a night-shift security guard. And that was over a month ago. I don’t do much of anything. ”

Linda was stuck for a response.

“I… well that’s…”

“You won’t tell Roger?”

“No. Why did you tell me?”

“I don’t know. There’s something about you. I guess I just felt like I shouldn’t lie to you.”

Linda smiled.

“I appreciate that. I’m so sorry about your arm. That war must have been terrible. You said it was a grenade?”

Henry couldn’t have explained it to himself, but he continued to speak the truth.

“A grenade landed in the middle of my platoon. I grabbed it and tried to throw it away. I wasn’t fast enough.”

“My God, you’re a real hero. How did you have the courage to do that?”

“It just seemed like the right thing to do.”

Linda was thinking- twins, so alike, so different.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Are you happy being married to my brother?”

The question was posed with comfort and ease. It was as though they had known each other for a long time. Linda didn’t respond, but her eyes and silence spoke the answer.

“I’m back, Linda. We better get going. Listen, Henry, we have a plane to catch, but we’ll have to get together again.”

Henry wrote his phone number down on the back of a program and handed it to Roger.

“Next time you’re in town, we’ll meet up. Maybe dinner or something.”

Henry wished he hadn’t said dinner. Where the hell could he take them for dinner?

“Roger, you should give him your phone number.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

Roger fumbled through his wallet.

“I don’t have a card. Honey, could you write my number down on something?”

Linda wrote the number down on the back of her program and handed it to Henry.

“Here, and since you missed out on Thunderin’ Billy, you might want to check out Busy Boy in the ninth.”

“I’ll do that.”

 Roger and Linda left to catch their plane. Nearly out of sight, Linda turned and looked back at Henry. Their eyes met. She understood. Henry understood. Two babies. Twins. The same launchpad in life with fate delivering very different landings. The selection dictated the trajectory of both their lives.

“The horses are at the post. They’re at the post.”

Henry had forgotten about the big event. Bernie’s tip didn’t seem to matter so much anymore, but sixty bucks is sixty bucks, so with diminished interest, he slowly walked over to the rail.

“And they’re off! It’s Grey Dust out of the gate, then Billy Bo Peep, Candy Dot, and Fire and Ice….”

Fire and Ice was right up there. Henry’s interest quickly rekindled. Fire and Ice stayed with the leaders all the way down the backstretch and made his move heading into the turn. Henry could hardly breathe. He needed that thousand dollars.

“And here they come, spinning out of the turn. It’s Candy Dot and Fire and Ice… Fire and Ice ahead by a head…”

Henry stopped breathing.

“Fire and Ice and Candy Dot…Fire and Ice and Candy Dot… and at the wire…it’s… Candy Dot by a nose.”

There are moments in life when all seems hopeless, all energy sapped, and even basic motion becomes a challenge. Henry had reached that critical point in his life. He leaned forward, one hand on the rail, the other gently massaging his forehead. An Army buddy of his would offer encouragement by saying “Things could always be worse”. For Henry, it all just did get worse. The day had gone so wrong- his horse losing by a nose, the dream of a thousand dollars trashed, learning his twin brother was a jerk, and the unexplainable feeling of loss as Linda headed for the exit.

One foot followed the other as Henry walked back toward the grandstands, thinking of how his life might have been if Lady Luck had been kinder. He paused to toss the race program into a garbage can and continued walking. Then he remembered- “Check out Busy Boy in the ninth.” Henry walked back to the garbage can, reached in, and retrieved the program. He flipped through the pages to the Ninth race…Busy Boy… Five to One…120 lbs…Jockey- Pat Day… and penned in, a phone number and a name-Linda.

And maybe… sometimes… things get better.