The Gambler

Dark. Not the typical darkness that you’re used to when you wake up in the middle of the night and your eyes adjust to hints of light. No, this was a darkness that was like black paint washing over you, covering your eyes, entering your mouth, and filling your lungs. That was the darkness I woke up to. It was darkness that sent a chill up my spine, a shivering sensation, a haunting feeling, that something wasn’t right.

#

The Kansas City Chiefs seemed like a lock for the Super Bowl. I bet big. While everyone was cheering and having a good time at McClusky’s Tavern, I was burying my sorrows in my seventh draft of Guinness. I had the money to cover the bet, but it meant draining our savings. Well, most of it. One hundred thousand dollars’ worth of our savings was going to go to Michael Spagnoli, bookie extraordinaire, or bad things were going to happen to me. There was just one obstacle in getting him that money – Angie Maloney, a.k.a. the wife.

My gambling adventures had drained our savings from the upper two hundred thousand range to one hundred seven thousand and some change. Angie had been understanding and patient with the fact that I had a couple addictions, the other being alcohol, but her patience only went so far. I kept back sliding on my counseling sessions. She said enough was enough. Another big loss and she was going to take the boys and move in with her sister.

#

Silence. Not your typical silence where there are calm, low-level sounds that you’ve grown accustomed to. No, I’m talking about a literal nothingness of a silence. There were no appliances humming in the next room. There was no heavy breathing next to me. There were no insects chirping or buzzing. There was nothing rustling in the wind. There was no air movement at all. It was an eerie deafness of a silence that told me something was wrong.

#

I stayed at the bar until it closed. Mickey, the bartender, offered to call me a cab. I declined, opting to walk. I made it three blocks and decided it was time to relieve myself. I ended up doing it on the car next to me. Inside was a couple talking after their date. The passenger side window was down. The lady got sprayed, angering the man. She called the police. He made sure I didn’t go anywhere. I tried to fight him. It resulted in bruises and scrapes from me falling on my face every time I took a swing.

#

Suffocating. Not an extreme case of suffocation, but it was like the air was thin, hard to breathe. It was cool and damp, but stale and musky at the same time. The smell of pine hung in the air. My confines were tight. I could feel the walls closing in on me. I could tell I was someplace I shouldn’t be.

#

Angie picked me up at the station. There was a long silence as we drove home. When we walked through the door, the first words out of her mouth were, “How much this time, John?”

I hung my head in shame and mumbled, “One hundred thousand.”

“What! No, not this time,” she replied, her expression one of shock and horror.

I watched Angie sit on the couch and reach underneath. She pulled out her laptop. I watched in silence and fear as she transferred all of our savings from our joint account to a secret account she had opened solely in her name.

“Angie, if I don’t give Spagnoli that money, something bad is going to happen to me!”

“Something bad is happening, John. In the morning, I’ll let you say goodbye to the boys before we leave. You won’t see them again until you’re clean. It’s time you faced the consequences of your actions. Maybe whatever Spagnoli does to you will wise you up.”

“Surely you don’t mean that! He could really hurt me!”

“You’ll heal. Good night, John. You’re on the couch tonight.”

The next morning, I saw Angie and the boys off. I was getting into my car to get out of town until I could come up with a way to get the money for Spagnoli. Speak of the devil, as Angie rounded the corner, Spagnoli and two hulking men approached me, wanting to know two things; where was I going, and where was their money. I told them I didn’t have it, but I was going to go figure out how to get it. That was the last thing I remembered.

#

I tried to lift myself up and hit my head on what felt like wood only inches above my head. It left a gash. Warm blood flowed down into my ear. Dirt fell from the ceiling. Panic ensued as I realized my situation. Survival instincts took control. I couldn’t reason. Hysterically, I pushed and kicked at the wood above me as I screamed at the top of my lungs for help. Splinters dug their way into my arms and hands, under my fingernails, as I pounded and clawed, pried at the seams in the wood, trying to separate the boards. It only resulted in bloody fingers and broken nails. Dirt continued to find its way in. I felt a centipede crawl up my leg. It was a disgusting feeling having all those little legs tickling their way up my calf onto my inner thigh. There was nothing I could do about it. An earthworm mingled with soil fell into my mouth as I yelled. It twitched and squirmed in the back of my throat before I was able to gag it up, move it around with my tongue, and spit it out.

#

That was my biggest loss to date. I was out of control. After every loss, I always promised it was the last time. I always promised I would seek help. It never stuck. I once skipped a rehab session to hang out in a bar where I got so drunk I bet my car on a dog show. Angie was furious, but we went car shopping the next day. There was another time when I won betting on the horses. I felt I needed to keep the luck alive. I flew out to Vegas for three days without telling her. I came home hungover and ten thousand dollars poorer. She was just glad I was okay. She had the police out looking for me.

She was a good woman. She had every right to take that money and leave. It was the smart thing to do. She had stood by me long enough. Time and time again, I proved to be irresponsible and unreliable. A good woman like that deserved more.

#

My breathing became strenuous. Exhaustion set in. I was coughing a lot. My throat was hoarse, and I could no longer call out for help. I lay still, thinking about Angie.

#

I met Angie at her best friends twenty-first birthday party. I was her best friend’s brother’s best friend. A friend and I stepped away from the party to the tree line at the edge of their property to partake in some Mary Jane. We found a cute, albeit sickly looking girl getting sick near the bushes. My heart went out to her. I took off my shirt and cleaned her up. I held her hair while she vomited and talked to her while she rested. Eventually she passed out. I went back up to the house and got her a blanket. I stayed with her until morning, then bought her breakfast.

We were best friends and lovers from that point on. We did everything together. I would like to say Angie and I were totally alike, but we were total opposites. I think we challenged each other, took each other out of our comfort zones, and by doing so, we were always enjoying new experiences. It culminated in marriage after she earned her master’s degree in public affairs.

She was so beautiful that day. Her sandy-blonde hair with blonde highlights was pulled up, exposing her slender neck. Her white dress was elegant, low cut and flowing. She walked down the aisle with such grace, white rose pedals laid out before her. Her smile was wide and bright. There was a twinkle in her eye that I had never seen before. All the time that we had spent together leading up to that moment rushed before my eyes as I waited for her father to give her away. All the dates, the dances, the late-night talks, the laughter and the fights, the trips we took together, and the home we made. She had become my life.

#

Still. Not like holding still while you read a book, but the inability to move, an absence of motion that makes you unnoticeable to the world around you. My breathing became so shallow that my chest barely moved. My eyelids ceased to blink, and my eyes became dry. I was unable to lift my hand from my side to rub them. My throat was parched. It was impossible to swallow. Yet, my mind was fixed on Angie.

#

Scared and excited, that was how Angie looked as they wheeled her to the delivery room. She was huffing and puffing, but her eyes said it all. She was a warrior on that table that night, fighting through a pain I could not imagine. With each contraction though, I could see her strength waning. She threw herself back against the bed after her third push. She felt she couldn’t do it anymore. In that moment I saw the girl I met five years prior getting sick in the bushes. I wiped her forehead and lifted her up. Steadying her I encouraged her to push one more time. She put all her might into it and out came a baby boy. We were happy and surprised. We didn’t know what to expect. We told the doctor not to tell us. We held each other, smiling and laughing because it was over. Then the doctor informed us the next one was coming.

Since that day, Angie was more than just my wife. She was the keystone that kept my screwed-up life somewhat together. She raised those two boys with little help from me. She strengthened the bond between me and the boys, making me look like a superhero instead of the failure I was. She made sure they never knew of my mishaps and mistakes. She bailed me out and covered for me with friends and family. She tried her darndest to get me on the right track. She stuck by me no matter what. Nobody in my life has ever treated me with so much love and support as Angie, and I was foolish enough to let her slip away. Now all I want is to feel her touch, smell her hair, hear her voice. I want to say goodbye. I want to tell her I’m sorry. I want to say thank you. I wish I could see her face one last time.

#

Darkness. Not the typical darkness that you’re used to when you wake up in the middle of the night and your eyes adjust to hints of light. No, this was a darkness that was like black paint washing over you, covering your eyes, entering your mouth, and filling your lungs. That was the last thing I saw.